Tate
I wish she’d let me go with her. She shouldn’t be going back to New York alone, especially not when I know that motherfucker is there.
She shouldn’t be fucking leaving me here while she goes to deal with this shit herself. That ain’t how it works. It was painfully damn obvious when her mom called that she doesn’t give a shit about Ella—she’s too caught up in believing that Matthew is some perfect husband-to-be when in reality he ain’t worth the bird shit on the roof of my dad’s car.
And now my girl’s gotta go up there, listen to that crap, and try to walk away without being hit once again.
Letting her do it alone is going against every goddamn instinct I possess. She should be here with me, safe, or I should be there with her, making sure she’s safe. But, damn. The fact she’s making me let her go is amazing and shows me who Ella Dawson really is. Once upon a time, she could barely say boo to a goose without barricading herself into a barbed-wire cage for fear of being hurt. Now, though, she’s determined to do this, and she’s determined to do it alone. And I don’t even have the words for how much I respect her strength.
Then, when she gets it, her once upon a time will be done, and I’m gonna do whatever it takes to give my sweet girl her happily ever after.
I stare at her from beneath the covers as she runs a brush through her long, dark hair. She sweeps the wet locks to the side, exposing her neck, and I climb out of bed quietly. My hands clasp her tiny waist perfectly, and I lower my mouth to her neck. She pauses at the touch, then she drops the brush and turns her face into me.
“I thought you were asleep,” she says softly.
“You were out of bed. Of course I’m awake.” I trail my lips down to her shoulder. “You tryna get away without me knowin’?”
She looks up and meets my eyes in the mirror. Her light is dulled by the sadness I see there.
“Els.” I turn her in my arms and clasp my hands at her lower back. She rests her hands on my chest and flexes her fingers. “Don’t run from me, darlin’. I don’t want you to go, but I won’t make you stay if this is what you gotta do.”
“Really?”
“Don’t you know a thing about me?”
“I thought I did, but you keep surprising me.” She smiles.
I return the gesture. “Sure you don’t want me to come?”
“Tate . . .” she sighs. “You have stuff to do with the band. Practices, concerts . . . Plus now you have to deal with the media, since they found out you were taken in for questioning yesterday.”
I grunt. Fucking nosy pricks. “I don’t care, darlin’. I’ll come with you if you want me to. We can reschedule a show.”
“You aren’t rescheduling because of me.” She looks horrified. “No. No, I’m okay. Really.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“I never said you had to. Just . . . pretend.”
“I’m shit at pretendin’,” I mutter, lowering my face to hers. Her lips part, her breath tickling my mouth, and I spin her around and push her backward.
We fall onto my bed and I silence her shocked squeak with a kiss. I kiss her long and hard, until her body relaxes and she winds her fingers into my hair. Until my dick is throbbing and hard, desperate for her.
“Tate,” she says breathlessly.
My lips trail along her jaw and down her neck. I pepper kisses along her collarbone and down her chest to where her towel is tied between her tits.
“Tate,” she repeats. “What are you doing?”
I free the towel and push it to the sides. I cup her breasts and take one of her nipples in my mouth, lavishing attention onto it with my tongue. She gasps and arches her back, her grip on my hair tightening. I turn my attention to the other, giving her other nipple the same treatment, and then kiss my way down her stomach.
“Tate . . .” This time she gasps it, bending her leg up.
“You gotta go, then you gotta go.” I kiss from hip to hip and flick my tongue across her skin. “But I’m gonna give my girl a proper fuckin’ good-bye.”
I hook her legs over my shoulders, lower my mouth, and set right to it.
She passes her purse through security and walks through the body scanner. She pauses on the other side and waves to me, sadness glaring from her chocolate-brown eyes. I lift my hand in good-bye and watch until she disappears into the terminal completely.
My hand, still raised, drops to the top of my head, and my fingers rake through my hair. Fuck me. Every part of this feels so fucking wrong, but there’s nothing I can do. She’s gotta do this. I know that.
