38. Bridget
38
brIDGET
“ I t’s mortifying is what it is!” I shrieked as Chase pulled out of the inn’s parking lot and headed toward Morehead City.
He snickered under his breath.
Asshole.
“It’s not that big of a deal, Bee. They’re just boobs.”
I leveled him a glare sharp enough to clean shave his stupidly sexy jaw. “ Just boobs? ” I scoffed. “Fine. Then I’ll take that as you don’t care if you don’t get to play with them. You know—since they’re just boobs.”
“Whoa—hey, now. That’s not what I meant.” He grinned, his eyes tracking down to my cleavage. “You have a spectacular rack. Bar none. No contest. Best tits I’ve ever seen. Ten out of ten. No, a hundred out of ten. Every time we fall asleep, I wanna use them as pillows. They’re so fucking awesome. Women are so lucky. If I had boobs, I’d never get anything done. I’d just sit and squish them all day long. I’d be so distracted playing with them.”
I cocked an eyebrow. “Uh-huh. Nice save, Brannan.”
He reached across the console and squeezed my hand .
We had checked out of the Taylor Creek Inn this morning after a few days of R&R. Two out of the three days, he had teased me over the fact that I accidentally flashed one of our closest friends.
I couldn’t help that I had taken my bra off on the way up the stairs. I couldn’t help that Kyle had clawed at my tank top and tore it to shreds. I couldn’t help that Steve caught me at the bottom of the stairs, tits flying free as I ran.
The logical next step was to enter witness protection, assume new identities, move to Utah, and never have contact with Steve or Erica again.
Easy peasy.
Chase stroked his thumb over the back of my hand. “Darlin’, it’s a job. We see people in all kinds of situations every day. I guarantee he wasn’t fazed in the slightest.”
“He wouldn’t look me in the eye afterward.”
Chase raised an eyebrow. “You want me to ask him?” He reached for his phone.
“No!” I shrieked, swatting at his hand. “Please just let me die under a rock. Cause of death: abject humiliation. And how aren’t you angrier about this? Your best friend saw your girlfriend’s boobs!”
“Fiancée,” he clarified with a laugh. “My best friend saw my future wife’s boobs. And good for him. Like I said: you’ve got yourself a set of spectacular tits, darlin’. I bet Erica would love ’em, too.”
“Asshole,” I muttered.
Chase had a point. It was a moment I couldn’t control. I was lucky to have made it out, and seeing Steve running into the house was a comfort since Chase was holding off the man intent on killing me.
I was embarrassed, but having something to banter with Chase about made the days after the attack a little more bearable .
Having him as my best friend was the greatest comfort in the world. I didn’t need to put on airs around him. We would bicker and call each other assholes like old times, then kiss and make up.
I had cried more in the last three days than I had in the wake of the attack that happened when I tried to leave Kyle.
It was over. Finally, completely over.
I could lay my head down at night, knowing that he would be held without bond until his court date. I didn’t know if I’d have to testify. I wanted to dare them to put me on the stand. Every vile thing he ever said that played on loop in my mind would be put into a court transcript for posterity.
I leaned across the console and rested my head on his bicep as he crossed the bridge into Morehead City.
He was getting the last piece of his tattoo done today. After that, we were picking up Luna from Kris and Will, then heading home.
I pushed the thought of walking back into the bedroom where Kyle had been waiting to kill me out of my head. It wasn’t something I was ready to revisit yet.
Naomi came to our room at the Taylor Creek Inn when she heard about what went down. She helped Chase and I talk through everything.
We discussed staying in the cottage for a few nights. Maybe a slow reintegration process would help us both slowly work our way back into that particular room.
The truck bumped into a pothole as Chase pulled off Arendell Street into a strip mall parking lot. The neon sign for Elektrik Ink was only half-lit, spelling out “kink” instead of the full name. I tried to stifle a laugh as we walked in.
“Seriously?” he said under his breath. “That’s what makes you laugh?”
“You know it’s funny. ”
“You have the sense of humor of a twelve-year-old boy.”
“You’ve known me for a long time, and you’re surprised that I’m laughing at the fact that the sign says kink ?”
Chase snickered. “Fine. It’s a little funny.”
Elektrik Ink sported slick black couches and potted plants. A neon sign shaped like a tattoo pen hung over the front counter, buzzing intermittently. I couldn’t tell if that was intentional.
The place was small but pristine. I could don a white glove and trail my finger across every surface without collecting a speck of dust. The scent of cleaning products and antiseptic wipes hung in the air. Classic rock played from a speaker somewhere in the back.
Chase pulled me into his side while we waited at the counter. Every door along the short hallway was closed. Mindlessly, he trailed his fingers up and down my ribs.
It was something he had been doing a lot lately—touching me without even meaning to. Like he couldn’t bear to go a moment without a physical reminder that I made it out alive. That we both made it out alive.
One of the doors opened, and a tiny woman with ash-colored hair pulled in a high ponytail skipped out. Tattoo sleeves covered both of her arms and a glittery stud dotted the side of her nose.
