Page 14 of Wild for the Knight

She’d been my safe haven most of my life. Not that my parents were absent or mean, but she understood me better than anyone else ever had. I remember one year in high school when I wanted to be the cool kid and sleep with the guy I was dating; she talked me out of it. Not in the way you’re thinking, but in the emotional sense. How would it feel to be tied to that guy for the rest of my life? Would I be okay knowing he was my first?

Luckily, we had that talk because the week I got back from her house, I walked in on him with some other girl. Apparently, I wasn’t moving fast enough. I called her in tears, but her words still act as a hug to my heart to this day. “Abby, there is nothing you can do to make someone love you. Love is given freely, sweetheart. It’s not earned. There’s no timeline, fast or slow; each relationship sets its own pace.”

She sighed wistfully, no doubt thinking of my late uncle, before continuing, “The right one won’t make you question anything, especially yourself. You’ll just know. They’ll fit into your life like they were always part of it. They won’t ask you to change or to hurry up. They’ll love you as you are for the sole fact that you are you. Nothing more, nothing less. Hold out for that kind of love, my dear.”

I swipe at my face as a lone tear makes a breakaway, I miss her. It’s moments like this that I wish I would have spent more time with her while she was still alive. What I wouldn’t give to have her wisdom over this particular situation. My walk down memory lane is interrupted by a deep, baritone, “Over here.”

I turn and realize he’s already sitting at the bar, his arm slung over the high back of the barstool he pulled out for me. My feet feel like they weigh five hundred pounds as I move slowly in his direction. “I love this place,” I say as I slide into the seat, leaning my forearms against the bar, my gaze locked on the rolling waves in the distance.

“Me too. I’ve been coming here for a long time.” I turn my head slightly to the side so I can look at him. He’s now looking at the ocean. Who would have thought we had something in common?

The silence that stretches between us isn't heavy. It's peaceful until it isn’t. “Well, well! My night is looking up.” My head turns toward the voice in time to see a guy with a buzzed head move in our direction. His hands rub together like he’s won some ridiculous prize, his eyes never leaving mine.

I flinch only for Tate to place his hand on my knee and give it a light squeeze. “I do like ‘em fiery!” the guy calls as he places coasters in front of us. The ball of dread that had dissipated at some point during our drive here is back with a vengeance.

Tatum’s jaw pops with how hard it’s clenched. I watched the muscle physically jump, it’s impressive. “She isn’t here for you, Tristan.” His low growl a clear warning, but the guy I now realize is someone he knows just smiles. I relax a little knowing I’m safe with Tate. What a weird concept.

“For you, then, kicks?” He says as his eyebrow pulls tight at the center. The hand on my knee tightens a bit, I flex my quad silently letting him know I’m good.

“Can’t I be here for myself?” I ask as my voice decides to cooperate. My eyes land on Tatum’s shoulders, which are pulled up to his ears. His poor trap muscles. I put my hand on them and push down, forcing him to relax. When his eyes cut to mine, I just shrug. “Occupational hazard, kicks.”

Tristan laughs as Tatum’s scowl deepens. “Yup, I stand by my statement from last time. I like her.”

“You’ve been talking about me, Sunshine?” My voice comes out a raspy whisper as I lean into him a bit. He rumbles in response, it’s dark and dangerous, and travels straight to my gut. The warmth intensifies when his hands come together in front of him, his chin dropping to rest on his thumbs, as his head turns to look down at me.

Tristan's eyes bounce between the two of us, and Tate finally grinds out, “Enough.” I lock eyes with our friendly bartender, a smile spreading across his face, starting a chain reaction. Before I know it, we’re both laughing as the man next to me looks like he’s mentally running through all the ways he can put us six feet under.

“I’ll take water with lemon and chicken tenders with extra honey mustard, please.” My eyes cut to my right. “And whatever grumpy gills here wants.” I slide my card toward him. He grabs it and swipes it into the computer system to keep our tab open before handing it back to me with a wink.

“The usual?” Tristan asks Tate, who just nods in response.

“So, how are you feeling about your brother getting married?” I ask after our waters are placed in front of us.

“I’m happy for him.” He takes a drink, a drip falling from the straw as he puts it back down. I watch as he brushes it off his arm with his thumb. His forearms meet the bar top as he threads his fingers together. He looks over at me and, like always, plays Devil’s advocate. “I’d put money on the fact that you aren’t happy about it.”

I scoff. “I’m not particularly happy about the change that comes with it, but I am happy for the two of them.” I sigh, oh to have the love they have. “They deserve the life they’re building together. I don’t know of two people better suited for each other than they are.”

His only acknowledgment is a nod. “Wanna talk about earlier?” Like a pin to a balloon, I pop.

“Nope,” I bite out as my fingers fidget with the corner of the napkin in my lap. There are many things I’d rather do than talk about earlier. Like watch paint dry, or roll around in shards of glass naked as the day I was born.

The scent of sand and sea hangs in the air, but all I can smell is that night. Sweat, the awful cologne they wore, the sweetness of the pounds of product they used to keep their hair in the perfect place. I blink hard, willing the phantom sensation of hands on my arms and waist to go away.

He doesn’t push, but I know what he sees: someone controlling, bossy. What he doesn’t see is the girl I was before. The girl who had control ripped from her. The girl who learned the only way to keep herself safe, was to take it back and hold on for dear life.

I start to open my mouth, ready to deflect for what feels like the hundredth time today, but in a stroke of luck, our food arrives before either of us can say another word. The smell of chicken tenders and fries pushes out the lingering scents from the past. I don’t think I’ve ever been more thankful for greasy, fried food in my life.

“Praise the Lord,” I mutter as I reach for a fry like it’s a magic wand with the capability of erasing all memories of today. He doesn’t say anything else, but the heat from his stare is hot on the side of my face. He’s still looking, still seeing entirely too much. I, however, shove a fry in my mouth and pretend I don’t have a care in the world.

After we finish eating, we take the scenic route back to Tatum’s. The drive is peaceful, the rumble of the engine shaking the remaining unease out of me as we go. The warmth from his back against my cheek is oddly satisfying.

There’s never been a time I’ve wanted to share this part of my life with someone. Never been a time where I wanted to admit I found myself in a situation where I was overpowered and broken in a way I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy. Left to bleed on the floor of a supply closet, alone. Every part of me felt violated, used, and disgusting. I hated myself for years. Sometimes I still do.

When we get back to Tatum's apartment, I grab my purse and walk straight back out to my car. I don’t give myself time to second guess myself, just make a beeline for the driver’s side before I do something stupid. Like, admit that maybe, he isn’t the absolute worst.

I don’t trust myself around him anymore today. This new development in his ability to be a decent human being, mixed with the freeze I had and all those accompanying emotions, has made my decision-making skills non-existent.

I yank my door open with more force than necessary, sliding in and gripping the door handle like it might stop the tiny voice in my head that’s telling me to stay, to see if that softness from earlier was just a fluke, a momentary lapse of reason. To test if maybe, just maybe, Hannah was right and there’s more to him than the infuriating jerk of a soccer player I’ve barely tolerated up until now.