I pull out my phone and bring up the last text from her. I hit reply.
Come back to me.
I stare at the screen until the box pops up with her response.
You’re under my skin, Mr. Burke. Only you. XO
My lips form a pained smile and I nod slowly, pocketing my phone.
Fuck.
I’m totally in love with that girl.
“I can’t believe you wrote a song.” Conner stares at the lyrics again, then back up at me. “And it ain’t half bad, man.”
“Really? Feels like a bunch of shit to me.”
“Tate wrote a song?” Ads snatches the sheet of paper and reads it. Kye looks over his shoulder and skirts his eyes across the lines. “Fuck me,” they say.
Conner takes the page back. “I’m guessin’ it doesn’t have music.”
“Nothin’. Just . . . that.”
“Wait here.” He gets up and goes back into the house, still holding the sheet of paper.
I frown after him, but I shake my head and turn back to the twins.
“Quiet without her,” Kye states. Fucking obviously.
“No shit.” I rest my elbows on my knees and lean forward.
“Look like you’ve been hit by a truck,” Ads says, unhelpfully.
“Fuck you.”
“I miss her,” Kye continues. “She’s like a little ray of fuckin’ sunshine despite all the shit, ain’t she? Now it’s dull as hell.”
“Right,” Aidan agrees. “It’s like when Sofie went away all over again, except it’s more shockin’ because the mopey bastard is Tate. Tate.”
“Wanna keep chattin’ or are y’all done yet? Because funnily enough, I know all this crap,” I snap. “One day, some chick is gonna come along and grab y’all by the balls with a vice-like grip and I’m gonna laugh my fuckin’ ass off.”
Aidan sniggers. “No chance.”
“It happened to me. Gonna happen to you.”
“Shit, can’t a guy make three photocopies of a single page without a bitchfest startin’?” Conner teases, handing me the original sheet of lyrics, then Kye and Aidan one each before sitting with a fourth sheet.
Aidan looks down. “What music you thinkin’?”
“More country than rock,” I answer. “Not necessarily a pop tune, but not a ballad either.”
“Right. Classic Tate song.” He gets up and moves to the drum kit. Setting the sheet on his knees, he grabs his drumsticks and drums a slow, steady beat. We sit in silence as his lips move. “Kye. Guitar.”
Kye grabs his guitar without a word and swings a stool over to the drum kit. He puts his lyrics on the floor in front of him and looks at Aidan. Kye’s head bobs a few times, then his fingers move, and he hums the tips over the tight strings. A few more notes and Aidan beats the drums a little harder.
Me and Conner sit back and watch them. The magic they create from fucking nothing is scary as shit. It’s always been that way. Conner writes, they create, I go along with. But this time, it’s my damn words they’re bringing to life.
Kye and Aidan sync in a terrifying way, but when it creates music like this, it’s more amazing than terrifying. Scratch that, it’s both. Terrifyingly fucking amazing.
“Like that?” Aidan asks, resting his sticks down.
“Exactly like that,” I confirm.
“Fuck yeah!” Conner inputs, grabbing a guitar. “Let’s do this.”
I grab my bass guitar and pull up a stool. Conner falls into the melody seamlessly, and I close my eyes, humming the words to the beat, my lips forming a smile as it fits perfectly. Sure, there’re probably some notes out of place here and there, and some chord changes are needed, but the beat, the pace . . . it’s fucking perfect.
It’s Ella. All over.
You’re not broken, baby, you ain’t shattered,
Maybe a little cracked, but darlin’,
I can fix you if you let me.
Let me soothe the sting, let me kiss your scars,
Let me wipe your tears and dry your cheeks,
I’ll hold you tight and love you deep.
As soon as we finish the song, we launch back into it, both me and Conner singing. We stop whenever something needs changing or tweaking.
Over and over, we sing, play, adjust, redo. We switch a few odd words out in the lyrics so it fits better musically, but the feel stays the same. Over and over.
We don’t leave the garage for six hours.