Until You (Fall Away Series)(69)

That might be difficult, I texted.

He shot back not thirty seconds later. A man…?

And I punched the bed with my fist.

…takes care of business. I reluctantly finished.

Make it happen, and thank you, he shot back.

I threw off my shirt and jumped in the hot shower, lulling me into some f*cking peace and quiet for once in the last twenty-four hours.

I still couldn’t believe I’d hit my father. I’d never done that before, even to defend myself that summer.

I didn’t know why that comment about Tate having another man’s babies had gotten me so angry. My father had accomplished what he’d set out to do, and I’d fallen for it again.

I couldn’t think of myself as a father, now or any time in the future.

But one thing was for certain. Whether it was now or ten years from now, I didn’t want Tate having anyone else’s kids.

But someday she’d want them. Most people did.

And I swallowed the baseball-size lump that it wasn’t going to be me in her future.





It was Monday morning, and I was breaking and entering for the first time in my life. Of my own free will, anyway.

My hands weren’t even shaking as I loaded the key into the lock and walked into the Brandts’ empty house. Tate had left for school a half hour ago, and I was a little aggravated that I was late for school, too. I’d hoped she’d be off early this morning, doing whatever she did in the chemistry lab, but not today. She’d left late, and now I was behind.

Tate’s dad wanted me to find out what she wanted for her birthday like we were friends or some shit, and he knew better. The only way I was going to find out the answer was to ask her, and our relationship wasn’t on good foundations.

So…I decided to snoop.

Yep, that’s what I thought was a good idea.

Check the history on her laptop, sift through her f*cking journal, maybe look through her drawers for open boxes of condoms…

My leg tingled, and I took out my vibrating phone.

Where r u?

Madoc.

Late, I typed.

Closing the back door and slipping my keys back into my pocket, I walked through the kitchen and over to the stairs.

She was everywhere. The smell of her shampoo—like warm strawberries—made my mouth water.

I hadn’t seen or heard a thing from Tate all weekend. The truck had been in the driveway, but she seemed to be in hiding since Friday night.

I sucked in a long breath before I entered her room. Not sure why.

All I knew was that I felt turned on and perverted all at the same time.

I decided to be quick about it and get out.

I wasn’t a *. I had the guts to sneak through someone’s shit.

Clothes were strewn throughout the otherwise neat room, and she’d added some more pictures and posters to the walls since I’d been in it.

My eyes roamed the space as I slowly walked around, and I saw her laptop but bypassed it and sat down on her bed instead.

My throat was dry.

Fuck.

I picked this moment to develop a conscience?

Her computer history might reveal exactly what I needed, or it may show me shit I didn’t need to know. She could be Googling face creams and designer umbrellas. Or she could be emailing some jerk she’d met in France or admissions offices for colleges far away.

I decided to start slow and opened her bedside table drawer instead.

There was some hand lotion, a small bowl full of rubber bands, some candy, and…a book.

I pinched my eyebrows and picked up the tattered, faded paperback that I hadn’t seen in years, but it seemed like just yesterday.

Memories poured in all at once.

Tate stuffing it in her backpack on her first day of junior high.

Tate trying to read some poem about Abraham Lincoln to me after swimming at the lake.

Tate’s dad taping the binding when Madman had run off with it.

The book—Leaves of Grass by Walt Whitman—was older. Like twenty years. It had belonged to her mom, and Tate always kept it close. She used to take it with her anytime she left town for a trip.

Flipping through the pages, I searched for the poem—the only poem—that I liked. I couldn’t remember the name, but I remember she’d underlined the passage.

No sooner had I started flipping through when some pictures spilled out. I forgot the book and picked up the photos off my lap instead.

My heart pounded in the back of my throat.