FORTY-NINE
CHAPTER
They released me from the hospital a week later and for the next month, Theo threw himself into his work, remaking the old Vegas Ink into something entirely his. His vision. His legacy. The one he could keep after the other had been lost.
The ache of losing the baby hung between us, and I knew despite what Theo promised, he was retreating into his armor, rebuilding walls.
He loved me. I felt it in every beat of his heart against mine. It kept me warm when I slept wrapped in his arms. His grasp on me never loosened, not even in deep sleep. Always on guard. Always vigilant. He took on everything, shouldering the burden alone so those he loved didn’t have to.
Early one morning, I woke and the first feeling that hit me—the one Yvonne said held the truth—settled on the still-bare skin of my shoulder. The space that belonged to Teddy, empty and waiting.
I woke him with a kiss. “The shop is done, isn’t?” I asked.
He nodded. “Finished yesterday.”
“I’m going to sing at your reopening,” I said. “Grant and Phoebe said the press release was getting a ton of buzz. You’ll have a huge crowd.”
“Of course,” he said. “You’re so talented, babe. They’ll line up down the block to see you.”
“And you,” I said. “Your art is astonishing. It’s you, your heart and soul.” I traced the tense line of his jaw, wishing I could make the hard edges melt away. “I know what tattoo I want.”
“You do? What is it?”
I sat up, tugged his hand. “Come on. I’ll tell you when we get there.”
My heart swelled with pride as Theo unlocked the door of the shop and I stepped inside.
Vegas Ink was no more. Theo had knocked down the wall between it and the nail salon, creating a wide entry.
The black-and-white checkered tiles and red walls were gone, replaced by gray hardwood.
The entry walls were covered with darker gray wallpaper with a repeating fleur-de-lis pattern.
On them were hung large glass displays of tattoo samples, framed in tomato red.
An overstuffed vinyl sofa in the same red color sat against the wall beside the reception desk.
I picked up the Magic 8 Ball there gave it a shake. “Has Teddy become a believer in messages from the Other Side?” I watched for the reply and turned it toward him: It is certain.
He smirked. “ It is certain that ball belongs to Vivian.”
I smiled, then tugged his hands. “Show me the rest.”
He took my hand and led me further into the space. The hardwood floors continued to four tattoo stations, each with a black reclining chairs and smaller, matching chairs for the artist. Prints by Ann Harper and Ted Gahl were interspersed on the dark green walls with more tattoo samples displays.
The entire place was elegant but edgy, masculine to reflect its owner, but not intimidating.
“It’s beautiful.” I wrapped my arms around his neck. “I’m so proud of you. Have I said that yet?”
“Once or twice.”
His tone was teasing but his smile faded quickly. He led me to his station, and readied a paper and blue ink pen, from his desk.
“So,” he said. “Do you want…” He cleared his throat. “Something to do with the baby? Or maybe Jo—”
“I want your blue butterfly,”
Theo frowned, and his eyes looked away, toward the past. “You mean the blue butterfly from that old story? When Jonah and I were kids?”
“The imaginary butterfly that got away.”
He sat back in his chair. “Why?”
“Because it’s everything you are. You’re strong and brave, and you’d take all the pain if it meant making those you love feel it less.
You shoulder that burden by yourself. You put on armor and put up walls.
But inside, you have this gentle, loving soul.
A goodness running down the core of you, all along that steel strength.
I want that on my body. The essence of you.
I love you, Teddy. I want your love with me, imbedded in my skin for all the days of my life. ”
“Permanent,” Theo whispered.
I nodded. “For always.”
Before he could say another word, I climbed into his lap and kissed him hard and deep.
He responded with a small intake of breath, and I felt the tension coiled in his body fall away.
He kissed me with all his fire and the passion.
I felt it come roaring back to life, warming the parts of me that had gone cold after what we’d lost.
“Kacey,” he breathed. “I love you. God, I love you so much.”
“I love you,” I said against his mouth, my hands reaching to undo the buttons on my blouse. I stripped off my shirt, then unclasped my bra. I kissed Theo a final time, then let my clothes fall to the floor and lay face down on his tattoo chair.
“I’m ready.”
He frowned. “I have to sketch it out. Show you…”
I shook my head. “I don’t want to see it.”