“Chase!” she squealed when she spotted him. She held up a one-minute finger. “I’ll be right there.”
“Take your time, Jen,” he said before taking my hand and walking over to the black couches.
Jen —an adorable pixie with an Australian accent—seemed way too chummy with Chase for my liking. She checked out the client she had been working on and sent them out the door.
“Please tell me we’re finishing your piece today!” she said as the front door swung shut. “How’d the last session heal up?”
Chase stripped his t-shirt off right there in the lobby. He turned so that Jen could see the back of his shoulder. “Feels good. Looks good.”
“Oh, that turned out perfect,” she cooed, trailing her fingers along the edges of the angel wing tattoo.
Oh, I was gonna kill him.
Chase must have had a sixth sense for jealousy, because the fucker smirked at me. Smirked!
Jen was so cute. A man would have to be blind not to be into that kind of cheery sunshine.
“Bee, this is Jen,” he began as he slipped his shirt back on. “She designed my tattoo.”
Jen’s mouth gaped open. “Bee as in Bridget ?” She let out an ear-piercing squeal. “Wait— please tell me you two are a thing now.”
Chase let out a low laugh. “Yeah, we are. Been going steady for a couple’a months.”
Jen flung her arms around me and squeezed with the strength of a sumo wrestler. “That’s the best news I’ve heard all day!” She released me and smacked Chase on the arm. “See? What’d I tell you?”
“I know, I know.” He grinned.
She let out a happy sigh. “Well, Tim is finishing up a piece. He should be done in a few minutes. I’ve gotta say, I’m a little jealous I never got to do the piece, but I’ll take all the credit for designing it.”
Tim was a burly, bearded biker with gauge piercings and a teardrop tattoo under his eye. His mullet was pulled back in a thin braid. I felt a whole lot better about Chase stripping down in front of him than Jen.
Chase was still as a statue while Tim tattooed the back of his shoulder blade, finishing the rest of the design.
I leaned forward, resting my elbows on my knees as I sat in one of the spare chairs off to the side. I clutched Chase’s t-shirt to my chest, not-so-discreetly savoring the occasional whiff of his cologne.
“You doing okay, bud?” Tim asked without even looking up.
“Peachy,” Chase said casually as he scrolled through his phone like being stabbed repeatedly with a tiny needle was no big deal.
Tim went back to rambling on about the bread baking podcast he was listening to.
I tuned out his monologue about sourdough starters and proofing times and watched the tip of the tattoo pen move over Chase’s skin.
“Does it hurt?” I asked.
Chase looked at me out of the corner of his eye, careful not to turn his head or move too much. “Not really. I guess it depends on where you get inked. Kinda feels like the tip of a knife scraping down your skin or a hard pinch.”
The knife comment took my mind back to the night he laid me out on the bar and dragged his pocket knife against my skin before slicing through my shirt.
Tim raised a thick eyebrow and peered over at me. “You got any ink, sweetheart?”
“No.” I shook my head. “I’ve thought about it, though.”
Chase smiled. “You should do it.”
I laughed. “I dunno.”
“Do it, Bee,” he stage-whispered. “Cave to the peer pressure.”
Tim snickered at our antics. “Tell you what, cupcake. You think about it. When I’m done with your fella, if you want a little something, I’ll do it on the house. I’ve got a little time before my next client.”
Chase grinned at me. “You only live once, darlin’.”
“Oh God,” I whined, squeezing my eyes shut. I’d pulled my hair back in a messy knot and slipped one arm out of my sweater. “This is gonna hurt, isn’t it?”
“Nothing you can’t handle,” Tim said as he snapped on a pair of gloves and wiped my skin with an alcohol pad. He pressed the stencil to my collarbone, then carefully peeled it away.
Jen had overheard our conversation and dragged me out of the room to help me design something while Tim finished up with Chase.
She spilled what Chase had told her about us and our history. I told her everything that had happened since.
Tattoo parlors and bars had something in common, I realized. They were places where tough souls could be vulnerable. A safe place to bear hearts and let wounds show. Bartenders and tattoo artists were unofficial confidantes and backwoods preachers.
She drew a simple design with clean, graceful lines and slipped it to Tim without Chase seeing.
“Alright,” Tim said as he rolled his stool over and held the tattoo pen over my skin. “You’re gonna feel my hand on your shoulder now.” His enormous bear paw of a hand nearly covered my entire shoulder. He let out a quiet chuckle. “Deep breath. You gotta stop shaking. This is an easy one. Ten minutes and you’re done.”
Chase gave my hand a squeeze.
I took a steadying breath and tried to calm my nerves, but it didn’t work. I didn’t know if it was the thought of the needle or another man’s hand on my body. I was trembling like a leaf.
“Chase, why don’t you take a seat behind her?” Tim suggested, reclining the other side of the vinyl bench.
Chase straddled the seat behind me, bracketing my butt and thighs with his strong legs. He reached around my waist and took both my hands, lacing our fingers together and crossing them over my stomach. The safety of the hold was calming.
I took a deep breath and gave Tim a nod.
The buzz of the machine filled the room.
