Reparation (3 page)

She took a deep breath and started stomping forward. She walked up the steps and barreled through the front door, coming to a stop in the hall. There. Like ripping off a band aid. She stood in the entry way, staring at the stairs. Now if she could just get her feet to move forward, she would really be winning.

“Are you alright?” Sanders' soft voice asked again, and she turned her head to find him standing behind her.

“As I'll ever be. I can take that,” she started, reaching for a suitcase that had been packed for her. Sanders breezed past her, heading up the stairs.

“It's fucking freezing in here,” Jameson grumbled, walking up next to her. She glanced at him.

“Only because you're used to it always being so hot – you kept it like a furnace in here,” she snapped.

Like a crematorium.

“Well, you've always insisted that I'm the devil. Wouldn't want to break from character. C'mon, let's get a fire lit, and I'll have Sanders ...,” he rambled on, heading towards his library.

Tate couldn't move. She couldn't go in there. Her ghost was trapped in that room. She and Jameson had easily spent more time in that room than any other room in the house – including his bedroom. When he was at home, he worked out of the library, used it as an office. At night, he stayed in there, close to the fire. Reading. Drinking. Talking with her. Touching her.
She could not go in there
.

“No,” she said, her voice louder than she'd intended. He stopped just outside the library door, turned towards her.

“Excuse me?” he asked. She licked her lips and closed the front door behind her.

“I don't want to go in there. You have a million rooms here, why don't you actually go see some of them. Have you ever even been in the study upstairs?” she asked, trying to think of any excuse at all, without giving away her fear. Jameson narrowed his eyes.

“I don't give a fuck about my other rooms. I like
this
room,” he replied.

“That's stupid,” she rolled her eyes.

“
You're
stupid, but you don't hear me bitching about it every two seconds,” he pointed out.

“Yes, you do.”

“Shut up.”

“Or let's go to the conservatory,” she started to offer. “I wonder if my geraniums are still alive. Did you hire -,”

“
Tatum
, cut the bullshit. Why don't you want to go in there?” Jameson demanded.

She took a deep breath. Stared him in the eye. Jameson hadn't seemed to have caught onto it yet, but she had a very powerful weapon against him.
Sex.
He simply couldn't resist it, and he was easily distracted by it. His one weakness, if it could be called that. It was very handy for Tate, because she used it to forget. When she was lost in his heat and his skin and his fire, she could forget she wanted to hurt him, the way he had hurt her. Forget that she wanted to destroy a small piece of his heart, the way he had done to hers.

Tate moved her hands to the buttons on the jacket she was wearing. Popped the top one open. Jameson cocked up an eyebrow. She worked the second one open, then trailed her fingers down to the third button. By the time she got to the bottom button, both his eyebrows were raised, and he had a decidedly mean glint in his eye.

Good, I need something to sting extra hard tonight.

“Because it's
boring,
” Tate breathed the word as she let his jacket fall to the ground. “Always in the library. You're so vanilla,
Kane
. A million rooms, and you only ever want to fuck me in one.” She clucked her tongue at him as she kicked the coat away from her feet.

“I get the very distinct impression you're trying to distract me,” he said. She smiled and took slow steps towards the stairs.

“Is it working?” she asked, reaching up to let her hair down.

“So far,” he replied, his eyes following her as she started up the stairs.

“Good.”

They didn't make it to his bedroom. They didn't even make it to a guest bedroom. It would've happened right in the hallway, if Sanders hadn't been somewhere in the house. As it was, Jameson pinned her against the wall in a linen closet, and he was sure to make it sting.

*

Tate sat outside, bundled up in an old sweater that used to belong to Sanders. It was a bright, shiny day out – and totally freezing. She wore a thick pair of wool socks over her knee socks and had tucked herself into a lounge chair. She sat next to the pool, which had been covered, and took out her cell phone.

“I was just thinking about you,” Nick said when he answered.

“Psychic,” she joked, pulling her knees up to her chest.

“How're things?” he asked.

Tate had kept him mostly in the dark about everything that had happened. He just knew that she was back in Boston, and that she and Jameson were “
friends
”; she never elaborated on what kind of friends, and thankfully he never asked. By the time she got back to Boston, he had already moved into his house in Arizona. Spring training didn't start till mid-February, but he liked settling in first.

“Good, things are good. Just kinda hanging out,” she responded.

“No job?” he asked.

“No, no job.”

“What about school? You mentioned once -,”

“No,
Dad
, no school either,” Tate said sarcastically.

“Well, I worry about you. When you don't keep busy, you either vegetate, or get into trouble. And if you're going to get into trouble, I'd like to at least be there,” he told her. She snorted.

“I'm not getting into trouble,
or
'
vegetating
', I promise. Sandy and I went up to New York the other weekend, he took me to the Natural History Museum, all that good stuff,” she assured him of her innocence. Nick would be the last person alive who would buy it, by the time she was through.

“You and Sanders alone together for a weekend, huh,” he said. She smiled.

“Ooohhh, sounds like jealousy,” Tate teased.

“No, no, not at all. Sanders is a very fine man. When you marry him, can I walk you down the aisle?” he asked.

“Of course. Now if we can just convince Jameson to walk with Sandy, it'll be perfect,” she joked.

“Is there any way we could not invite Jameson?” Nick asked.

“Jameson isn't the kind of man you don't invite places – he just invites himself, anyway,” she assured him.

“Not exactly surprising. So, when are you going to come visit me?” Nick asked.

