Page 47 of Wild for the Knight (The Wilder Brothers #2)

Who does he think he is? You two aren’t going anywhere, my ass.

It’s then that everything I’ve been taught the past decade plays like the end of Boondock Saints, where the detective dances around the crime scene with his frilly music.

My hand moves so fast that he doesn’t have a chance to move.

Striking his Adam’s apple, he falls to his knees in front of me.

Perfect, that's just what I wanted. I grab the back of his head and pull it toward me at the same time that I bring my knee up to meet his nose.

Crack.

Never has that sound been so comforting.

Blood splatters on both of us as he crumples into a heap of limbs on the floor.

I turn to Primadonna, who has handcuffs in her hands.

Geez, she’s an amateur. Snatching them from her, and quickly attaching one side to her wrist as I push my elbow into her neck, backing her against the column to our right.

Her head hits the concrete with a soft thud, she moves to feel her head at the perfect time, allowing me to grab her free hand and attach it to the other side of the cuff. Now she’s stuck there.

I can’t stop the smile from forming as I bring my face inches from hers, “Here’s the thing, Maria.

If you threaten the people I love, I won’t stop until that threat is gone.

So, you and your wannabe soccer star boyfriend over there, enjoy your time in this musty cave.

Because the second we make it outside, the police will be on their way in.

” Her eyes widen as the realization that this isn’t a fight she’s going to win sets in.

“I protect what’s mine, which is exactly why he had no idea you were behind this, even though I’ve known and watched your little plan play out for months now.” Her jaw drops as though I couldn’t possibly have known the truth.

“See, you miscalculated when you thought I was the easy way to get to him. He may have been your target, but you became mine the second you inserted yourself in my life. I promise this won’t end well for you.

” I turn on my heel and walk toward where Tate is sitting awkwardly on the floor.

When I reach him, I look over my shoulder and say, “I hope you like the color orange.”

I grab Tate’s hand, noticing how he’s wincing and trying not to put any weight on his foot. “I’m carrying you.” Is the only notice he gets before I squat down in front of him, allowing him to wrap his arms around my shoulders so I can piggyback him out of here.

His soft chuckle tickles the side of my neck. “I probably shouldn’t be as turned on as I am right now, but it’s pretty hot that you can carry me like this.” I wish I could laugh, but all I can think about is the vitriol that coated his words when he spoke to me earlier.

The complete shutdown as he made up his mind before he even gave me a chance to talk.

Not to mention the way he cut me out the first time, right after I told him I loved him.

That was weeks ago, weeks of having this hole in my heart.

Weeks that I’ve been walking around feeling like a piece of me was physically missing.

Once we’re outside, I put him on the gurney that sits next to an awaiting ambulance.

My brothers followed me here, promising to wait outside as long as they didn’t hear signs of physical danger from the earpiece they put in my ear.

I don’t make it two steps from where I put him before his hand wraps around my wrist. “Stay,” he says, his voice weak .

I want to walk away, I should walk away.

Every logical part of me is screaming to do just that.

To keep walking, put as much distance between us as possible.

But my heart, my stupid, foolish heart. My heart that has longed for someone who’d stick around and uncover layer after layer of the armor I’ve built to keep me safe.

He pulls at my wrist, causing me to face him.

He's covered in scrapes and blooming bruises, his clothes torn from whatever they put him through.

But it’s his eyes that have my grip on reality slipping.

They’re raw in a way I’ve never seen, like every part of him has been stripped down to the bone, every layer of anger and stubborn pride has been ripped away, leaving only him.

The man who accused me of betraying him.

The man who looked me in the eye and told me I was just like her.

I swallow hard, wrapping my arms around my middle as if it could protect me from the weight of this moment. As a way to physically keep everything inside, even though I want nothing more than to lay it all on the table. Now isn’t the time or the place. We don’t need an audience for this.

“Abby,” he says as his voice breaks, “I–” His hand drags down his face, pulling his skin as he goes.

His harsh exhale gives away just how hard he’s trying to pull himself together.

Maybe that should be enough, maybe the fact that he wants to talk things out should make me stay.

