Running in Place (Mending Hearts) Page 4

  “You will not touch her. You touch her, and so help me God, your gap-toothed mouth will lose all of its poorly spaced teeth. That’s a fucking promise.” He glares at me with his beady ass eyes and starts to say something. I press my arm further into his windpipe, cutting off any words he thinks he needs to speak right now. “What you will do, is turn your ass around, go into the bar, and chill with your little hooker friend until this has all been resolved. Then you are going to get your ass into your truck and drive home, minus the back window, all without touching a single hair on her head. Do you understand me?”

  Lessening the pressure on his throat, I continue to stare him down until I’m sure he grasps my threat. When I feel he understands, I release my hold on him entirely. His feet hit the ground, and he doubles over, gasping for breath.

  Pussy.

  I stay put, waiting for him to regain lung function, just to make sure I didn’t do any real damage. Once he’s able to breathe again, he places his hands on his knees and looks up at me. “That’s my cousin, dude,” he says between breaths. “That bitch just broke out my window because of my goddamn cousin.”

  I attempt to maintain an apathetic facial expression, but my eyes widen slightly in response to his disclosure and I shake my head in disbelief. This guy is as backwoods as they come if that’s an acceptable way to walk with your cousin in his family.

  So…Tatum just blew her lid and busted out Dickhead the Douchebag’s window because he walked into the bar with a family member. Granted, the entrance was entirely unacceptable and, depending on which cousin, against state law.

  The back door to the bar creaks open, pulling my thoughts away from this whole incestual debate going on in my head. “Noooooooah! Hellllooooo!”

  My head drops into my hands and I simultaneously scrub my face while exhaling loudly in defeat.

  Drama-free is just not in the cards for me tonight.

  Wiping the remaining moisture from the tears running down my face, I look around at the remains of Cash’s back window surrounding my feet. Little pieces of glass reflecting the lights overhead are everywhere. I release the bat from my grasp and involuntarily flinch as it clatters loudly against the bed of the truck and shards crumble under my boots as I make my way to the end of the truck in a daze. Lifting my gaze from beneath me, I’m met with a pair of light blue eyes matching my own. And they’re furious.

  “Jesus Christ, Tatum! What the hell is wrong with you?” Trace slams his truck door, tucking the back of his blue button down shirt into the back of his dark Diesels as he stalks up to me while I make my somewhat graceful exit off of Shithead’s truck. Balancing myself against the taillight, I find myself suddenly amused with the sections of red and yellow. The light bulbs behind them are so little. Like baby light bulbs. They’re cute.

  Another door shuts in the vicinity and my eyes break away from the taillights to see the auburn spiral curls of Trace’s girlfriend, Harlow, aka Alex Morgan’s best friend, blowing in the night air breeze. I see her all the time at Alex and Blake’s house when I visit and here at the bar with Trace. She’s seems nice enough, always giving me a friendly pat or hug when we run into each other. It’s kind of a shame. I would probably like her if she weren’t dating my brother.

  With her broadened eyes and mouth in an “O” shape as she approaches, she’s dressed in a pair of black wide-leg dress pants and a simple light pink fitted dress shirt with a fabulous pair of matching peep toe high heels.

  “Stay back, Harlow,” Trace abruptly directs. The fact that she steps around him, moving towards me anyway makes me like her even more. Damn it.

  Completely ignoring his warning, she walks directly up to me, and after taking in the massive amount of destruction, cups her hand softly against my cheek. It’s such a gentle, loving touch, tears once again surface. It takes everything in me not to wrap my arms around her and cry. Cry for my sucky ass life. Cry because I feel so lost. Cry because I don’t know what the hell I’m doing anymore.

  But I don’t.

  Instead, I meet her gaze harshly, jerking my face away from her hand to look over her shoulder at Trace, who’s assessing the damage to Cash’s truck. Snickering, I address him. “Don’t worry, Trace. I’ll take care of all the damages. No need to worry. Your baby sister can take care of herself.”

