Page 40 of Keeping Laryn
“I think she was going to do something horrible,” Laryn whispered. “I’ve known women like her. My dad told me stories about some of the things that happened to the dirt track drivers. The good ones. The popular, good-looking ones. How women would drug them, take them home, rape them in the hopes of getting pregnant. Just to have some kind of sick leverage over them. If the guys wouldn’t marry them, they’d still be able to get money, child support, for years. It happened more than once. I couldn’t bear the thought of that bitch doing something like that to you.”
Tate leaned in and put his forehead against hers. He closed his eyes, and Laryn felt him shudder against her. She placed her hands on his sides, feeling horrible that he was in this situation.
Then his eyes opened and he pulled back, but only a fraction of an inch. “Thank you,” he said quietly. “For having my back. For not leaving me to wake up alone. For taking care of me.”
“You’d have done it for me,” she told him.
“Damn straight I would,” he affirmed. “Did I do anything last night?”
Laryn frowned. “Anything?”
“Was I inappropriate toward you in any way? I don’tremember anything after you took off your coveralls and we headed into the bar.”
Laryn swallowed hard and shook her head. But this was Tate. He had a way of being able to read her like a book.
“What did I do?” he asked with a frown.
“It wasn’t a big deal,” she insisted.
“Laryn. What. Did. I. Do?” he asked again, using his officer’s voice that usually got the lower-ranking soldiers to jump and do his bidding.
“You were out of it. And pretty much unconscious. You just…cuddled up next to me and slept.”
“Then why are you blushing?”
Shit. Fine. They were adults. And as he’d said, he didn’t remember anything. “Okay. You touched me. My chest,” she hurried to explain, as his frown deepened. “Your hand went under my shirt and you cupped me as we slept. But that’s it! I swear!” she exclaimed.
“Fuck,” he muttered. His hands were still holding her face. “NowIneed to apologize.”
“Tate, it’sfine. It wasn’t a big deal. It felt nice,” she blurted.
It was a huge admission, one she regretted as soon as she said it. But she needed to be honest with him. He was learning some pretty heavy things this morning. And the last thing she wanted was to add any guilt he might feel about what happened. It wasn’t his fault that some bitch had roofied him. It wasn’t his fault he’d passed out. And it definitely wasn’t his fault that he’d felt her up…or that she’d enjoyed it so much.
“I didn’t read anything into it. I know it was a situational thing,” she hurried to add, when he didn’t immediately respond.
“I regret a lot of things in my life,” he said quietly. “But not being able to remember how you felt next to me, under my hand, is now right up there with the biggest regrets ever.”
Laryn stared at him in shock. Wait—what? Had she heard him say what she thought he’d said?
His thumbs caressed her jawline once more before he dropped his hands and stepped back. Laryn felt unsteady on her feet. What just happened here?
Beeping sounded from next to her, and it took a few seconds for Laryn to realize it was her air fryer, letting her know the tater tots she’d put in to cook were done. Before she could move, Tate was there, gently pushing her aside and opening the drawer. She watched as he deftly poured them out into the bowl she’d put next to the appliance, then reached out and depressed the button to toast the bagels she’d already put inside.
As far as breakfasts went, it wasn’t the healthiest. All carbs and no protein, but she’d make up for that by eating a healthier lunch and dinner. Tate made himself at home in her kitchen, going so far as to refill her coffee mug and practically pushing her out of the small area toward her two-person table against the window that overlooked the grassy area behind her apartment complex.
And leaving her feeling a little shell-shocked that he was cooking for her—could toasting a bagel be counted as cooking?—once again.
When it was done, he slathered the bagels with cream cheese and opened her spice cabinet, smiling as he reached for a bottle. He sprinkled her “everything bagel” seasoning on them and brought their plates to the table, going back to get the bowl of tater tots. He also brought over silverware for each of them, along with paper towels, then sat across from her.
“Looks delicious,” he declared, before taking a huge spoonful of tater tots from the bowl.
As they ate, he asked, “How did you know she drugged the shot?”
Laryn had thought they were done talking about what happened, but she should’ve known better. And she didn’t blame him. Ifshehad no memories, she’d want every single detail too. Besides, this was how Tate was with everything. Hewasn’t content with surface-level explanations. He wanted specifics. He never let her get away with skimming over what she’d done to tweak his beloved MH-60. He wanted every nitty-gritty detail, even if he didn’t understand half of what she was saying.
“Instinct?” she said with a small shrug after she’d swallowed a bite of bagel. Why did it taste so much better this morning than when she made the exact same thing and ate it on the way to work? Maybe becauseshedidn’t have to make it? Because she was eating breakfast with Tate after sleeping with him?
No. No, no, no. She had to shut that line of thought down. Yes, she’d slept with him, but not in any meaningful way. He was un-frigging-conscious. Had beendrugged. It wasn’t of his own free will.
