Redemptive (Combative, #2)(32)
He pushed me gently until my back hit the counter and he lifted me onto it. “Don’t worry about me, Bailey. I’ll be fine.” After releasing his hold, he started to gather my medicine.
“I can’t help worrying about you, Nate.”
He stopped what he was doing and looked up at me, the softness in his eyes a complete contradiction to what was happening around us. “I promise you,” he said, kissing me once, “I won’t let anything happen to me. I have too much to lose.”
I thought about all that time I spent on the streets, all the shit I had experienced—I never let myself cry. I’d wanted to, but I never succumbed to it. Because I always believed that if anything happened it wouldn’t matter. I had nothing to lose. But hearing his words, seeing him standing in front of me, his eyes flicking between mine, searching—I knew it. I felt it—why I’d cried the second I saw the man at the door… because Nate was right. For the first time in my life, I had something to lose. I had him. And as wrong as it was, he meant absolutely everything to me.
*
I sat in silence and listened to Tiny and Nate discuss how this could happen and who might be behind it. There were no declarations of war or revenge. It was all calm, all calculated.
“What are we going to do about Bailey?” Tiny asked, the sympathy in his voice apparent.
I looked over at Nate, whose eyes were focused on his phone. “Nate?”
His gaze lifted, locked with mine. “You need to go into hiding.”
“I thought I already was.”
“Clearly it wasn’t good enough, Bailey.” He sounded angry. Not at me, but just angry. He focused his attention back to Tiny, who’d been pacing the living room floor the entire time.
“Got any ideas of where we can take her?” Tiny asked.
My breath caught in my chest, and I ignored Tiny in the room and spoke to Nate. “I have to leave here? You… I have to leave you?”
Nate looked at Tiny, then his hands, then the floor. Anywhere but at me. “It’s the only way we can keep you safe. Tiny and I will find somewhere that’s not too far but secluded enough that—”
“So I’d be on my own? For how long? I mean, would you come—”
Tiny cut in. “Boss, I know you may not want to, but there is another option.”
“What’s that?” Nate asked.
“The basement.”
All color drained from Nate’s face. “No.” And instantly the air turned thick. They stared at each other, waiting for the other to break.
After a long moment of deathly silence, I finally spoke up. “You have a basement?”
Nate turned to me, fire in his eyes. “No,” he snapped.
My stomach dropped, along with my gaze. He’d never spoken to me like that.
He sighed loudly. “Go to your room, Bailey.”
“I’m not a kid, Nate!”
His eyes shut as if he was trying to rein in whatever patience he had left. They’d softened by the time he opened them again, his gaze flicking to Tiny quickly before returning to me. Through gritted teeth, he mumbled, “I just need to talk to Tiny, Bailey. Please.”
Ignoring the breaking of my heart, I left and went to my room, and no more than ten minutes later there was a knock on my door. It was Tiny, who motioned to my bed and after we were both sitting, he said, “I have to move you to the basement.”
“Okay.”
“The thing is, Bailey… Nate—he won’t go down there. Not now. Not ever. Don’t ask him why. It’s just the way it is, and it’s somethin’ we have to deal with in order to protect you. You’ll be safe there. That’s what it’s built for.”
Whatever words were running through my mind stayed there, trapped, just like me. I nodded, agreeing to my fate, my fate without the one and only thing worthy of my tears.
*
Tiny asked me to pack what I needed to bring while he moved my mattress to the basement. All I had were Nate’s clothes I’d been living in as well as the stuff they’d bought me.
The door opened behind me, but I didn’t turn around. I knew it was Nate. I tried not to take it personally, the fact that he’d so easily given up on me. On us. I felt pathetic. I felt stupid. And I felt so insignificant, which was dumb considering I’d spent the last few years feeling this exact same emotion.
He cleared his throat to get my attention, but I refused to turn around, refused to face him. I was embarrassed and the tears forming were proof of that.
“Bailey?”
I shut my eyes and let his voice replay in my head, knowing full well it may be the last time I’d hear it. His footsteps neared, and I tensed, waiting for him to say or do something to completely break me.
He covered my hands with his to stop me from folding what little clothes I had. “Will you look at me?”
I couldn’t.
He placed a small bag containing my needles and insulin on the dresser next to the pile of clothes and said, “I got everything ready. You’ll need to do it on your own now…” I could hear the sadness mixed with pity in his voice, and maybe I should’ve cared, but I didn’t. He grasped my hands softly, but I yanked them away. “Bailey…” He bent down, his hands holding mine again. When his face lowered, I turned away from him. I didn’t want this. I didn’t want to hear his stupid words, or feel his stupid kiss, or love his stupid affection. “You don’t understand…”