Reparation (27 page)

“We have unfinished business,” he informed her.

Tate would have done anything, at that moment, to get out of that elevator. So many thoughts were pinging around in her head. She wanted to scream. She wanted to cry. She wanted to slap him across the face. She wanted to throw herself at him,
so badly
. She wanted Jameson to erase every single one of Nick's touches. She wanted to tell him that she had slept with Nick, see if it would scare him off for good. See if it wouldn't bother him at all. Luckily, she didn't have to say or do any of that – the elevator lurched to a stop and the doors slid open.

“I thought we said everything we had to say,” she told him, breezing out into the hallway. He followed her.

“I thought so, too. I was wrong,” he replied.

“Really? You seemed pretty satisfied, last time I saw you,” she reminded him.

“I was
angry
. You have a tendency to make me that way. I was hoping we could talk,” he said.

“When have we
ever
'
just talked
'?” she laughed.

“We could start. Right now,” he suggested. She stopped in front of her door, her hands shaking so badly she couldn't get her key card in the slot. He took it from her, opened her door. She glared at him.

“Too late. I said everything
I
wanted to say, so I'm sorry if you -,”

“You said you loved me. That doesn't just go away,” he told her. She blinked at him in surprise.

“Yeah, and I also told you it was a lie.”

“
That's
a lie. You loved me. You love me
right now
. Why can't you just admit it?” he asked.

He was so calm, it was making her uncomfortable. Jameson was never calm. He was a walking ball of energy, full of spice and vinegar. Always scratching, always lashing. Never calm. Tate didn't know what to do with this Jameson.

“Because,” she breathed, then cleared her throat. “It doesn't matter.”

“It matters to
me
.”

“Well, not to me. Not anymore. You told me to figure shit out. I did. I don't want this,” she told him, feeling bold. He laughed.

“That baby isn't mine. It was wrong of you not to trust me, but I'm willing to forgive that,” he told her. She felt enraged.

“How magnanimous of you. I
know
the baby isn't yours, and that
still
doesn't change how I feel about you,” she snapped at him.

“Good, because you're in love with me.”

“Stop saying that!” she yelled at him.

“Why? Because it's true?”

“
Stop it!
” Tate was almost shrieking.

“Tate, Sanders and I
drove
here. Do you have any idea what that's like? I thought I was going to have to kill him and dump his body in Oklahoma,” Jameson told her. She was stunned.

“Why on earth would you drive here!?” she exclaimed.

“Because. I had to see you, but I needed time, to work some stuff out. And when we go home, I wanted more time with you, so
we
could work some stuff out,” he explained. Her rage level went to Defcon Four.

“I am not going
anywhere
with you, let alone driving across America. Fuck that. I'd dump my
own
body in Oklahoma,” she snorted. Jameson laughed.

“I missed you, Tatum,” he chuckled. She glared.

“Oh really? On a scale of one to ten, how much -,”

“
Eleven
.”

Her breath caught in her throat.

“Stop being cute. You're never cute. It's weird,” she told him. He laughed again.

“I'm flattered that you think I'm cute, Tate. What do you want from me? I asked you once, a long time ago. What can I do, to fix this? What do you need from me?” he asked, his voice simple. Sweet.
Calm
. Her eyes welled up with tears.

“What if I want babies, Jameson?” she whispered. He looked equal parts shocked and sick.

“
Excuse me?
You just had a fucking fit over the idea of Pet having my baby, and now
you
want to have it?” he demanded. She took a deep breath, shaking her head.

“No. I don't know if I ever want kids. But what if I did? What if I want to get married? What if I want a big wedding, a white fucking dress, and all my friends and family to sit in a church and watch me become Mrs. Kane?” Tate asked.

Sick. He definitely looks more sick than shocked.

“You have never mentioned
any of this
before,” he pointed out. She nodded.

“I know. Petrushka, and then Ellie .., it all made me think. I always thought you were too much for me. Turned out you weren't quite enough,” she managed a laugh.

“So. You want to get married. You want kids. Any sort of time frame for me to work with?” Jameson asked, clearing his throat nervously. Tate had never really seen him look nervous.

“Jameson, you won't
ever
want those things. And that's okay. It's just not okay
with me,
” she stressed. “I don't want to waste any more of my time.”

“
I'm
a waste of time?” he said softly. She shook her head.

“No. You were the
best
time, of my whole life.”

Suddenly there was a shrill ringing sound, shattering the mood. They stared at each other for a moment, and then she headed over to the phone. Tate knew who it would be – talk about fucking awkward. She glanced at Jameson, then lifted the receiver out of the cradle.

“Hi,” she said in a soft voice, keeping her back to the room. She couldn't look at Jameson, not while she was talking to Nick.

“Hey, so I was thinking, wanna get dinner somewhere else? We can go to the hotel shindig afterwards,” Nick's voice was excited.