Chase pressed his lips into my hair, whispering gentle praises as the first stroke of ink pierced my skin.
I focused on the soft repetitions of Chase’s thumb stroking my hand as Tim quickly finished the design.
“Nine minutes, twenty-six seconds,” Tim said as he rolled back and set the tattoo pen on a metal tray. “Not too shabby. How you feeling, sugar?”
I opened my eyes warily, unsure if it was okay to move. “Is it done?”
“All done and looking sweet as hell, if I do say so myself,” he said proudly, handing me a mirror. “What do you think?”
I stared at the reflection in the glass. My skin was pinked up around the tattoo, but it would heal. It was the good kind of hurt. It had been cathartic.
Pain that I could control. Pain that would turn into something beautiful.
I had chosen to have the tattoo over the left side of my collarbone, above my heart. The tattoo covered a deep scar on my skin that was the aftermath of a night when Kyle had smashed a bottle of Scotch, then pushed me into the pile of broken glass.
It was a tulip. Simple, elegant strokes bloomed across the scar, hiding the uneven lines and raised skin. Underneath the stem, it read, don’t ever doubt it .
Chase pressed a warm kiss to the side of my neck. “Looks good on you, darlin’.”
I closed my eyes and relaxed into his embrace as he held me.
Tim was unfazed by our holy moment. He coated the tattoo with a thin layer of antibiotic cream and covered it with a small piece of plastic wrap.
Jen gave me a back-cracking hug on my way out, and I promised her free beers if she or Tim came by Jokers.
The October sun was blinding as we walked into the parking lot. We lingered against the side of Chase’s truck, his fingers grazing over my new tattoo. “This is permanent,” he said quietly, keeping the moment sacred, though life bustled on around us.
“I know.”
“And that doesn’t scare you?”
I shook my head. “You’ve always been the one thing I could count on. Back when we were kids. When I pushed you away. You never stopped chasing me. Never stopped loving me.” I eased up on my tiptoes and kissed him. “And I never doubted it. Not once.”
Chase broke the kiss and turned away from me. “Look at the back of mine.”
I hadn’t seen Chase’s finished tattoo since Jen had pulled me out of the room to design mine. Gingerly, I lifted the hem of his shirt, raising it up to the back of his neck.
There were a few more feathers completing the angel wing, but across his shoulder blade, they were slightly different. Instead of veins and quills, there were leaves and blooms worked into the design.
“Growing season,” he rasped.
In a looping cursive on the edge of the design, it said, don’t ever doubt it .
Chase turned and kissed me square on the mouth. “Let’s go home, darlin’. It’s time to bloom.”
We swung by Will and Kristin’s and loaded Luna up in the truck. She seemed rather perturbed to be leaving the attention of Zoey and Hunter. Chase held my hand as he navigated the grid of downtown Beaufort until he pulled onto his street.
The house looked just as it had every other day. Leaves were falling, covering the ground. Since the tulips wouldn’t bloom again until the spring, we had potted mums arranged by the pergola.
It was as if nothing had even happened here.
Hannah Jane and Isaac were sitting on the wicker furniture and stood when we pulled in.
“Hey,” Chase said as he hopped out and opened my door. “What’s going on?”
Hannah Jane strutted effortlessly over the soft grass in her death-spike heels. “We have a surprise for y’all.”
“We?” I asked.
Isaac nodded. “The poker club pitched in while you two were staying at the inn. We did a little renovation in the house.”
Chase cocked an eyebrow. “Yeah, I’m gonna need my house key back. I told you that was for emergencies only.” He held his hand open, demanding the key back from Hannah Jane.
She smiled devilishly. “How ’bout you take a look inside before we resort to drastic measures like turning over keys.”
I hesitated.
We had planned on sleeping in the cottage for a little while. I wasn’t ready to see that bedroom again. The nightmares were back, and I knew going back to the scene of the crime would only make it worse.
Sensing my trepidation, Isaac put a gentle hand on my shoulder and offered a kind smile. “Take a look.”
I followed Chase into the house, and the Lawsons brought up the rear. We dropped our bags in the kitchen, and Luna immediately darted to her food bowl. The smell of fresh paint and lumber mingled in the air.
“So, we all kinda figured you wouldn’t want to sleep in the main bedroom,” Hannah Jane began. “So, we flipped two of the rooms. The wall in the guest room wasn’t load-bearing, so we got a crew in here to knock it out and expand it. The boys did the drywall, and Mel, Erica, and Maddie repainted it. Kristin and I got new linens for the bed and some new decorations.”
Isaac slipped his hand around Hannah Jane’s waist. “There are new beds in the new main bedroom and in the guest room.”
I couldn’t imagine Isaac, in all his fancy suits and ten-thousand-dollar watches, doing drywall. But the flecks of gray mudding compound on his fingers was proof.
The four of us exchanged hugs and profuse thank yous.
I didn’t deserve these people that had claimed me as family. But by God, I was grateful that they had.
Found family was a profoundly beautiful thing. The choice to love someone through their best and their worst ran deeper than blood ever could.