Theo’s eyes widened. I saw the pulse dance in the hollow of his throat. “You want me to tattoo it on you, sight unseen?”
“Yeah, I do.”
“Why?
“I want that butterfly exactly as you imagined it. Nothing from me to alter or change what it was. No sketch. No stencil. I want your art, Teddy. I’m your canvas.”
He stared at me a moment more. “No stencil. Freehand?”
I smiled. “Are you this difficult with all your clients?”
“Only the crazy ones,” he said, and in his laugh, I heard that he was going to be okay.
I waited while he put on his plastic gloves and stack of soft cloths to wipe away excess ink and blood, readied his needles and inks.
I turned my head so I wouldn’t see the colors he chose.
A few minutes later, I heard his chair groan as he stood, and I felt him over me.
Soft lips pressed a kiss to my shoulder blade.
“Ready?” he said, his breath hot on my skin.
I turned my head. I wanted to watch him work. “I’m ready.”
Theo leaned over me from his chair, the gun buzzed, and I felt his hand rest on my skin a split second before the sharp bite of the needle.
It had been years since I’d had a tattoo, but the pain was familiar.
A deep, stinging ache. A good tattoo artist new exactly when to relent, to wipe the blood and excess ink and then go again.
Theo was more than good.
I watched him, watched his eyes—intent on my skin—his movements sure and steady, his own tattooed arms holding the gun, muscles tight against the short sleeve of his shirt.
“Is it wrong to say having you tattoo me is turning me on?”
“Yes,” he said, not looking up. “As a professional, I find it highly inappropriate.”
I smiled and bit my lip. I hadn’t been teasing.
I felt the deep bite of Theo’s needle on the shallow skin over my shoulder blade all the way down my spine.
The vibration settled between my legs. The need grew with the pain, receded when Theo pulled the needle away, to wipe the blood and ink, and again when he changed the needle.
The texture of the pain changed then. The needle’s bite was more of a scrape, stinging brush strokes, as if he were coloring my skin with a marker that’s tip was made of glass dust.
“You’re shading now,” I said, feeling the scrape of the tattoo well across my shoulder blade. “That’s a big butterfly.”
“A butterfly?” Theo said, intent on his work. “I thought you said you wanted a giant happy face with Shit Happens along the bottom.”
“Ha ha,” I said, only pretending to be annoyed, while inside my heart soared to see my Theo come back.
After three hours he was done. Three hours watching that beautiful man bent over me, creating a work of art on my body, giving me a piece of himself. My shoulder throbbed but the pain was second to the need I had for him.
“You ready to see it?” he asked. His voice was low, gruff, and if he was nervous, he didn’t show it. He looked at me with hunger burning in his eyes.
I nodded. “I’m ready.”
I moved to stand in front of the mirror he had on the wall of his station, while he took up a hand mirror from his desk. His eyes swept over my naked breasts as I turned to face him. He held the mirror so I could see my back reflected in the larger on the wall.
“Oh my God,” I breathed.
A blue butterfly poised on my shoulder, its wings the color of a summer sky when the sun is about to set.
Rimmed in sharp, deep black, shining like onyx where the light caught it.
It was so real, so perfectly rendered I imagined it would fold and unfold its wings at any moment, fly off my shoulder and into Theo’s palm.
But the butterfly remained on its perch. At the end of the universe.
Theo had rendered an arc of Jonah’s glass along the right side of my shoulder blade, a dark piece of sky, shining with stars and star dust within. It streaked across my skin before tapering away into forever, beyond what my skin could hold. Unfinished. But unending.
I didn’t say a word, but pulled my gaze from the mirror to the eyes drinking me in. He set the mirror down, then his hand was at the back of my head, buried in my hair, the other pulling me close. He kissed me hard, his mouth demanding everything. I parted my mouth, taking him in deep.
“Marry me,” he whispered between kisses. “Marry me, Kace. Be my wife…”
“Yes,” I breathed. “Yes, God yes.”
We gave ourselves up to each other completely, a perfect harmony of love and lust, our bodies striving to show the other what our souls knew.
It was in every touch, every kiss; our kisses were words, declarations made with our hands on our bodies.
Promises made with every gasping breath we shared.
And the joy I felt wasn’t only for his proposal, but for what it meant.
That despite our losses, we would keep going. Never give in or give up.
Because love always wins. Always.