Chapter 43 Jealousy Unleashed

Chapter 43 Jealousy Unleashed
Kade

I sat on Leo's bed, controller in hand, but my mind wasn't on the game.

"You're letting me win," Leo said, pausing the game and looking at me suspiciously.

"No, I'm not," I lied.

"Yes, you are," he insisted, "You never let me win. What's wrong?"

I sighed, setting down the controller. "Nothing's wrong, buddy. I'm just tired."

Leo studied my face with those too-perceptive eyes of his. "Is it about Tate?"

My head snapped toward him. "What? No. Why would you think that?"

"Because you keep checking your phone," Leo said simply, "And you asked where she was as soon as you came in."

Damn. This kid was too observant.

"I just wanted to make sure she was okay," I said, trying to sound casual, "She works for us. It's my responsibility."

Leo didn't look convinced, but he didn't push it. Instead, he picked up his controller again.

"She went out with a friend," he said, "She deserves to have fun. She takes care of me all the time."

"Yeah," I said quietly, "She does."

We played in silence for a few minutes, but I couldn't focus. My mind kept drifting to Tatum.

Where was she? Who was she with? Was she safe?

My phone buzzed. I grabbed it immediately, hoping it was from her.

It wasn't.

Landon: Dude, you need to see this.

Landon: [Image]

I opened the image and felt my blood run cold.

It was Tatum.

She was at a party, wearing a black dress I'd never seen before. Her hair was down, lips painted red. She looked... stunning. Different from the Tatum I saw every day in her casual clothes and minimal makeup.

She looked like she belonged in my world.

And she was sitting in a circle with other people, laughing. Next to her was a guy—blond, good-looking, leaning in close to talk to her.

Too close.

"Kade?" Leo's voice broke through my thoughts, "Are you okay? You look angry."

I forced myself to relax my grip on the phone before I cracked the screen.

"I'm fine," I said, but my voice came out harsh.

"Is it Tate?" Leo asked quietly, "Is she in trouble?"

"No," I said, standing up, "She's fine. I just... I need to make a call. I'll be right back."

I walked out into the hallway, pulling up Landon's number.

He answered on the first ring.

"So you saw it," he said, amusement clear in his voice.

"Where is she?" I demanded.

"Political science party. Off-campus apartment on Maple Street," Landon said, "Why? You jealous?"

"I'm not jealous," I snapped, "I just need to make sure she's safe."

"Right," Landon drawled, "That's why you look like you want to murder someone in that photo I can see you're still staring at."

I hung up without responding.

I shouldn't go. I knew I shouldn't go.

But the image of that guy sitting next to her, leaning in close, maybe touching her...

I was moving before I could think it through.

"Leo," I called out, sticking my head back in his room, "I need to go out for a bit. Will you be okay?"

"Where are you going?" he asked.

"Just... something I need to take care of," I said, "I'll be back soon."

"It's about Tate, isn't it?" Leo said, and there was something knowing in his voice that made me pause.

"Leo—"

"It's okay," he said, smiling slightly, "Go. Make sure she's safe."

I stared at my little brother, wondering when he'd gotten so perceptive.

"Thanks, buddy. I'll be back soon."

I grabbed my keys and headed out.

The drive to Maple Street took fifteen minutes, but it felt like an eternity. My hands gripped the steering wheel so tight my knuckles were white.

What was I doing?

I had no right to be jealous. No right to care who she spent time with. I'd made it clear that kiss was a mistake, that we couldn't happen.

But knowing that didn't stop the rage burning in my chest at the thought of another guy touching her.

I parked outside the apartment building, music already audible from the street.

I should turn around. Go home. Forget I saw that photo.

But my feet carried me forward, up the stairs, following the sound of music and laughter.

The apartment door was open, people spilling out into the hallway. I pushed through the crowd, scanning for her.

And then I saw her.

She was standing near the door, alone, phone in her hand. She'd clearly just come outside, probably to call a ride home.

She looked up and our eyes met.

The shock on her face was clear. "Kade? What are you doing here?"

I walked toward her, not caring that people were watching, not caring about anything except getting to her.

"I could ask you the same question," I said, my voice coming out rougher than intended.

"I'm at a party," she said, lifting her chin defensively, "I'm allowed to have a life."

"I didn't say you weren't."

"Then why are you here?" she demanded, and I could see the confusion and frustration in her eyes, "You made it very clear we need to keep our distance. So why—"

She didn't finish because I grabbed her hand and pulled her away from the crowd, around the corner of the building where it was darker, more private.

"Kade, what are you—"

"Who was that guy?" I asked, the words coming out before I could stop them.

"What guy?"

"The blond one. Sitting next to you."

Understanding dawned on her face, followed by something that looked like anger.

"Were you watching me?" she asked, her voice dangerously quiet, "Did you follow me here?"

"Landon sent me a photo," I admitted, "And I just... I needed to make sure you were safe."

"Safe?" she repeated, and then she laughed, but it wasn't a happy sound, "You came here because you were jealous."

"I'm not—"

"Don't lie to me," she cut me off, stepping closer, "You're jealous. Admit it."

We stood there, inches apart, the air between us crackling with tension.

"Fine," I said through gritted teeth, "Yes. I'm jealous. I saw you with that guy and I wanted to—"

"Wanted to what?" she challenged, eyes blazing.

"This," I said, and then I was kissing her.

This kiss was different from the first one. That had been impulsive, unexpected.

This was deliberate. Possessive. A claiming.

My hands cupped her face, tilting her head back so I could deepen the kiss. She made a small sound—surprise or protest, I couldn't tell—but then her hands were fisting in my shirt, pulling me closer.

I backed her against the wall, pressing my body against hers, trying to get closer, always closer.

She tasted like alcohol and something sweet, and I couldn't get enough.

"Kade," she gasped when I moved my lips to her neck, "We can't—people will see—"

"I don't care," I said against her skin, "Let them see."

But even as I said it, some rational part of my brain was screaming at me to stop.

This was wrong. This was exactly what I'd said couldn't happen again.

But I couldn't stop.

Not when she was making those little sounds. Not when her fingers were tangled in my hair. Not when she felt so perfect in my arms.

"Kade," she said again, and this time there was something in her voice that made me pull back.

We stared at each other, both breathing hard.

"We can't keep doing this," she whispered, and I could see tears glistening in her eyes, "You keep saying it's a mistake, that it can't happen, and then you... you do this."

"I know," I said, my voice rough, "I know. I'm sorry."

"Are you?" she asked, "Because it doesn't feel like you're sorry. It feels like you're just as confused as I am."

She was right. I was confused. Conflicted. Torn between what I wanted and what I knew was right.

"Tatum—"

"No," she said, pushing against my chest, "No more. I can't do this. I can't keep going back and forth with you. Either you want this or you don't. But you need to decide."

"It's not that simple," I said.

"Yes, it is," she insisted, "You're just too scared to admit what you want."

"I'm not scared—"

"You are," she said, and now the tears were falling, "You're terrified. And I get it, Kade. I do. But I can't be the person you kiss when you're feeling jealous and then ignore the next day. I deserve better than that."

She was right. She deserved so much better than what I could give her.

"I know," I said quietly, stepping back, "You're right. I'm sorry."

A car pulled up to the curb—her ride.

"I have to go," she said, wiping her eyes.

"Tatum, wait—"

But she was already walking away.

I watched her get in the car, watched it drive away, taking her with it.

And I stood there in the dark, alone, hating myself more than I ever had before.

Because she was right.

I was scared.

Scared of wanting her. Scared of hurting her. Scared of becoming my father.

But most of all, scared that I was already in too deep to walk away.