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‘Fucking awful.’
‘Can I get you anything?’
He shakes his head and winces. ‘A new brain would be good.’
She reaches across and holds his hand. ‘All out of those I’m afraid. So, you two looked deep in conversation when I came in. What’s going on?’
Gregg nods towards the page still sitting in the table with the photo of Chloe on it. ‘Just trying to convince this stubborn git to do something about these letters.’
‘It’s just some out of control—’
‘Stop right there,’ Gregg interrupts. ‘Don’t go mentioning out of control fans. Someone has got access to your life, Tate. The photo of you and Chloe is wrong, but having that assessment is a few dozen steps too far.’
Tate rubs his forehead as the pressure builds behind his eyes. He feels like death warmed up. The last thing he needs or wants right now is to head down that fucked up road.
‘Leave it.’ Tate closes his eyes as a wave of nausea hits. When it passes, he pushes to his feet and wobbles as he tries to get his balance. ‘You can both relax. It won’t happen again. I’m grand.’ He realises the stupidity of that statement before he sees the look on their faces. ‘Well, I will be. It was a slip up, but I’ll deal with it.’
‘No offence buddy, but the last time you tried to deal with something yourself you ended up sticking a needle in your arm.’
He buries his head in his hands, wincing as the throbbing kicks up a level. ‘Jesus, Gregg.’
‘Sorry, but you don’t have a great track record.’
‘I had a fucking drink. It’s not a big deal.’
‘It is when you’ve not touched a drop since February. And you didn’t have a drink. You had a whole bottle.’
‘Back off, Gregg. I don’t need a fucking lecture from you.’
‘What about from me then?’
Tate sighs and looks over at Chloe. ‘You know what? How about you both talk about me behind my back while I go and throw up.’ He has no idea how he convinces his body to move but it does.
Tate drags his sorry ass into the downstairs bathroom and frowns when he catches his reflection in the mirror. He didn’t think it was possible but he looks worse than he feels, which is an achievement in itself.
He lunges for the toilet and spends a few minutes seriously regretting opening that fucking bottle.
Once his stomach gives him a break, he slumps back against the shower stall and closes his eyes as the room spins. How the hell has he ended up here again? It was like the small part of his brain reserved for making sensible decisions took leave of his body for a few hours. Seeing Chloe’s face on the page above those words had knocked him off course. Then he read the report attached to the back and he knew he was in trouble.
Whoever is messing with him successfully upped the ante with that last message. They really wanted to get to him and it worked. The photo of Chloe would have been enough, but to add the drink and the report... that was the final straw.
Just because the doctor who examined him suspected sexual abuse doesn’t mean it actually happened. He laughs harshly to himself. Who’s he trying to convince? Gregg didn’t buy it and he doesn’t either. His dad hit him and his mother, then killed her. Is it really so difficult to believe he was capable of other unspeakable acts?
‘Stop thinking about it!’
He grabs the edge of the sink and pulls himself to his feet. Chloe doesn’t deserve to be dragged into his past. It’s got nothing to do with her.
Gregg pounds on the door. ‘Hey! You okay?’
‘Can I not get five fucking minutes alone?’
‘You’ve been in there for half an hour.’
There’s no answer to that so he turns on the shower and dumps his clothes on the floor. The hot water helps him feel a little more human but uses up the last of his energy reserves. He wraps a towel around his waist and slowly picks up his clothes. When he walks back to the living room, Chloe and Gregg are cooking something that pushes his stomach to its limits. He dumps his clothes and disappears back into the bathroom until he comes to an uneasy truce with his body.
‘I take it from your reaction you don’t fancy a bacon butty?’ Gregg says as he reappears.
‘I’ll pass.’