  His eyes fall toward the ground before he raises them to meet mine as I continue speaking. “I mean, I always have, it’s not like you ever gave a shit about me before. I don’t know why you’re choosing now to actually care.” When his stare moves from me to Harlow I add, “Oh, you’re embarrassed in front of your girlfriend.” I shrug my shoulders. “Makes sense I guess.”

  Directing my attention at her, I offer her my condolences for living. “I’m the bad seed, you know. You should stay far away from me. I’m such an inconvenience to Trace and his perfect existence. Since you’re part of it, I assume you don’t want to be soiled by my presence, either.”

  Laughing, I lean against the truck as the knot in my throat constricts, making it almost impossible to breathe. The admission is almost too much for me tonight. Slowly, Harlow brings her hand back to my face, stroking it once with her fingers before running the palm of her hand down my hair. “Honey, you’re not soiled, you’re bleeding — everywhere. And the first thing you need to know is that your brother doesn’t make any decisions for me, I do, and based on what I’ve gathered, solely on my own deductions, you’re not a bad seed sweetie. You’re just a little lost and you need help finding your way, that’s all.”

  No longer able to control my emotions, I bury my head in my hands and let them flow, safe from the scrutiny of others. Harlow’s hand squeezes lightly on my shoulders, but I keep my eyes covered. “I’m going to get a first aid kit for her. Trace,” her tone full of warning, “Rein it in.”

  As her footsteps become more and more distant, I wait until I can no longer hear them before peeling my fingers away from my face. Once again forced to look into Trace’s eyes, I take in an exhausted breath as he proceeds with his tongue-lashing.

  “What the hell is going on with you?” When I give no response but a blank stare, his brows furrow as he shakes his head.

  “She’s gone, Tatum. We have no one else, only each other now.” He places his hand underneath my chin, constraining me to look only at him while disrupting my attempt to stare at the cute light bulbs on the truck. “I don’t know that I will ever fully understand your hostility for her, but there’s a lot that I can comprehend on my own and this is what I think. I think you’ve hated her so much and for so long that now that she’s gone, you have no idea what to do with yourself or where to channel your anger.”

  Narrowing his eyes, he almost seems as though he’s actually trying to understand. But when he makes his next few statements, I’m reassured that he’s still a judgmental asshole who will never fully recognize the shit I’ve had to endure. “Whatever it is, get over it and grow up. You’re twenty-three, but you’re acting twelve goddamn years old. And who’s left to clean up your mess? Me.” Throwing his hands in the air, he looks back toward Cash’s truck. “Now I have to go handle shit with your stupid-ass boyfriend so that you don’t go to jail tonight. And mark my words, you will owe me. You’ll pay for this window and any other cosmetic damages regarding his truck, and you will be doing this by not only working here, but also working at Blake’s duplexes because we both know that babysitting his kids isn’t going to make you anywhere near the amount of money you’ll owe me and because that’s the only thing I can think of right now.”

  Obviously frustrated, he runs his fingers through his jet black hair. “Go home, sober up, and I’ll text you the address in the morning. Be prepared to actually work, not float through the next couple of months.”

  I watch his mouth moving, but I don’t really hear anything else he’s saying because my mind is honed in on the only part of his tirade that actually scares me.

  Home.

  Where the hell am I going to sleep tonight?

/>   Cash’s is obviously out of the question. And I’m definitely not crashing at Sadie’s — enough criticism has been inflicted this evening without enduring her snotty roommates.

  Shit.

  I’m going to have to go to Mother’s. I’m supposed to be living there anyway, but the lingering memories throughout every square foot of that house haunt me every time I enter it. Unfortunately, it looks as if that’s the only option I have this evening.

  Biting my bottom lip to keep it from trembling, I look back up at Trace’s hardened blue eyes as they just glare in my direction. No more words are spoken between us, and I couldn’t care less.

  I don’t have shit to say to him anyway. I’ve wasted my time pleading my case since I was six years old — he definitely never bothered to try to understand then. Both, repeat both times he returned home to see us, Mother was an absolute angel. She didn’t drink a drop, was overly affectionate toward me, and delivered the perfect performance of a loving, doting mother. I was lucky, I guess. She saved her demons for me and me only. After what felt like hundreds of calls to him asking him to come get me, and with his refusal every single time, I eventually cut him from my life.

