Burn for Me (3 page)

His dad.

Son of a bitch.

The monster who’d taken his mother away.

“What are you doing here?”

Douglass Bell inclined his head. “I’m here to see my wife.” He tried to smile but as Tate continued to glare at him, Doug just sighed and reached up, rubbing a hand across his head. “How have you been, Tate?”

Ignoring his father’s question, he focused on the first thing Doug had said.

“Here to see your
wife
?”

Disgust flooded him. Closing the distance between them, he glared down at the shorter man. He stood six foot three, a good six inches taller than his father. His height had come from his mother’s side of the family and he used it to good advantage just then, but Doug didn’t look away, didn’t back down. “You don’t get to call her your wife. You lost that right when you killed her.”

“Tate…” Doug shook his head. “I didn’t kill your mother. I loved her.”

Shooting out a hand, he closed it over the front of his dad’s T-shirt. The material was old and faded and it stretched under Tate’s hand. Jerking his father close, he glared down at him. “You loved her. Yeah, that’s why one of the last things I remember you ever saying to her was
trailer trash
. That’s how you talk to the woman you love, Dad?”

“We had a fight,” Doug said, his voice rough. “You are never going to understand how much I regret that night. But it doesn’t change the fact that I didn’t kill her. I loved your mother.”

“Stop it,” Tate said. “Just…”

Without saying anything else, he shouldered past his father, trying to ignore the ghosts and demons shouting inside his head. Too many ghosts. Too many demons.

*   *   *

Ali came around the corner, her feet tired, her back aching. She practically stopped in her tracks at the sight of the man across the street, striding out of the small cemetery.

Her boys, whooping and carrying on like a couple of miniature monsters, were already at the gate in front of their house and they didn’t see him.

A good thing, considering the look on his face.

The crack in her heart widened.

Seeing him now, striding out of the cemetery, wasn’t a surprise.

Nor was she surprised to see the older man, standing with his head bowed and shoulders slumped. Doug Bell looked like he carried the weight of the world on his shoulders.

Madison had more than its share of misery, and the Bell family was one of the sadder stories. Tate and his sisters had lost their mother, Nichole, almost fifteen years ago. Ali’s heart ached as she watched him walk away from his mother’s headstone, the grave empty, because her body had never been found.

Although Tate would never want to hear it, Ali’s heart ached for Doug, too.

She’d seen the man grieving by the graveside too often. He hadn’t killed his wife. Ali knew it, in her heart.

Tate caught sight of her and slowed. For a second, she thought he’d just change direction and she readied herself for that subtle rejection, but he didn’t. He walked right up to her and she mentally feasted on the sight of him even as she tried to brace herself.

He needed a haircut. The strands, dark, dark brown, hung near to his shoulders now, held out of his face by a rubber band. She loved pulling it free, fisting her hands in his hair as he hovered over her and drove inside. She loved brushing it back from his face when he put his head in her lap. She loved watching the way he tied it back from his face when he was working on one of the bikes he liked to rebuild—a hobby more than anything else—or when he was trying to coax a few more months out of her busted-up car. She really loved the way he looked when he was in his studio creating one of those warped creations he called art. His face would be hidden by whatever he called the shield thing he wore to protect him from the sparks from his blowtorch, but she knew under it, his face would be a mask of intensity. Sweat would dampen his shirt, gleam along his muscles. Her belly tightened just thinking about it.

If she was honest, there was very little about Tate that she didn’t love.

Too bad that wasn’t what he wanted from her.

He came to a stop in front of her just as her boys caught sight of him.

“Tate!” They shrieked out his name and came tumbling out of the yard, barreling in his direction.

A grin split his face and she wished she could react the way they did, just run toward him and see his face light up like that.

While they waited for the kids to join them, she asked softly, “How are you doing today?”

“Fine.” He shrugged restlessly.

She should have let it go. She knew that. Sliding her gaze past him, she looked at the cemetery, her gaze lingering on Doug. Then she looked back at Tate. “No, you’re not.”

A dark brow arched up but before he could respond, her oldest, Joey, reached them, out of breath and panting. “I’m going to a birthday party. I’m staying up until midnight.”

“Is that a fact?” Tate reached out and nudged him in the shoulder. “Just who is having a birthday?”

“Ryan Dolenz. He’s nine. He lives up on the hill and we’re making burgers and swimming and staying up all night.”

“Sounds like a plan, Joey. Eat some cake for me.” He rubbed his hand across Joey’s already tousled blond hair.

“I want cake.” Nolan finally reached them, his eyes big and solemn. He leaned against Ali’s leg, glaring at Joey. “I want to go to the party, too.”

“You can’t. You’re a baby.”

“I am
not
!”

Before a fight could break out, Ali stepped between them. “We’re staying up late on our own, Nolan, remember? Cookies?
Avengers
?”

Tate slid his palm down her spine, settled it low on her hip. That light caress sent a shiver through her. “That sounds like a fun party.”

“You’re welcome to join us.”

She’d made the offer before. She expected the same response she always got. He’d come by and work on her car. He’d come by on the weekends and see her sometimes, play with the boys. He’d slip in once the boys went to bed … and they’d have their own private party.

But he never did anything that might be construed as
serious
 … no dinner dates. No dates period. Nothing that might lead the kids to thinking there was anything going on—that was how
he
phrased it. She’d had to bite her lip to keep from telling him he was an idiot. Kids were smarter than people thought and they’d draw their own conclusions.

When he didn’t answer right away, she moved in closer and reached up to brush his hair back from his brow. His eyes came to rest on hers and she asked, “Wanna come over tonight?”

A sad smile tugged at his lips and he shrugged, gazing out over the river. “I don’t think I’m good company right now, Ali.” He dipped his head and pressed a kiss to her lips, quick and light.

