Chapter 27
Holden
Shiloh and I tiptoed around each other over the next few days. I hated it, even if it was my fault. I shouldn’t have pushed so hard. I’d just wanted to be ready so damn badly.
The night before, we’d watched a movie on my laptop in bed. Held hands as we’d done many times by now. When it was over, Shiloh had given me a brief kiss good night. Not much more than a peck.
I’d deepened the kiss and felt him sigh and open for me. The way Shiloh melted and let me take charge was perfect.
I moved my mouth to the corner of his lips, then his jaw and neck, making him shiver. It was easier for me to explore with my mouth than with my hands.
Still, I wanted more.
I carefully cupped his shoulder with my hand. I’d touched him a couple of times, not much, but it was getting more comfortable. “Maybe we could try something new.”
Shiloh pulled back.
“Actually, I’m tired.” His smile was fragile. “Let’s just call it a night.”
“I’m not trying to force it,” I said quickly. “I promise.”
“I know.” He sighed and shook his head. “I just…don’t feel ready. I really am tired.”
I’d nodded, throat tight, as he turned over and got comfortable under the blankets. I put a pillow between us, resenting with my every fiber the need to do so. I’d moved out of the sleeping bag, and we’d held hands and kissed.
Hell, I’d blown him and touched him. I felt ready to touch him more. I could sense that barrier thinning, becoming easier to push through, even if it was still there.
But outside of holding my hand, he’d only ever touched me over my clothing. Affectionate but nonsexual touches, similar to the ones I allowed my brothers in exposure therapy.
Never on my bare skin. Never while we were intimate.
I couldn’t seem to get past that limit, even if Shiloh now wasn’t afraid of triggering me, which he obviously was. I couldn’t risk us rolling into each other in the night. If I lost it again, Shiloh really might decide this was all too much for him, regardless of how much he loved me.
So the pillow went between us, and when I woke the next morning, Shiloh was already up and in the shower. We went through our normal routine, and Shiloh was as loving as ever, holding my hand in the car and kissing me goodbye.
But I’d broken his trust, and I wasn’t sure how to get us moving forward again. I’d happily wait it out, even if it took weeks or months, but I suspected this might be a situation where we needed to get back on the horse before it became a larger fear.
So when Cyrus called to remind me about my tattoo session on Monday, it made me remember what Dr. Levy had suggested when I first began exposure therapy.
That I work on it in a controlled environment where I could feel safe. That I set limits to protect how much exposure I had so that I would know through the entire experience where it would start and where it would end.
That’s what Shiloh needed now. And maybe it was a way to finally get past this limit of mine, as well.
When I arrived at the grade school to pick him up, Shiloh was smiling when he opened the door and slid into the seat beside me.
“Hey, handsome. How’s your day going?”
“Good,” I answered. “Actually, I was wondering if you minded taking a detour before we go home.”
“Detour where?”
“I’ve got a tattoo scheduled. I was thinking, um, you could come along?”
He looked surprised. “Oh. Yeah, that sounds interesting. I thought tattoo sessions were kind of hard for you.”
“They’re challenging,” I said carefully, “but they’re good for me.”
He nodded thoughtfully. “Okay.”
I pulled away from the curb. “I’ve already talked to Cyrus, and I’d like you to participate.”
“What do you mean? I don’t know how to tattoo anyone.”
“Not like that. Just, you know, be his hands when he needs to touch me. To reposition or, um, whatever.”
My heart beat a little faster even saying the words. Soon, I might have Shiloh’s hands on me.
It was difficult with Cyrus. But he wore gloves, and he warned me before each touch, and the touches were brief and clinical.
It would be different with Shiloh. Good different, I thought. I knew Shiloh better. Trusted him. Loved him.
“I don’t know,” Shiloh said. “Are you sure this is a good idea, Holden? After what just happened…”
“That’s why it’s a good idea. We need to hit the reset button.”
“You don’t have to rush it.”
“I know. If you want to wait it out, we’ll wait. I just don’t want this to become an even bigger deal than it is, Shy. I’m already averse to touch. If you’re afraid too, then I don’t know what to do.”
Shiloh let out a breath. “I’m not afraid. Or, I guess I’m afraid for you. I just don’t ever want to see you like that again.”
I gripped the steering wheel a little tighter as we came to a stoplight. “I hate that you had to see it at all.”
“I know,” he said softly.
“The tattoo parlor is a safe, controlled space. Neither of us would push too far. My therapist suggested it when I began exposure therapy again as an adult because it’s not as personal.
She thought it would be an easier place for me to start.
The distraction of the tattoo gun helps too. It splits my focus, you know?”