  He doesn’t know me.

  He never will.

  My eyes remain locked with his as he continues shooting daggers at me until Harlow finally arrives with the first aid kit. I watch him as he turns and angrily stalks toward the bar as Harlow pulls me over to Trace’s truck and lowers the bed door, urging me to take a seat.

  I’m all alone.

  Always alone.

  She begins cleaning my wounds, and I hiss through my teeth as she lightly dabs the antiseptic cloth where the pooled blood on my arms and legs has already begun to dry. Inspecting for any remaining pieces of glass in my skin, her green eyes sadden as they travel up and down my body, taking in the numerous cuts and gashes. With a tender swipe of her thumb to my cheek, she removes a fallen tear while giving me a sympathetic smile. “You’re gonna be just fine, sweetie.”

  I’m not sure, but I think she’s talking about more than the damage done to my body. After giving her a weakened smile in return, she dips her head in affirmation before squeezing my leg and turning to follow in Trace’s footsteps.

  Wiping my face, I take in another deep breath and turn my head towards Cash’s truck. His back window is completely shattered. And for what? I don’t even really like him that much.

  Shaking my head in disbelief that this is where I am in my life, disappointment squeezes the air right out of my lungs — disappointment in myself, disappointment from everyone else, disappointment from my daddy. I can feel it. Even though he’s not here, his sadness is all around me. The weight of it cloaks my heart every single day I continue my trek down this path. But the hatred for my mother keeps driving me forward. The anger overwhelms me. It festers inside my soul, inside my mind, its darkness spreading throughout my entire being.

  I hate her.

  I hate myself.

  The fact that I’m not strong enough to stop letting her control my actions, disgusts me.

  Lost in thought, I barely notice when two hands attach themselves on each side of my face, pulling it away from the direction of Cash’s truck. My blank gaze lands on the worried brown eyes of Sadie. Lashes still damp from her own tears, she locks stares with me, squeezing my face so hard my cheeks are flattened like pancakes, and my lips shoot forward. Since she says nothing, I have no choice but to cross my eyes and make fishy-face. Jerking her hands away, she attempts not to laugh, but she’s unsuccessful.

  “Damn it Tate, what the hell were you thinking?” she asks, coming off her giggle while rolling her eyes.

  “What? You don’t approve of fishy-face?” I reach out to take her hand as she helps me off of Trace’s truck. All humor in her face has disappeared.

  “Fishy-face was cute. What just happened over there,” she gestures toward Cash’s decimated back window, “That was not. You scared me to death, Tate. You could’ve seriously hurt yourself. And now, well now you’re in a heap of trouble. Trace is pissed.” Hand still joined with mine, she leads me toward her car.

  I roll my eyes and smirk back at her. “Screw Trace. He thinks he can just swoop in here and act like he actually cares? You know what I went through, Sadie, and you also know of his blatant disregard of my welfare, his own baby sister. Frankly, I don’t give a shit if he’s pissed. I’m pissed.”

  She stops dead in her tracks and faces me. “No shit you’re pissed. You’re pissed at the entire world. I completely understand your outrage with Cash. He’s a douche and doesn’t deserve your ass.” She takes my other hand into hers. “But tonight — and don’t get me wrong, I know I played a large part in it, but tonight you crossed a line. I’m starting to really worry about you. You’ve got to find another outlet for this anger, or just let it go. Whatever you need to do, do it because if you don’t, you’re going to wake up one day and realize you’ve wasted your entire life. And then you’re going be even more enraged. It’s a vicious cycle.”

  She lightly squeezes my hands and then lets one go so I can catch the tear clinging to my chin. “I know, Sadie.” I sigh. “You’re not telling me anything I haven’t already thought about. I scared myself tonight. That’s not me. Honestly, I’m not even sure who me is, but I know that’s not it.”