But then I remember how it felt when he told me to get out.

How easily he tossed me to the side like I was nothing.

How quickly he believed I was capable of the worst, despite him knowing me better than anyone else.

How I stood there, asking for a chance to explain, to just see me, and he—I suck in a shaky breath , as a lone tear trails down my face. “I didn’t lie to you,” I whisper.

He flinches. “I know.”

My fists clench, and I shake my head softly before I look back at him.

“No, Tate. You don’t know.” I take a step back.

“Because if you did, you wouldn’t have–” My voice cracks, giving a visual representation of my heart at the moment, but I push through.

“You wouldn’t have looked at me like that.

Like I was her. Like I was capable of hurting you that way. ”

His throat bobs, guilt coating his features as he looks down at the ground.

“I screwed up.” I scoff, understatement of the freaking millennium, my guy.

“I heard that name, and I saw red.” He shakes his head, a frustrated groan fills the air as he looks at me.

“I should have known better. I do know better. I was blinded by my anger. You didn’t deserve any of that. ”

I want to let myself soak up the way he’s looking at me right now, like I’m the only thing keeping him alive. Like losing me is like losing a piece of him. But I’ve already let him shatter me once, I’m barely standing. I can’t do it again.

He must see something in my expression because his eyes fill with panic. “Abby.”

I hold up my hand, eyes trained on my shoes. “I can’t do this,” My voice barely above a whisper as I move my eyes to his.

His whole body goes still, his face turning a shade of white I’ve only ever seen on Hannah. “What?”

I shake my head, squeezing my arms tighter around myself, praying it’ll somehow hold me together.

“This was supposed to only be for a week, we should have stopped it as soon as we got back. You and I...” I motion between the two of us, praying he believ es what comes out of my mouth next.

“We never would have worked. We’re like oil and water. Fire and gasoline.”

“You don’t mean that.” His hand raises like he’s going to rest it on my shoulder, but lets it fall to his side instead.

“I can’t pretend like this didn’t happen. Like you didn’t disappear on me the day after I told you I loved you. Like you didn’t throw me away.”

His head shakes violently. “I didn’t throw you away,” he says, desperation clear as day.

“I—” he cuts himself off, raking a hand through his hair, stopping to squeeze the back of his neck.

“I pushed you away after the fire because I thought I could figure it out and keep you safe. I got a text letting me know this wasn’t about you, but me. And I thought...”

I realize I kept things from him, too, and that guilt makes me soften a little as I take a step toward him.

“And you kept that from me? I know I kept the Nikki thing from you, but I only wanted you to be focused on soccer. I didn’t want her to be able to take that away from you again.

I don’t think either of our behavior is excusable.

We’ve built our entire relationship on secrets and lies, and it finally caught up to us. ”

He nods sadly. “I’m scared, Abby.”

I laugh, a sound so hollow it scrapes its way out of my throat. “Of what?”

He brings his hand up between the two of us, motioning back and forth. “Of you.” His voice is hoarse like he’s been yelling for days. “Of what you mean to me. Of the fact that when I realized I loved you, I knew you had the power to destroy me.”

He reaches out for me, and damn it, I’m not that strong. I step into his embrace, tucking my head into the spot at the front of his neck as he tucks his chin over the top. “I was right. Because if you walk away now, I don’t know that I’ll come back from it.”

Tears blur my vision. My heart decides to take up a yoga class and twist itself into all kinds of positions.

I want to believe that’s enough, that our love is enough.

But deep down, I know this isn’t healthy.

There are too many secrets wrapped in lies and half-truths. So, I extract myself from his arms.

Tatum Wilder, the man who is always so damn sure of himself, looks back at me like he’s two seconds from shattering. “I need time. And I don’t know how much. Or if there will ever be a time when we can fix this. I want to believe that love is enough, but I don’t know that it is.”

His jaw clenches, his chest rises and falls with choppy, uneven breaths.

But he nods. All the fight drained out of him.

I’m just as much at fault as he is, I know that.

And I think that's why this hurts as much as it does.

If I had listened to my brothers and told Tate from the start, could we have avoided all of this?