“You’ll tell me if it’s too much?”
I reached for his hand. “I’ll always tell you. I’m sorry I broke your trust.”
“It’s not like I don’t trust you,” Shiloh said. “I just got scared, I guess.”
“Well, of all people, I’ve got no room to judge you for that.”
“Maybe. But you’ve got more reason than I do.”
“It’s not a competition.” I released his hand to make the last turn and pulled into the parking lot in front of the tattoo parlor and pool hall. “Besides, I can hardly be mad that you don’t want to hurt me. I don’t want to hurt you either.”
I parked and cut the engine.
“So, what do you think?” I asked. “Yes or no?”
Shiloh glanced at the tattoo parlor, then swallowed nervously.
“You can just watch if you’re not comfortable touching,” I said. “It would be reassuring to have you there either way.”
“No, I want to touch. If, um, you’re sure it will be okay?”
I nodded. “It’s a controlled environment, and the touches will be limited. I can tolerate Cyrus, so I should easily handle you. You’re way cuter than my tattoo artist.”
Shiloh laughed as intended, relaxing a fraction. “Okay. But you’ll tell me if you’re not okay?”
“Yes. Always. Just like I do with Cyrus.”
Shiloh nodded. “All right, then. I’m willing to try.”
“Thank you.” I leaned across the console and kissed him, taking comfort in the warmth of his lips beneath mine.
Nerves were skittering through me. This might be a controlled, safe environment, but that didn’t make it easy on my nervous system. That was the hard thing to explain to Shiloh. I was always pushing myself. If I didn’t, I wouldn’t get anywhere.
It was just figuring out where the line was between healing and hurting.
Cyrus met us just inside the door, shaking hands with Shiloh when I introduced them. He was a big guy—tall, broad shoulders, bit of a belly—with salt-and-pepper colored hair and an all-white beard.
“Come on back to my chair,” he said. “We’ll get you set up.”
The tattoo parlor had a wide, open feel to it, with lots of light pouring through the windows. Framed tattoo art in the styles of each artist hung on the walls, everything from classic black-and-white styles to realistic shades of gray to brightly colored cartoony images.
Cyrus was old-school. Above his station, there were depictions of roses with bloodied thorns, fierce eagles, skulls, and snakes. His station was in the back of the shop, though, a bit more private than the others.
And Cyrus was the most laid-back, chill guy you’d ever meet. His energy put me at ease. Even with my touch aversion, I knew—somewhere deep down—that this guy was not a true threat.
“So, what’s the tattoo?” Shiloh asked as I took a seat in the chair.
“A broken shield.”
Shiloh looked puzzled. “Why broken?”
Cyrus cleared his throat. “I’ll go get the transfer ready. You still want Shiloh to help out today?”
“If that’s all right.”
He nodded. “Maybe start with taking off your shirt, then.” He winked. “I’ll be back in a minute.”
Shiloh turned to me. “Did you want me to—”
“Sure. It might be a good way to ease into all this.”
He hesitated, seeming unsure, so I gestured to my chest. “Just the buttons?”
“Okay.”
He exhaled and came closer. My pulse spiked, but this was Shiloh. He’d do exactly as I asked, and nothing more.
His fingers trembled a bit when he reached for my first button. He struggled to undo it.
I closed my hand over his. “Relax, Shy. This isn’t even the hard part.”
He gave a little laugh. “I know. Sorry. I don’t know why I’m suddenly so nervous.”
“I love you,” I murmured. “I want this. Please remember that.”
He raised his eyes to meet mine and gave a little nod. “Yeah. Me too.”
I released his hand, and he unbuttoned the top button. Then the next and the next. My shirt parted, revealing my chest, then my stomach. To distract myself, I answered his question about the tattoo.
“I’m getting the broken shield for a couple of reasons. When I first asked for it, it was because it represented strength after struggle. But now it means something a little different to me.”
Shiloh glanced up from my shirt, hands going still. “What’s that?”
“My touch aversion is a shield I’ve hidden behind. I’m the one breaking the shield now. So that I can step out from behind it and truly live the way I want to.”
“That’s scary, isn’t it? Giving up something that’s made you feel safe.”
“Terrifying,” I said. “But the shield doesn’t only protect me. It stands between me and the people I love.”
Shiloh’s eyes filled with sadness. “I can see that.”
“You’re helping me break it, Shy. That’s what we’re doing here.”
He nodded. “I think I understand.”
“Good.”
Shiloh undid the last few buttons, and I sat forward to shrug out of the shirt and hand it over to him.
“I’ll take that for you,” a familiar voice said.
Emory reached for my shirt, and Shiloh handed it over.