Page 81 of Great White
“Shit.” I pull up my shirt to reveal a blood-soaked bandage. Tate is up and on his feet before I can move my eyes off the wound.
“Let me see.”
“I’m fine. I just forgot to change the dressing.”
“Jesus, Dove, we need to clean that up.” He tries to lift my shirt, but I yank it down.
“I can do it.”
“With what? We need more gauze, and antiseptic.”
“Then, I’ll go.” I sidestep him.
“The hell you will. You’re not leaving this room. I’ll go.”
“Jesus, Tate.”
“‘Jesus, Tate’ what? Why won’t you let me help you? Why do you always have to be so goddamn stubborn?” he yells at me.
A hiccup of emotion takes me by surprise. Tears burn my eyes, but I refuse to let any fall.
“Because everyone I let into my life ends up hurting me. Including you. The only person I can depend on is me.” I yell at him.
“That’s not true.” Tate grabs me by the arms and shakes me. The motion makes me a little queasy. “You have me.”
“You hurt me.” My voice is a breathy whisper.
“I know I did. And I’m sorry. But I’m trying . . .” He squeezes my biceps and lowers his head. “I am trying to make you see . . .”
“See what?”
“See that I’m trying to fix it. See that I’m trying to help. See that I love you.” He looks up at me. His eyes are as tired as mine. “See that even though I lied to you, I’m not going to abandon you.”
A heavy boulder settles on my chest. “It’s hard for me to trust people.”
“I know. But you can trust me. Please, let me help you. Let me love you.” He drops his forehead to mine.
His words sting. Because I want to trust him, and I want him to love me. But getting over that hump of betrayal is hard. I’ve been burned so many times, there is barely anything left of me.
One tiny teardrop rolls down my cheek, and I wipe it away as fast as it comes.
“Fine,” I huff. “Please get me some fresh gauze and antiseptic. I need to take care of this thing before it gets infected. The doctor in jail didn’t seem very bothered if I lived or died.”
“Don’t let them fool you. If you died on their watch, it’s a headache of a lawsuit.”
“I’m worth more dead than I am alive. Probably better off, too.”
“That’s not true.” Tate rests his hands gently on my neck. The light gesture giving me chills. “You're definitely worth more to me alive.”
His stupid, sweet words can always affect me, even during the worst times. I pull his hands away from my neck before I fall deeper into the quicksand that is Tate Donovan.
“You should probably go. I’ve neglected this wound long enough.”
Tate nods with a melancholy expression.
He grabs his Stetson off the bed and heads out the door without a single word.
I melt onto the mattress, emotionally spent.
