Page 27 of Wild for the Knight

After I let the scalding water wash away some of the guilt, I feel a bit better. I’m still restless, though, agitated might be the better word. My skin is too tight, my clothes are too itchy, I can’t stand still, and my head is doing cartwheels. I’m good, then I’m not. I’m okay, then I’m pissed that I put my friends in that position. I’m safe, then I’m freaking out that the texts I got the other day had a real threat behind them. I’m dizzy. I’m tired, and I want off this stupid ride.

I need to hit something or go lift something heavy. Running isn’t doing it for me, but I can’t do either of those things because my freaking hand is a giant blister at the moment. There’s a knock on the adjoining bathroom door before Tatum sticks his head in.

“Hey, can I come in?” His voice is hesitant, so unlike him; usually, he jumps at the chance to push against all my boundaries.

I debate whether I actually can deal with him right now or not. Something in his expressions, something almost fragile, has me nodding. He steps inside, letting the door close softly behind him, he crosses the room like he’s done it a hundred times before, like he belongs here. He drops onto the bed, sinking into the mattress as he leans back against the headboard, his ankles cross, making him look like he’s right at home.

Then I notice the bowl in one hand and a plate in the other. My breath catches. No. There’s no way. Apples and peanut butter. Peeled apples. Eight slices. My stomach threatens to take off with all the butterflies fluttering around it.

“How?” the word barely make it past my lips, a stunned whisper. My eyes flick up to his, then back to the plate before meeting his once more. There’s nothing but genuine care in his eyes. He watches me, unreadable, his gaze steady as his head falls slightly to the side.

My throat feels like I swallowed nails as I gesture to the plate. “The apples. They’re peeled. There’s eight. How did you–” I stop myself before the words make it out because he’s already told me the answer. I just didn’t listen. He paid attention even when we couldn’t stand to be in the same room. Even when I thought our “friendship” was more of a “toleration.”

The weight of that is suffocating. I don’t know what to do with it. He shrugs like it’s nothing out of the ordinary. Like it’s the norm for him to pick up and remember little details about me when I barely let myself think about him outside of an insult or an argument.

“Relax, Tink,” he drawls, releasing a smirk that does the exact opposite of helping me relax. “It’s just apples.” But it isn’t just apples, is it?

He pats the bed next to him and I walk to the opposite side and mirror his position. As he hands me the plate, he asks, “Are you okay?” I watch his forearm flex as he grabs a strawberry from his bowl, popping it into his mouth in a move that has no business being as hot as it is.

I’m convinced there’s something wrong with me. I’m going through a quarter-life crisis or something. Maybe it’s coming face to face with the men who abused me, maybe it’s the realization that I don’t hate Tatum Wilder. Not even the tiniest bit. Or maybe it’s text messages that came and went like it was just an appetizer for what's coming next. Whatever it is, I’m blaming it for my next action.

I put my plate on the nightstand before grabbing his bowl and placing it next to mine. His confused expression turns to shock as I climb over him and straddle his legs. My hands find his shoulders as our eyes meet, the fire in his matches the flames burning me from the inside. “No, I’m not okay,” I say as I lean into his chest, tucking my head under his chin. He lowers his head, holding me in place, a move that feels like a security blanket.

He wraps his arms around my lower back, his thumbs drawing circles on the exposed skin. I don’t know how long he does this, but at the moment, I feel so safe that I relax for the first time in I don’t know how long. I let go, I don’t feel the need to be in control. I know I’m safe here. I know he’s got me.

A knock on the door has us both flinching. As I pull myself upright, a sleepy smile takes over his face. We just fell asleep together, and nothing in my life has ever felt more right. Damn it, this is going to be a problem.

The knock gets a little louder this time, “Abs, are you in there? I need some girl time,” Hannah whines through the door. “There’s entirely too much testosterone out here.” Tatum can’t hold his laughter back at that comment. My eyes widen, and I slap a hand over his mouth as his head falls back against the headboard.