“I was looking forward to dinner here. It's ..., it's been a long day. I'm tired,” she sighed into the phone.

“We don't have to do this, you know. We can just do room service, picnic on your floor,” he laughed. Suddenly, she felt Jameson right behind her. He always radiated heat. Like he was the sun.

Just the center of your universe, that's all.

“No, you should be there. I've got a dress ready,” she told Nick. Jameson's hands crept onto her shoulders.

“Are you sure? You sound kinda weird,” Nick pointed out. She managed a laugh.

“I'm always weird, don't you know that about me yet?” she asked.

“
He'll never know you the way I do,
” the devil whispered in her ear. She shivered.

“Alright, I'll pick you up at your room,” Nick said.

“
Tell him you won't be here,
” Jameson hissed.

“I'll be ready,” Tate assured Nick.

“
Ready for
me
,
” Jameson breathed. She started to shiver.

“See you later.”

“Later.”

She hung up the phone and Jameson's fingers dug into her shoulders. She closed her eyelids. Sighed. He massaged her, though it was more pain than release. Just like she liked. She opened her eyes, shook him off. Stepped away from him.

“You have to go,” she said, her voice thick.

“
No
.”

“No, you really do. I have to get ready, and get changed. I have plans for tonight,” Tate told him, striding to the door and yanking it open. Jameson didn't move from his spot, just turned to face her.

“I don't give a fuck. I'm not leaving,” he replied.

“Jameson! Get the fuck out of my room!” she commanded him. He shook his head.

“
Make me
, baby girl,” he taunted. She gaped at him.

“You don't get to do this! You're like a fucking stalker!
Get out!
” she yelled. He slowly walked forward, but stopped in front of her. Leaned down close to her face.

“You can get as loud as you want. I'm not going
anywhere.
”

Tate screamed. As loud and as long as she could. Jameson raised his eyebrows in surprise, but he didn't budge. When she finished screaming, she gasped for air, watching him. She could hear doors opening along the hallway. Footsteps running down the hall.

“Loud enough?” she panted. He smiled.

“I've made you scream louder,” he replied. She opened her mouth to scream again, but then there were more footsteps. Someone stood in her doorway.

“I'm sorry, is everything okay?” A security guard asked. Tate cleared her throat.

“He was just leaving,” she said, gesturing to Jameson. He didn't even acknowledge the guard.

“Sir, are you a guest of this hotel?” the guard demanded. Jameson nodded.

“Yes. Under the name Kane,” he replied. The other man stepped back and mumbled something into his radio. A second later, it squawked back. The guard did a double take at Jameson.

“Yes, Mr. Kane. So sorry to disturb you, Mr. Kane. Is there anything I can do for you, while I'm here?” he offered. Tate groaned and Jameson smiled.

“You can leave, thank you,” he replied. The guard tipped his head and then hustled away.

“Sometimes, I really fucking hate you,” Tate grumbled.

“The fact that I am even staying in this piece of shit hotel, shows how much I care. I would like you to make a note,” Jameson told her. She gasped.

“This is a nice hotel!” she snapped.

“Tatum. Please. Remember who you're talking to,” he laughed.

“Get the fuck out! Just get out of my life!” she shouted, shoving at his chest. He let her push him into the hallway.

“We're not done,” he warned her.

“We're
done
, Kane. You don't want a girlfriend. I don't want to be a fuck toy. It's
over,
” she informed him.

“Why do you think that's all you're good for?” he asked, cocking his head to the side.

“Because
somebody
told me that,” she snapped.

“You really shouldn't listen to everything you hear, baby girl.”

She slammed the door in his face.

It hadn't exactly gone as well as Jameson had hoped. He hadn't gotten to say anything he wanted to say. She hadn't fallen into his arms and begged him to take her home. She hadn't cried as much as he would've liked. But she had said a lot of things that had
really
messed with his mind.

Marriage!?
Kids!?
Was she fucking with him? When he had met Tatum, she had been sex on legs, screwing just about anything with a dick. She had turned him inside out – still had the ability to; was the only woman he had ever slept with that was truly okay with him sleeping with other women. The only woman who always kept him wanting more. The only woman who let him put his hands on her any goddamn way he pleased.

Hmmm, if that's not marriage material, I don't know what is
.

It was ridiculous. They couldn't go two minutes without fighting. They had probably been “together” for a grand total of ... two months? Three months? What was she saying, she wanted him to
propose?
Jameson fucking hated titles, he refused to even think of her as his girlfriend. She was just Tatum. He was just Jameson. Why couldn't that be enough!?

As it got later, he had to get out of the hotel. Knowing she was downstairs, probably looking sexy as fuck, and hanging on some other guy's arm .., he couldn't handle it. Not even a little bit. He felt like he was going to kill someone. Most likely a baseball player.

