“Yes.”

“Then why can't you love her?”

“It's not that I can't ...,”

“Why don't you?”

“Sanders,” Jameson groaned, rubbing his hand over his face. “Can we get existential another day? I am so fucking tired.”

But he thought about it, as he went to bed. Jameson laid in the middle of his bed, on purpose. Trying to erase the distinction of there being “sides”; her side, his side. She slept on the right side of him, most of the time. But it was his bed, so really, there shouldn't be sides.

Even you started calling it “our bed”, as opposed to “my bed”. You know what's going on.

Jameson didn't think he was incapable of love. He had loved his mother. He loved Sanders, very much. But he had never been in love with somebody. He certainly hadn't loved Pet, and he had never been with any other woman for too long, before her. Hadn't ever really liked any of the women he'd been with; he hadn't even been with Tate for that long, so he certainly couldn't love her.

Could he?

He loved her body. He loved fucking her. He loved her filthy mouth, and her sick mind. He loved how she would let him do anything he wanted to her. Loved that she was never scared of him. Loved that she had always allowed him to be himself, through and through. He loved that she was funny, and smart, and that sometimes she would look at him like she was so happy to see him, she couldn't even stand it.

He loved coming home to her, and he loved waking up next to her. He loved calling her names, and he loved that she loved it. When he had first talked with her, in his office so many months ago, he had never imagined it would go so far. Tatum O'Shea had looked like a good fuck, and that was all he had been looking for; she had been looking for the same thing. When had they gotten so lost in each other?

God, every piece of him was tired. Sometimes, even the devil needed to be cut a break.

~13~

Arizona wasn't so bad.

Nick had picked her up at the airport. He didn't say anything, just wrapped her in a big hug and carted her home. Tate had called him, after Ellie had her baby. Gave him a brief overview of what had happened. Of course, he had instantly offered to take her in, which she had been counting on. Tate made it very clear that she wasn't coming to him for some sort of relationship. She just needed a break. If he wanted something more, then she would rather stay in Boston.

He promised to leave her alone.

It was sunny, and compared to Boston, it was warm. He had a nice, three bedroom house in a cul de sac. She stayed in a hotel, in downtown Tucson. He didn't even ask her to come stay with him. Smart man.

Tate was thinking of it as a vacation. As a way to clear her mind. Thinking while Jameson was nearby was impossible. She had to figure out what she wanted, what she really wanted in life. So far, all she knew was that she didn't want to be harassed by a psychotic supermodel, and she might want kids. Someday. Maybe.

Not a very big list.

She thought of what she had told him, once.

“... I want Prince Charming to ride up on a white horse, and carry me off to his castle. The only difference between me and other girls is once I get there, I want him to bend me over the throne and pull my hair while he fucks me hard and calls me names. But I know that'll never happen with you ...”

That wasn't asking for too much, she felt. And it was relatively normal. Lots of people had wild sex, she wasn't the only one. She could always dial back the sex, anyway. No one would ever be as good as Jameson, so she should probably just get over that right away.

She talked to Ang, every single day. He asked her to come home, every single day. But she didn't mind Arizona. She spent most of her time alone. It was peaceful. Quiet. Still. She had already put in applications for jobs.

Ang threatened to cry.

“Move out here with me.”

He told her to go fuck herself.

Mostly he was worried that she was simply hiding. Sure, she was standing in one place, but she was effectively running away. He was scared she would eventually run straight into Nick's arms. Then there would be no going back.

“Don't settle for him,” Ang hissed into the phone.

“He's a great guy!” she snapped.

“He is, he really is. I don't have a problem with him. It's you. You're fucking using him, Tate. That's fucked up.”

“I'm not doing anything. I told him from the get go that I'm not doing this to be with him. I have repeated it, over and over. Threatened to cut his nuts off if he so much as looked at me wrong,” she pointed out. Ang laughed.

“Why do these men want you so bad!? We've had it all wrong – you've been the devil, this whole time,” he joked.

Too close to home.

Tate worried about Sanders. During the first week, he didn't call her. Didn't return her phone calls. If it was part of his tactic to get her to come home, it almost worked. She was beside herself with panic. Had Jameson killed him, when he found out what Tate had tried to do? Did Sanders hate her now? Or worse, was he embarrassed?

When she was almost to the point of hitchhiking back to Boston, Sanders answered her phone call. He had been busy, he explained. He chatted with her for a while, but he was very tight lipped. He didn't say one word about Jameson, or one word about asking her to come home. Obviously still upset with her. She vaguely referenced the idea of him maybe possibly sort of coming to visit, some day in the far off future. He got off the phone, almost immediately.