  “You’ll figure it out, Tatum. You will.” She steps forward, and I follow, still hand-in-hand. “I love you, you know,” she says, knocking my shoulder with hers as we walk.

  “I love you too, Sadie. You’re the only person who understands me. I know I must be quite a burden sometimes, and I’m sorry for that.”

  She tightens her grip on my fingers. “Tate — you’re not a burden. I love you like a sister and I would do anything for you including reaming your ass for still dating Cash after the shit he’s put you through.” Sighing out loud, she presses on. “I know you’ll go back to him, you always do. And there’s not a damn thing I can do but sit back and watch you settle for less than what you deserve, less than anyone deserves because he’s an asshole.” She chuckles under her breath. “Well, maybe Ryder…Ryder, I would be okay with.”

  I smile, but then it’s lost as the truth of what she’s saying settles in my mind. “I know, Sadie. But at least he’s someone. And having someone means I’m not alone.”

  “Oh, but you’re wrong, love. You’re never alone. You’ve got me, you’ve even got Trace if you would let him in, but the most important person you have is yourself. Therein lies your problem. For some reason, you refuse to allow yourself to see how important you are. Which is probably the most painful to watch. And for the record, I happen to think the best thing for you is to be alone. Spending time on your own, that’s the only way to discover who you truly are. I think you’ll be surprised at what you find.”

  Approaching Sadie’s car, I drop her hand and reach to open the door. Sinking into the seat, I sit silently, mulling over her words as she crosses the front of the vehicle.

  Everything she’s saying makes perfect sense, for someone like her. But for me, her hopes are just a cruel impossibility. Because as she starts the car to take me home, memories of nights spent hiding in my closet out of pure fear when Mother began her routine searches for me, nights holding myself and crying endlessly after she eventually did find me, nights I couldn’t sleep because the pain from the open welts on my back from her punishment for hiding keeping me awake — all those nights, alone.

  Nope. There’s nothing that Cash could ever do that would hurt me compared to the torment she put me through.

  Sadly, I admit to myself, I’m more than okay with that. With him.

  I still maintain my original opinion that he’s a shithead boyfriend. I’m not stupid.

  But, I also still maintain my other opinion, which seems to outweigh everything else.

  Someone’s better than no one.

  As soon as I hear her drive up, my body tenses. I’m 100% sure she has no idea that I’m working part-time here at Blake�
��s duplexes. Why would she? It’s not like we’ve ever managed to have a civil conversation. So, I’m sure me being here to welcome her will be the big fucking cherry on top of her day.

  After she had left with Sadie last night, I’d received an earful from Trace in his office about Tatum’s stupid ass behavior. I just sat dutifully in the chair and let him vent, for at least an hour. After he’d calmed down a bit, he let me know that he was sending her here to work off any and all debt she would owe him for the damages she caused to Cash’s truck. Granted, replacing a back window isn’t that expensive, but he also took the liberty of adding on bail and legal fees since he talked Cash out of pressing charges. So, needless to say, she’s going to be here for a while. I’m sure she’s not happy about it, and I can guarantee she’s even less ecstatic about it now that she’s spotted my Jeep out front.

  Hearing the front door creak open, I continue painting the cabinets in the kitchen. “Hello?” Her voice echoes through the duplex. After taking in a breath for some much needed patience, I set my brush down in the paint pan, then wipe my hands on my jeans. Entering the living room, I catch my first glimpse of her as she turns slowly, surveying the walls. Both her and her work attire.

  Tight white tank top hugging the curves of her breasts perfectly, more shorts that should be illegal, a pair of navy blue flip flops and a matching navy baseball cap over her dark hair.

  Damn.

  I really need to have another talk with her about the damn shorts, and quite possibly the tank top. There’s no way I’m going to get shit done with all of that going on.

  She turns quickly at the sounds of my boots on the wood floor and the minute she sees me, I get the facial expression I’m so accustomed to — tightened lips and narrowed eyes. “God,” she draws out for about three full seconds as she scrutinizes the ceiling before looking back at me, “I was hoping that wasn’t your Jeep out there. Shit. Did Trace put you up to this?”