Running in Place (Mending Hearts) (22 page)

My head lifts off the seat as I sit straight up, barely able to contain my laughter.

“First of all, you’re an arrogant asshole if you think I’m going to be overcome with the need for your touch this evening.” His grin gets almost as wide as mine as he shrugs his shoulders, conceding that he is indeed an arrogant asshole.

Chuckling under his breath, he holds his hands up and proclaims his innocence. “Hey, you started this game at the bar. Turnabout is fair play.” Leaning in closer to me, he adds, “I guarantee by the end of the night, you will be begging for me to touch you.”

My brows almost hit my hairline in response. “Really? You think so?”

“I
know
so. Your second point?” he inquires, backing out of my personal space.

Slowly, I run the tip of my tongue across my bottom lip and once his eyes fall to my mouth, I reach into my pocket, retrieving the last of my cherry suckers.

“Second of all, you just upped the ante, my friend.”

Okay.

So, I
might
have touched her without her asking me.

Like, when I wrestled that damn sucker away from her in the Jeep, I quite possibly
might
have grazed my hand just barely alongside of her breast. And while making dinner together, it very well may be the case that I pressed myself against her ass as I reached over her shoulder to grab the salt. And it could also be said that my lips have found themselves on the back of her neck while she was mixing the salad on their own accord. That one awarded me a giggle before she pushed me away.

And now on the couch, it could also be noted that I’m drawing an infinity sign on the skin of her lower back and running my fingers through her hair as she lies in my lap. Arms crossed under her cheek, her head facing the TV, she laughs out loud at the episode of
Friends
we’ve been watching for the last twenty minutes. I, however, have no idea what’s going on because my eyes have been glued to her angelic face since the beginning of the show.

The sight of her smiling, so happy and relaxed, is a vision that I never want to forget. Her blue eyes shining so bright with joy, sorrow no longer casting its shadow. I know it won’t last forever, but knowing that I brought her here, gave her this moment of reprieve from the memories that so often haunt her, makes my heart swell with relief and pride. Relief because I now know there’s hope for her; that the childlike innocence that was stripped from her when she was young is still there, it’s just hidden deep among her memories. And pride because for some reason, she feels comfortable enough with me to let that innocence show, leaving herself completely vulnerable and exposed.

Once the end credits start, she rolls over and places the back of her head on my thighs, then looks up at me. My finger continues my infinity, just now on her bare stomach. She lets out a giggle and grabs my hand with hers, interlacing our fingers, and sets them on top of my favorite
Ramones
t-shirt that she’s wearing. Sweeping the hair away from her eyes with my free hand, I watch her smile fade as she gazes at our joined hands.

“You know, I’ve been thinking.”

I chuckle under my breath. “Yeah, Ross and Rachel will do that to ya.”

She laughs again and breaks her stare from our hands, her eyes finding mine. “I’m serious, Noah. You know so much about me. I know nothing about you.”

“What do you want to know? Ask me anything,” I respond softly, once again running my fingertips across her forehead.

She glances up at me with a smile on her face.

“Your favorite color?” she asks.

“Blue.”

“Favorite number?”

I laugh as she continues anxiously waiting my answer, looking like a little girl on Christmas day. My grin fades a little when I begin to wonder if she ever experienced a real Christmas.

“Three.”

She takes a deep breath in through her nose as she looks towards our hands. “Mine too.”

Glancing back at me, she continues. “Brothers or sisters?”

“Nope. Just me,” I reply, shaking my head.

She begins to doodle on the top of my hand, thinking about her next question. “How long have you been working with Blake at the duplexes?”

“Since last summer. They needed help when he started up, so, I offered. I enjoy working with my hands.” I lean back a little further as I speak. “Plus, I like to keep busy. Idle hands, idle mind.” I exhale deeply. “And that’s completely unacceptable behavior in my family.”

Her eyes dart to mine as her smile falls. “I know you lost your mother, but your father, what’s he like?”

I shift underneath her, cringing internally at the topic of choice. “He’s an asshole. That’s about it.”

She rolls her eyes Tatum-style and narrows them in my direction, peering at me from beneath her lashes. “You owe me more than that, Noah. I shared my entire world with you, even the darkest parts. You can’t give me just a small glimpse into yours?”

I draw a long breath before I respond. Unpleasant memories surface quickly, searing through my mind as they release from the dark recesses where I keep them hidden. Tearing my gaze away from her, I stare at the ceiling, setting my head on the back of the couch as I speak.

