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Fuck, what kind of man did that make me?
Certainly not the kind of man who deserved to be with someone like Tate. Or Matty.
Jesus, I needed to get a fucking grip. I didn’t want Tate or his kid. I wanted Revay. I wanted our son. Tate was just…a distraction. A warm, sweet, kind, gorgeous distraction.
It was my own voice that called me a liar this time around. I hadn’t heard Revay’s whisper in my ear in a while…not since I’d actually buried myself deep inside of Tate’s body two nights ago. And worse, the only voice I now heard when I remembered the words scrawled across my body, my wife’s final ode to what we’d had, was Tate’s.
“You ready to go?”
I flinched when Tate’s arm brushed mine as he leaned against the railing next to me. I hoped to God he hadn’t noticed my reaction, but when he put several inches between us, I knew that he had. I glanced over my shoulder and saw that Mr. Duncan had gone inside at some point.
“Nothing?” I asked, since I’d ended up tuning out the end of their conversation.
Tate just shook his head.
Despite the intimacy we’d shared this morning in the motel’s bathroom, we hadn’t spoken much since then and I’d been incredibly careful not to touch Tate. Because he’d already seen me at my lowest. And touching him the way I wanted to just wasn’t an option – because I couldn’t give him more of what I’d only given to Revay. I would give him pleasure with my body and I’d take the same from him, but I couldn’t give him what I knew he wanted…what I saw in his eyes every time he looked at me. What I’d felt in his embrace this morning as his skin had soaked up the few tears I hadn’t been able to keep from falling.
“We could try talking to the sheriff about the explosion, but I’m not sure he’d tell us anything.”
“Why not?” I asked as I followed Tate down the steps and towards my truck.
“He always looked the other way when it came to Buck and Denny. Pay was better, I guess.”
“Buck paid him off?”
Tate nodded.
“How do you know?”
“It doesn’t matter,” Tate said as he reached for the truck’s door handle. Despite my promise to myself not to touch him, I did just that and gently turned him to face me before he could open the door.
“It matters to me,” I said as I backed Tate up until his back hit the door. He didn’t struggle in any way and, in fact, he looked almost relieved.
“I asked him for help once.”
“The sheriff?”
Tate nodded. “Buck made me run drugs for him when I was younger. I thought if I had the proof in my hands, the sheriff could arrest Buck.”
“What happened?” I asked, though I pretty much knew the answer.
“He put me in his squad car along with the drugs, drove me back to my house and told Buck what I’d done. Buck handed him some cash, told him to keep the drugs as a bonus and then beat me so bad I blacked out right there in the driveway. I have no idea how long I was laying there for, but Denny dumped some water on me, pointed a gun at my head and told me he’d managed to talk Buck out of killing me. But if I ever opened my mouth again, Denny said he’d shoot me himself.”
“Tate-”
“We should go, Hawke. There’s one other person I want to talk to.”
Tate’s body had gone stiff as he’d spoken and as tempted as I was to try to coax some of the easiness back into it, I knew it wasn’t the time or place so I nodded and stepped back. I walked around the truck and got in and tried not to feel disappointed that Tate refused to look at me. It was, after all, what I wanted…distance, time to think.
It only took a few minutes to get to our destination and I knew instantly who we were going to see when Tate told me to pull into the bank’s parking lot. His piece of shit ex had worked in a bank and had been the one who’d told Buck where Tate was two years earlier.
“Your ex?” I growled.
“Reggie,” Tate responded as he unbuckled his seat belt. “Although I suppose calling him my ex is generous. He was more of a fuck buddy and not a very good one at that.”
Tate made a move to get out of the truck, but I grabbed him by the wrist to stop him.
“What does that mean?”
Tate sighed and then shrugged. “It’s a small town, Hawke. Not a lot of options for a scrawny, scared kid with a homophobic father and brother.”
“So you weren’t in love with him?” I asked, hating the jealousy that was surging through me. Fortunately, Tate didn’t seem to notice it.
