Taking It All(31)

"Do you care?" she threw out in a bitter tone.

His jaw clenched. "Of course I care. Goddamn it, Chessy."

She waved her hand like she just wanted it over with.

"I'll wait outside," Damon said, leaving unsaid the fact that he'd wait   to see if Chessy changed her mind about wanting him to see to her ride   from The House. But it was implied in his tone.

As soon as Damon left the room, Chessy allowed the blanket to fall   loosely away but hunched forward protectively as if she didn't want Tate   to see her. Tate immediately turned her on the sofa, swearing softly   when he saw the welts on her back. There were already bruises forming at   her hips where the asshole's hands had gripped her.

"How far did he take things?" Tate asked hoarsely.

She shrugged indifferently. "Far enough."

He ran a hand through his hair in frustration. Chessy pinned him with   the weight of her stare, her eyes accusing and utterly devastated. "Oh,   I'm sorry, Tate. Have I annoyed you? How selfish of me that I'm not   giving you my full attention."

The heavy sarcasm in her voice made his heart sink. Self-loathing filled   him, brimming in his heart until hatred was a living, breathing  emotion  in his soul. He was utterly sick at heart, knowing full well  that he  didn't deserve forgiveness for what he'd done. For what he'd  allowed to  happen to her.

She got up, moving away from him to dress. She yanked on her clothing   without care and then glanced down in disgust at the formfitting dress.

"I'm ready to go," she said.

"Chess, are you sure I don't need to take you to the hospital?" Tate asked uneasily. "How badly did he hurt you?"

Her gaze found his and she stared unflinchingly at him. "Not nearly as much as you have."





EIGHTEEN


THE ride home was silent and tense. Chessy leaned against the passenger   door, her forehead pressed to the glass as she stared sightlessly at  the  passing streetlights. She was strangely numb. She felt empty and   desolate but couldn't summon any emotion. No anger, no sorrow. Just  …    nothing.

Her marriage was over. As far as she was concerned, Tate had crossed a   line he could never erase. While such knowledge would have devastated   her twenty-four hours ago, right now she couldn't bring herself to feel   anything but resignation.

She could feel him looking her way, but she didn't acknowledge him.   Instead she pretended he wasn't even there, already making plans for a   future that didn't include him.

When they finally pulled into their drive, she opened her door before   the car came to a full stop and she got out, the concrete tearing her   stockings at the feet. She hadn't brought her keys so she had to wait   for Tate to unlock the front door, but as soon as he accomplished that,   she pushed past him in a direct path to their bedroom.

Wasting no time, she went to her closet and hauled out one of her large suitcases, flinging it onto the bed to unzip it.

"Chessy, what the hell are you doing?" Tate demanded from the doorway.

She ignored him and went back to her closet to yank clothing from   hangers, returning to dump them into the suitcase without bothering to   arrange them in any way.

His hand closed around her wrist and she froze when he prompted her to   look up at him and meet his gaze. His features were gray, deep grooves   lining his forehead. Sorrow and regret swamped his eyes. He looked   tortured.

Not her problem.

She wrested her hand from his grip and took a step back, her tone as frigid as an Artic wind.

"Do not touch me."

He took an immediate step back and when she went to her dresser for underwear and bras he repeated his earlier question.

"What the hell are you doing? Where do you think you're going?"

She paused, her hands full of her intimate things. Then she turned and stared him down until unease crept into his eyes.

"I'm leaving," she said simply. "I would think that much is obvious. But   if you need me to spell it out for you, I'm packing my clothes and  then  I'm getting in my car and then I'm getting the hell away from  you."

He flinched, his features going pale. "Chessy, please don't go. I know   you're angry. God, you certainly have the right to be. But please don't   leave when you're so upset. I'll go. This is your house. I'll get a   hotel and come back tomorrow when we can talk this out."                       
       
           



       

"Exactly what are we going to talk out, Tate? The fact that you lied to   me? That you made me promises that once again you didn't keep? Or maybe   the fact that you took a phone call when your wife was helpless to   defend herself against a man you chose and were supposed to have been   guiding every step of the way. Let me make myself perfectly clear. There   isn't a single thing you have to say that I care to hear. There's no   going back. No forgetting what happened. No way to undo what's already   been done. You made your choice and it damn sure wasn't me."

Tate sank onto the edge of the bed, his head bowed. His hands shook   visibly and his shoulders heaved as he struggled with his emotions.   Chessy tossed the rest of her clothing into the suitcase, only wanting   to get it done so she could get the hell out before she broke down and   completely lost it.

She grabbed an oversized bag from underneath the bathroom sink and   quickly emptied the drawers of all her toiletries and then decided that   whatever she didn't get she'd return for at a later time. Preferably   when Tate wasn't here. His precious clients could keep him company from   now on. She was done waiting around for every crumb of attention he   threw her way.

After dropping the toiletry bag by the bed, she closed her suitcase and   zipped it up. Tate hadn't moved, seemingly frozen and in shock that she   was leaving. It didn't surprise her. Their relationship was a study in   her giving and him taking. Of her never bucking his authority. Always   ceding to his wishes and control.

That was all coming to a screeching halt starting tonight.

"At least let me drive you to where you're going," Tate said in a low   voice. "I'm worried about you driving, Chessy. At least give me that. I   want to make sure you're safe."

She gave him a scornful look and then shook her head. "That's a laugh.   You want to make sure I'm safe. Forgive my amusement over the flaming   hypocrisy of that statement."

Tate closed his eyes and let out a sigh. "I deserve your anger. I   deserve whatever you dish out, but God, please, Chessy. Stay so we can   work it out. Don't leave. I love you."

"I believe you love me," Chessy said honestly. "You just don't love me   enough and you don't love me as much as I love you. I suppose I would   have settled for that once. But not any longer. I deserve better."

She yanked the suitcase off the bed and slung the toiletry bag over her   shoulder before heading out of the bedroom, Tate on her heels. She   wished he'd just let her go. There was little point in trying to change   her mind. He should know her well enough to realize the futility of   dissuading her when she was set on something.

Before she would have appreciated his determination to save their   marriage, but that was when she thought they had a viable relationship.   Now, she just wanted to be away from him so she could vent her   devastation, but she was just as determined that she not break down in   front of him.

She had to be strong for herself. No longer would she depend on Tate for   her emotional stability. Her faith and trust had been sorely  misplaced.  She would have never thought him capable of what he'd done  tonight.  Yes, he'd put business before her for quite some time, but  never in a  situation that was fraught with peril and her safety was  truly at risk.  In her heart, she'd always known that he'd protect her  when it really  counted.

How very wrong she'd been, and it broke her heart.

She kicked open the door that was still partially ajar from their   entrance just minutes before and she dragged her suitcase over the step   and onto the front porch. Tate tried one last time, gently capturing  her  arm with his hand. Though his grip wasn't bruising in the least, it  was  firm, commanding her attention.

She stared pointedly at him and then down at his hand, silently telling him to let her go.

"Chessy, please don't do this," he begged softly. "Stay. Tonight at   least. We'll talk in the morning. I won't go into work. We'll go away if   you like. Somewhere we can be afforded complete privacy. I'll do   whatever it takes for you not to go."