Before he could back away, she caught his shirt, fisted her hand in it. “Maybe that’s why you need company. Today’s not a good day for you to be alone.”

“I’ll be fine.”

Then he pulled back and without saying anything else, he left.

Sighing, she watched him for a moment. Of course he’d be
fine …
or fine enough.

He’d be angry. Lonely. Hurting.

He’d get by … alone. Just like always.

All without letting her in.

It’s not going to happen,
she told herself.

It wouldn’t happen … and as long as she kept waiting for him to give her some scrap of
something,
she’d wait around, settling for next to nothing.

Maybe it was time to let go.

It was a thought that ripped her heart almost in two.

Let go … she tried to imagine going through the days without having him to look forward to. Seeing him walking through town and know that he wasn’t hers. Not in any way.

A knot swelled inside her chest and the pain was almost enough to have her gasping for air.

Right now, in some small way, he was hers. When he lay against her in the night, that long, hard body pressed to hers, his hand tangled in her hair while their bodies cooled and their breath calmed, he
felt
like hers.

As he continued to walk away, without even looking back, she had to wonder … was it enough anymore?

She just didn’t know.

Chapter Three

“… just get the hell out…”

Tate stood in his studio.

His tools lay spread out in front of him.

The materials he needed to make something were right there. If he could just bring an image of something to mind, some remnant of the chaos, he could make this darkness inside him spill out. Purge himself.

He’d always been able to lose himself in his art, but right now, even that escape seemed to be closed to him.

He’d tried to sleep and the nightmares sent him gasping back into awareness before he’d managed even an hour.

It wasn’t late—he hadn’t slept much the night before and he’d thought he could crash for a while and then work the night through, but screw that idea.

Now, standing in the dark garage he’d converted into a work area, he tried to think past the nightmares so he could work.

But he couldn’t.

“I loved your mother…”

“You son of a bitch,” he rasped.

That bastard could talk to him about love?

How in the hell could he talk about love?

He’d taken her away—

Grief, an awful storm of it rose inside him and he was tempted to grab his blowtorch and use it, not to
create,
but to destroy. Because he didn’t trust himself not to do it, he locked himself out of the studio and stormed away from his home. He had no destination in mind, not right away.

He just had to move.

Images of his mother’s face flashed in front of him.

Usually, the memories were faded, softened by time, but on nights like tonight, they were keen as a blade. The screams were just as loud, her voice, angry and hurt, raged on while his father’s, that big, deep voice, bellowed out, full of bile and ugliness.

“Trailer trash … just get on out…”

Minutes ticked by into hours.

He had no idea how long he walked, how far.

He found himself standing in front of Ali’s.

Dully, he stared at the brightly lit windows. Inside, they’d be watching
The Avengers
and eating cookies.

The simplicity of it called to him and more than anything, he wanted to be in there, his arms wrapped around Ali. And Nolan. Nolan would probably already be asleep and that was just fine. Having that kid curled up on his lap while they finished off the movie and cookies, that sounded like … heaven.

“Fuck.” He stared at the sky, where a thousand stars shone down on him.

He shouldn’t be here.

It was the only place he wanted to be—the only place he’d ever found any peace at all.

*   *   *

Nolan hadn’t even made it to
Puny God … smash, smash, smash
 …

Ali sat in the darkened room, watching Bruce Banner as the Hulk smash Loki into the floor. Her son had his face buried against her thigh and she was probably going to have to treat the khakis she wore for stains from the icing that had been on the cookies, but that was okay.

In the hours since Tate had walked away …
again
 … she realized she had to change things. Her life, as it was, sort of sucked. She had her boys, and she loved them. She had her job, which she liked and at some point, she’d take over the pizza place from her parents, but that wasn’t the problem.

She was
lonely
. Deep inside, in a place that just couldn’t be filled with a girls’ day out, or hugs from her kids, or a talk with her mom. She was
lonely
. She loved Tate and what she wanted, more than anything, was for him to fill that void.

It would never happen. Because he wouldn’t let it.

This
couldn’t be all she’d ever have in her life … a job that wore her out and a guy who’d only be there when he’d let himself.

She wanted …
no,
she
needed
more than that.

As long as he was around, though, she wouldn’t ever let herself look for anybody else.

I can’t believe I’m thinking about doing this
. It was a bitter, ugly pain that had settled inside her chest and now that Nolan was asleep, she let herself really acknowledge it. Once he was in bed, she was going to lock herself in her room, run a hot bath, and … she swallowed and dropped her head onto the back of the couch.

Cry her damn eyes out. That was what she was going to do.

She was getting ready to boot Tate out of her life and it was going to break her heart.

Half-dead inside already, she watched as Tony Stark shot up into the sky, through a narrow little opening, and tears tried to form, but she blinked them back. No. No tears now. Not until later. Once the choice was made, she’d bawl. After she’d told him, she’d bawl.

Not while her son was sprawled asleep on her lap.

Later, though …

Then she heard the door open and her heart skipped a few dozen beats. Sucking in a deep breath, she turned her head just as he appeared in the doorway, his shadow falling across the floor.

Her bruised, practically bleeding heart gave a feeble, desperate jump.

The hand that lay in her lap closed into a fist.

Now. He was here
now
.

This …

She was right.

This
was all they’d ever have. It was almost ten. He’d come here now when it was late, and Nolan was asleep. He’d hang around for a couple of hours and then he’d disappear again.

All but breathless as the pain slammed into her, she looked back at the TV.
I can’t do this anymore
.

The floorboards creaked under him as he came toward her and settled down on the couch next to her. Her body shifted toward his as the cushions gave under his weight and the scent of him wrapped around her. The longing inside her spread.
You son of a bitch
. Part of her wanted to shove him away from her. The other part wanted to cling to him, wanted to beg.