“Well,” I begin, “We were the all-American family. My father was a successful oncologist and mom was the typical devoted wife and mother. God, she was beautiful.” The recollection of her contagious laughter, her loving smile, and her compassionate eyes filter like beams of sunshine through the painful memories, their warmth temporarily blanketing the hurt. I stop and look back down at Tatum. “You remind me of her in a way. She had that striking beauty that just
was
. It exuded from her without her ever having to try. Just like you.” Clearly uncomfortable with compliments, she responds with a shy smile. After grazing her cheek with the back of my hand, I once again look back toward the ceiling.

“Ironically enough, they found a tumor in her brain stem when I was five. Because of the location, surgery wasn’t an option, so my father decided the best course of action was to shrink it with radiation. She became so ill after her first treatment that after it was over she refused to proceed, arguing repeatedly with my father that the quality of her remaining life was the most important thing to her. He couldn’t control her decision, he couldn’t heal her, and he blamed himself when she died a year later. Still does, I guess.”

Tatum squeezes my hand as I reach up to wipe a tear as it rolls out of the corner of my eye. “She made each day with me count. Those memories I hold very close to my heart. But, my father was a lost cause, his fury creating a barrier between them that she could never break through, no matter how many times and different ways she tried to explain it to him. And after she passed, he transferred that anger and his need to control to me. From that point on, I lived the life he wanted me to live, excelled in whatever areas he demanded, and succeeded at everything he pressured me to do out of fear that his anger would rear its ugly face. Which would happen quite often, regardless of how outstanding I as was at pursuing
his
achievements.”

A soft sniffle pulls me from my past. Glancing down, my eyes are met with crystal clear blue pools of tears. My eyebrows draw together, surprised by the tenderness and sincerity of her reaction. Running my hand across her cheek and then into her hair, I try to comfort her. “Tate, that was a long time ago.”

She shakes her head. “But you still hurt.” She lets out a whimper as she speaks. “I can feel it right here,” she places her palm flat on her chest, “in my own heart. Your pain.”

My throat constricts as I watch her cry for my past. After the hell that she’s been through, here she is, lying in my lap crying over what happened in
my
life. Her heart absorbing my hurt on top of her own.

“Tate.”

Releasing my hand, she covers her eyes with the crook of her arm, hiding her tears.

“Tate.”

I pry her arm away from her face, and so help me, I can’t control myself. Emotions waging a war inside my mind, I take a look at her quivering lips and cup the back of her head with my hand, bringing her face to mine. Surprised, Tatum’s eyes shoot open, setting more teardrops in motion down her cheeks.

“See, there you go,” I say with a smile, “Just begging me to touch you. Although, this isn’t exactly what I had in mind.”

As she wipes the moisture from her face, I watch the left side of her mouth barely tip up.

“Noah, you’ve been touching me all night.”

“I know, but those touches were for me. This one’s for you.” Closing the distance between us, I lean forward and press my lips against hers, giving her a soft, gentle kiss. Slowly I make my way away from her mouth, trailing butterfly kisses along her cheek until my lips find their mark right beside her ear.

“Don’t cry for me, please. My heart can’t take it. I need you to deal with your past before you start worrying about mine, okay?”

I feel her nod against my cheek before I slowly lower her head, placing her face just inches away from mine, my eyes on hers the entire time.

“Thank you, Tate. You’ve revived a part of me that I thought I’d lost forever. Your heart, your compassion, your strength, just…
you
. You inspire me to be a better person, to be a better man.”

Our eyes still locked, I hold her stare until she glances away, clearing her throat.

“Your music. The reason you don’t pursue it is because of your father? He wants you to follow in his footsteps and be a doctor. Am I right?”

Setting her head gently back into my lap, I scoot toward the edge of the couch, my hands folding across my chest as I lean back. Her head turns towards me as her eyes search my face for the answer. When I nod that she is correct in her assumption, disappointment flashes across her features before she twists her neck away from me toward the television.

Sighing out loud, she begins watching the next re-run episode of
Friends
.

After a couple of seconds, she sighs louder, trying to get my attention.

“Yes?” I ask.

Agitated, she rustles around in my lap until she finds the perfect position, her eyes pointed at the ceiling that we both can’t seem to stop staring at this evening.

“Well,” she draws out, nervously fidgeting with her nails, “It just seems that from what you’ve shared, your mother was very adamant about the quality of
her
life. She challenged your father to get what she wanted, which was to have quality time with you, forgoing her treatments for that very reason. Regardless of the cost, she knew what she needed, and she fought for that time.” She breathes in deeply before twisting her neck, once again her blue eyes latching onto mine.

“I guess, it’s just — I hope that someday you’ll find some
thing
or some
one
worth putting up the same fight for. Because it seems to me, right now,
your
quality of life isn’t what it should be. I think that would make her very sad.”

As though she’s looking right through me, she adds, “Your music is important because it makes
you
happy. If that’s what you want to do with your life, then you should do it. Fight like she did, to live the life that
you
want to live. She had the strength. You do too, Noah.”