“Tate?!” She gasps. “Did you kill my best friend?” I try to pull myself together as I walk to the door. I swing it open to meet a gaping Hannah. My hand white knuckles the frame as I try not to laugh at her shock.

“If anyone is killing anyone, it would be me that killed him. Don’t you think?” I ask as I wiggle my eyebrows at her. Her pearly whites come into view as she smiles, a view that warms my heart. I jerk my head toward the bed, indicating she can come in.

I plop back in the spot I was in before falling asleep, grabbing my apples, and then handing Tatum his bowl of fruit. Hannah sits at the foot of the bed, her eyes bouncing between the two of us. Watching us like we’re some endangered species on a NatGeo special.

“Spit it out,” Tatum says as he bites down on a blueberry. Our eyes still focused on an epically confused Hannah.

“You guys are hanging out? Willingly?” We nod in unison. “And punches aren’t being thrown?” We look at each other before turning back to Hannah. I shrug, dipping my apple in the peanut butter before taking a bite, effectively buying us some time.

“Turns out he’s not so bad,” I say with a wink in my best friend's direction. Her jaw drops seconds before she’s burying her face in her hands, shoulders shaking with laughter.

“Okay, who are you? And what have you done with my best friend?” She laughs again. “The she-man Tatum hater.” Tatum chuffs as he wraps his arm around my shoulder and pulls me into his side. I look up at him, hoping to convey my best “what the hell are you doing” face, but instead, he just smirks before proceeding to put his knuckles to the top of my head and giving me the worst friggin noogie I’ve had since I lived at home with four older brothers.

“TATUM JAMES!” I shriek as I try to swat his hand off my head, but Lord Almighty, the man is strong. “I take it back, he still sucks!” I say as I break into laughter. He soon follows suit, and when he finally stops turning my hair into a rat's nest, we look up to see Hannah with tears in her eyes.

Oh, shoot, what did we do? “Han, what’s wrong?” Her watery smile hits me square in the gut while simultaneously making me freak out that I’m going to get an earful from Greyson for making her cry. But before that thought grows legs and runs off, she launches herself at the two of us.

Hooking her arms around our necks, her shaky inhale vibrates through me, “I’m just so happy you two are getting along.” She sniffles, “I’ve prayed for this for years. You two mean the world to me; selfishly, I want to keep you both forever.” I run my hand down her back as I let those words sink in.

Redirect, redirect. “Well, you can’t keep me forever.” I whisper, “At some point, I’m going to find myself a nice guy, get married, and pop out some babies.” She pulls back and glares at me. I bring my finger to my lips and tap it a few times. “I mean, there’s always the dog option. There’s still time for you to ditch homeboy out there. Land and dogs, remember?”

Her absent-minded stare has me a bit worried before the signature Hannah belly laugh rings through the room. “I mean, we also said we could find some brothers.” She tilts her head in Tatum’s direction; his eyes are hard and burn a hole through me. “But let a man try to come between us; I’ll schedule a vacation to Niagara Falls. Four will go; only two will return.” She and I break into a fit of laughter, and when my eyes land on Tate; he looks pissed. Not only that, he looks possessive. Over me? I’m seeing things, right?

Chapter 13 - Tatum

I storm out of Abby’s room, letting the bathroom door slam behind me. As soon as she brought up “a nice guy,” my blood started boiling. Things have been easier between us since we got here. The hate I thought we held for each other may, in all reality, be something we just fell into because it was easier that way.

There’s a forbidden fruit kind of attraction here. One I’m dying to explore, for more than one reason. But what solidified said attraction for me was when she planted herself in my lap and fell asleep. She let herself be vulnerable around me, to trust me enough to keep her safe while she couldn’t do it herself. Is it just that I can’t have her, and that’s why I’m so worked up about it? Or is it the fact that she’s told me multiple times we can’t do this, but then her body tells me a totally different story?