They had talked several times about her coming out there. Nick thought it was a great idea. Tate thought it was horrible. She was in a bad place, a bad state of mind. She didn't want him to see her like that, and she didn't want him to become a casualty on her path to becoming a bitch.

“I don't know, Nick. When does training end?” she asked, for the millionth time.

“End of March. Tatum, it would be really nice to see you, before I have to go on the road,” he said in a soft voice. She hated his soft voice. It could make her do almost anything.

“I'll try, I promise. Maybe in a couple weeks, before training really gets under way,” she offered.

“That would be nice. I mean, there's no pressure. I just want to see you. I'm not asking for anything else,” Nick told her.

“I know that. Thank you.”

Sometimes, Nick felt like the only person who wasn't asking her for something, or expecting her to be anything. It was nice.

“Though I wouldn't stop you if you suddenly felt like getting naked and climbing into bed with me,” he threw out there, and she burst out laughing.

“Good to know, good to know,” Tate tried to contain herself. Then she saw Jameson prowling through the conservatory, and her laughter dried up.

“So. End of March?” Nick asked. She nodded, watching Jameson.

“I'll try,” was all she offered.

“That's all I ever ask. I gotta go. Take care of yourself,” he instructed her. She nodded again as Jameson finally walked out of the house.

“
I never do,
” she replied, then hung up the phone.

Jameson was slowly making his way towards her, his hands in pants pockets. She sighed as she watched him. He was wearing a suit, this one with a vest. It killed her. She wanted to lick the fabric, he looked so good. He had everything tailored, so everything fit him like a glove. She loved it. She always loved the way he looked; he always took her breath away a little.

Sometimes, he made it very hard for her to hate him.

“Talking with your
boyfriend?
” he asked snidely as he approached her.

And sometimes, he made it very easy.

“He's lonely. Can I go visit him?” Tate asked. Jameson snorted.

“Abso-fuckin'-lutely not,” he replied, standing right over her.

“Scared you'll lose me?” she laughed. He laughed as well.

“I couldn't get rid of you if I tried. No, but I don't want to have to fly to Arizona, of all the god forsaken places, to rescue you from some ridiculous situation you will no doubt get yourself into,” he answered, taking his hands out of his pockets and opening his jacket.

“All true. But still. Can I go see him?”

“
No.
”

“It's very hard for me to be a good girlfriend to him, when you're always interfering,” Tate teased. Jameson glared at her.

“It must be even harder for you to be a good girlfriend to him when
I'm
the one who's always inside you,” he responded. She shrugged.

“What are you doing home?” she asked, cutting through the flirting. Or was it teasing? Bullying? It was all the same to her.

“It occured to me that maybe you would be uncomfortable here, all alone,” Jameson said.

“Sanders is here,” Tate reminded him. He rolled his eyes.

“Sometimes that's almost like one and the same. I only had one consultation this afternoon, so I rescheduled it and came home,” he explained.

“For me?” she asked. He nodded.

“For you.”

Sometimes he could almost be sweet. Sure, he was the devil incarnate, but in his own weird way, he would try to be sweet. She tried to encourage those moments, figured they would lure him into a false sense of security.

“That's very nice of you,” she said, reaching up and grabbing onto his hand. He frowned, but allowed her to link their fingers.

“I also had something else,” he went on.

Uh oh.

She let go of his hand.

“What?” she asked, instantly wary. He lowered himself so he was sitting on the lounger across from her.

“I have to go out of town,” Jameson started. Her breath caught in her throat. “Just to Los Angeles. I've been trying to sell off my piece of a film company, and it needs my personal attention. I'll be back in a couple days, five at the most.”

Los Angeles. L.A. didn't scare her, Tate didn't have any bad memories associated with that city. She had been nervous that he was going to say New York, or worse, Berlin. L.A. she could handle. It was actually a good thing. Ang hadn't been over to Jameson's house, but maybe now he could be convinced to come over if the devil wasn't home.

“Oh, that's it?” she feigned nonchalance. “That's fine. Are you taking Sandy?”

“I was planning on it, but I don't have to,” Jameson offered. She waved her hand.

“No, it's cool. I'll just bug him if we're here alone. When you're not here, it's basically me just following him around all day,” she laughed. Jameson didn't. He looked suspicious.

“I didn't think you would take this so well,” he told her. She managed to shrug.

“Why? You've been to L.A. before, remember? Maybe this time, instead of two women, you should try for a full on orgy,” she joked. Still no laughter.

“And I certainly didn't think you would be okay with
that,
” he added. Tate was surprised. Was he actually worried about how she would feel?

“Why wouldn't I be?” she asked.

“Well, last time I attempted to sleep with another woman, I had to pull you off of a certain slutty maid after -,” he started. She held up her hand.

“That was completely different. I don't care if you fuck other women, I just don't want to be a part of it. Besides, she was a bitch who didn't know her place. I was there first,” Tate said. He finally smiled.

“Staking a claim on me? Sexy. But I'm kind of disappointed, does this mean no threesomes in our future?” he asked, pouting his lower lip out. She resisted the urge to nibble on it.

“Sure, we can have a threesome,” she nodded as she laid back on the lounger, putting her hands under her head.

“Really?” he asked, his voice full of surprise. She nodded her head again.

“Of course. I've got, like, a dozen guys I can name, right now, that I would love to be in a threesome with you. I know you don't like Ang, but we've kind of had this long standing thing that if I was ever gonna try DP, he had to be one of the P's,” Tate explained. Jameson's foot hooked under her lounger and suddenly she was being shoved over. She rolled onto the grass, snorting and laughing.