Maybe Sanders, as well. Just for dragging him there.

He strolled down the street, walked a couple blocks. There were lots of restaurants and pubs, little shops full of stupid shit that no one ever needs. They were basically in U of A's backyard. He would never have choosen to stay in a hotel like that; he had wanted to stay somewhere else. Sanders insisted it would be easier. Jameson caved.

Only for you, Tatum.

She had acted strange. He was nervous. Scared. She hadn't been as angry as he would've liked. Anger meant she cared. Sure, she'd gotten mad. But in Spain, she had fought against him, almost killed him. That was passion, in his mind. In that hotel room, she had looked ..., detached. That was the
worst
.

Sanders had said to work out how he felt, and what he was going say. Well, he felt like he wanted to be with Tatum, for as long as possible. For as long as both of them could stand. He wanted to tell her things, things he had never said to anyone ever before, but she wouldn't listen. He had to find another way to talk to her. A way she would hear him.

He didn't see the store on his way up the street, but after he'd wandered for about twenty minutes and then made his way back, he noticed it. Stared in the window. So much silver and gold glittered back at him. Jameson was accustomed to nice things, had been his whole life. He didn't see anything wrong with buying them if he could afford them. Tatum always thought he was trying to buy her – she never realized, it was just his way. He bought nice things for Sanders, because he wanted to do nice things. He bought nice things for her, because that was the way he showed that he cared.

She couldn't just let him be him. She was always trying to twist him into her stupid fairy tale Prince Charming. It seemed to him that his choices were to either walk away, or wear the crown.

He frowned and pushed his way into the little shop. Several young women looked up at his entrance. Perked up. They were all young, maybe early twenties. Or younger. Babies. He ignored their smiles – he could eat them for breakfast, and still be hungry. No, he was on a mission for one last meal.

She broke the last necklace. She will not break this one.

*

Jameson felt better when he got back to his hotel room. He ignored all the rabble downstairs, the crowds of people everywhere. He took a long shower, almost forty-five minutes. Laughed to himself as he stood under the spray. Tatum always made fun of how long he spent in the shower. He had never really thought about it before – he just liked to be warm. That's why he liked his fireplace. That's why he liked
her
.

He changed into a t-shirt and a pair of jeans. His hair had reached ridiculous lengths, and when it was wet, it curled down his forehead, almost into his eyes. He grabbed a U of A hat that had come with the room, shoved it on his head. Made a drink, stood in front of the windows and looked out over the city. He almost felt at peace. So he was actually waiting for the interruption. It came on cue.

“
You have to stop her!
” Sanders shouted, bursting through the door. Jameson closed his eyes for a second, took a deep breath.

“Life was so much simpler before her,” he sighed. Sanders stomped across the room.

“Excuse me?” he asked. Jameson finally looked at him.

“Nothing. What's wrong now? What do I have to do for her now?” Jameson asked.

“Mr. Hollingsworth called me. He talked to her earlier today,” Sanders said quickly.

“Yes. So did I.”

“You did!?”

“Yes.”

“When? What did she say? Is she here?” Sanders asked, glancing around the hotel room.

Sweet Sanders, always believing in that happily ever after.

“No. I bumped into her on the elevator. We talked. She is not happy. She wants all sorts of fairy tale promises, and she doesn't think I can give them to her,” Jameson explained.

“Can you?”

“I'm not sure. I'm not that kind of man, Sanders. I never asked her to change,” Jameson pointed out.

“No. But you will change, for her.”

“Probably.”

“Well,” Sanders took a deep breath, “you should probably start, right now.”

“Why? Where's the fire?” Jameson asked.

“Downstairs.”

“Excuse me?”

“She is downstairs, with Mr. Castille, at some event,” Sanders clarified. Jameson rolled his eyes.

“I know this, Sanders. I told you, I saw -,”

“He is going to ask her to live with him,” Sanders stressed. Jameson frowned.

“Well, she can't live in a hotel forever, I'm sure there will be time to -,”

“As his
girlfriend
. And she is going to say
yes,
” Sanders hissed. Jameson's eyebrows shot up.

“How do you know this? How can you be sure?” he demanded.

“She told Mr. Hollingsworth. Mr. Castille has been asking her for a while. Something happened a couple weeks ago. He has been trying to get her to move in with him ever since,” Sanders said. Jameson glared.

“
What
happened?” his voice was low and threatening.

“I don't know. Mr. Hollingsworth wouldn't say – just said that when she first got here, there was an understanding between her and Mr. Castille that she was not coming here to be his girlfriend. Something happened two weeks ago to change that,” Sanders told him.

“What are you telling me!? She's
already
his girlfriend!?” he snapped, disdain dripping from that word that he hated.

“I don't know. I think so,” Sanders said slowly.

“
Goddammit!
” Jameson yelled, and he stomped across the room. Grabbed a plastic bag that was sitting near the door. “So when the fuck is this momentous fucking occasion happening!?”

“They're in a conference room downstairs. Mr. Hollingsworth said they're going to be talking about it over dinner. Which was served, twenty minutes ago,” Sanders told him. Jameson groaned.

“
Goddamn Tatum,
always making me do things I don't want to fucking do,” he growled, and hurried out the door.

*

Tatum stared at herself in the bathroom mirror. She looked good. She had on a heavy red lipstick. Light eyeliner. Her hair was down, but in soft waves. It had grown pretty long – she wondered if the sun had positive effects on it. It curled down almost past her breasts. When she swished it over her shoulder, she could feel it against her bare back.

She was wearing the dress Jameson had bought for her, the one she had worn to her parents' house. It was the only nice one she had brought with her to Arizona. It felt strange wearing it again.

It felt even stranger knowing Jameson was upstairs. He had been so different. Staring at her, so calm. Not angry. Not demanding. Almost laughing. Flirting. He hadn't run away. He hadn't dragged her down to hell. He had wanted to ...,
just talk
.

She couldn't handle it. She felt like she was going to throw up. When Nick had met her at her hotel room, he had kissed her thoroughly, and that made her feel like she was going to throw up, too. She had hurried out of the hotel room ahead of him, laughing nervously. He thought he made her giddy. He had no idea it was
Jameson
making her giddy.

She'd made it through the meet and greet. Managed to laugh. What had Jameson said once? She could be cordial. She could be fucking polite. She had been raised in polite society, after all; she was good at faking it.

As Nick could tell anyo-, SHUT UP! SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP!

When dinner was served, though, she didn't have the protection of the crowd. Of other people. Nick sat close to her, rested his hand on her thigh as food was brought out. As they tucked into their dinners, he started bringing up how glad he was that she was there. How happy she made him. How much easier it would be if ...,

She had jumped out of her seat. Practically out of her skin. This was the moment Tate had been waiting for, for him to ask her to move in with him. But now that it was there, she couldn't handle it. She laughed and asked where the bathroom was, and one of the players' wives pointed her in the right direction. She then spent ten minutes on a toilet seat, her head between her knees. When she felt like she wasn't going to pass out, she finally made her way to the sinks. Patted her cheeks with cold water.

What the fuck is wrong with you? You leave a path of destruction. Not Jameson. You.
You
are the devil.

She took a deep breath. If she could just get through dinner. Get through the next couple hours. Jameson would fade away, when he saw that she was serious about her wants and demands. He would never give them to her, she just had to be strong.

Even if that meant doing something she
really
didn't want to do.

She took another deep breath, then squared her shoulders. Looked herself over, and didn't find herself wanting for anything. She walked out of the bathroom. She was holding herself so stiffly, she had a very distinct impression of how Sanders probably felt when he walked around. Roughly like she had a stick shoved up her ass. She tried to ignore everyone, the hum of the people in the hall, the din in the lobby, the sound of someone calling her name.

Huh?

Tate turned around and was shocked to see Jameson practically barreling through people. He was hurrying away from the bank of elevators, shouting her name. She was stunned into a standstill. He finally caught up to her, grabbed her by the shoulders.

“What are you doing? Are you drunk!?” she exclaimed, her eyes sweeping over him.

Her mind was blown. He was wearing a baseball hat.
A hat
. Crazier than him wearing sandals in Marbella. Was he trying to be incognito? She almost hadn't recognized him. He was wearing a plain grey t-shirt and jeans, and no shoes. A plastic grocery bag swung from his wrist.

He's gone crazy.

“No. What the fuck do you think you're doing!?” he demanded. It was weird, instead of hiding his eyes, the bill of the hat almost amplified them. Like a telescope, focusing all of her vision onto his blue, blue eyes.

“What are you talking about?” she asked.

“You can't be with him, Tate. You're a part of me, you belong with me,” Jameson all but shouted. She was stunned.

“What has gotten into you?” she hissed, shrugging out of his hold. She grabbed his bicep and yanked him out of the flow of people, to the inside of a hall.

“
You
. Don't do this. Don't go be with somebody,
some guy
, just to not be with me,” he growled. She rolled her eyes.

“He's not
some guy
, and he likes me, Jameson!
Really
likes me!” she snapped at him.

“
I
really like you! Why aren't
I
good enough?” he asked. She groaned.

“You don't like me, Jameson. You like having someone around that you can feel superior to,” she told him.

“No. Since Spain, I have
never
made you feel that way – if that's how you felt, then it's something
you
did. Stop blaming all your shit on other people!” he yelled.

“I don't have to listen to -,”

“Yes, you do. I want to be with you. I want you to be with me. What else do you want!? Do you want me to beg? Is that the fucking problem?” he pressed.