Chapter 33 A Little Shot of Hope
A Little Shot of Hope
Keaton | The Past
The steady hum of my tattoo machine swallows every thought of Charlie as I ink the final lines across my client’s rib cage.
Weeks have crawled by since I bumped into Charlie at the store, but my mind keeps spinning the same damn reel of her clutching that pregnancy test. Every day, I hover over my phone, ready to call and check if she’s alright, if she needs anything—food, chocolate, whatever she might crave.
But I always stop myself, haunted by the reminder that I’m the last voice she wants to hear.
Still, I find myself devouring every article and forum about pregnancy, desperate to piece together the world she’s navigating without me.
Charlie may not be mine anymore, but I’ll always be hers. I should have been hers from the start, but I let doubt and temptation win, betraying the heart I cherished most.
No apology can ever erase what I’ve done, but maybe I can claw my way out of the wreckage I created.
And I’m trying.
Some days, I almost convince myself I’m moving forward. Then there are days like this, when the urge to call her digs its claws in, reminding me I’m still the selfish bastard who broke her trust.
It’s how I know there’s still work to be done.
Therapy helps, at least a little. We’ve unearthed the reasons I strayed, but accepting them is a war I’m still waging. Sometimes I barely recognize the man I became after Rianna crashed into my life.
But it’s a start and more than I had seven months ago.
I lift my machine from the living canvas before me, studying the fresh ink. Satisfied, I grab the Green Soap and wipe away the swirl of ink, blood, and plasma pooling atop the new art.
Aside from music drifting through the speakers and the steady buzz of Rune and Bear slinging ink, silence stretches wide between me and my client.
They’re used to my quiet now. I only speak when it matters, and lately, the only person I have words that mean anything for is my Charlie-girl.
“All good?” I ask, letting him view the finished piece in the mirror.
“Fucking bet, Kea,” he says with a wide grin. “I think it’s your best one yet.”
“Glad you like it, man. Let’s wrap it up, then we’ll get you out of here.”
Once he’s set, I send him over to Frankie to wrap up. Call her Frances, and she’ll threaten to take a rusty blade to your balls. The same one she keeps tucked in her boot, and she’s not shy about showing it off.
Honestly, I wouldn’t be surprised if Frankie and Amelia shared blood because there’s a wildness in both of them.
As I wipe down my station, my thoughts drift to the news my lawyer dropped on me not long ago.
The private investigator my lawyer hired has finally found enough solid evidence against Rianna, so we can move forward with the case.
Now, if only they could actually find her. She’s disappeared, but texts keep coming from random numbers, proof she’s still lurking in the shadows nearby.
If I have to, I’ll drag her into the light myself, just to watch her answer for the chaos she’s unleashed on so many lives.
The truth is, it’s not the men she trapped that I want her to answer for.
It’s the innocents caught in the fallout.
The wives, the partners, the kids. They deserve justice.
Rianna tore through those men, knowing full well they had families waiting at home.
She never cared. She helped us hurt the people who deserved it least, and she shouldn’t get to walk away from the wreckage she left behind.
I’m no hero, but fighting for Charlie in whatever way I can gives me something to hold onto. It’s the closest thing to purpose I’ve had in a long time.
It’s something I never found before I torched my whole life.
My phone goes off as I put away my machine.
I swipe it from the counter and light up the screen, finding a notification from Charlie.
My heart pounds as I pull up her message.
MY BUTTERFLY
Meet me at Grinders?
I’m quick in my response.
ME
Absolutely. When?
The bubbles appear, showing me she’s writing back, so I stay frozen, scared to move in case I miss a message.
MY BUTTERFLY
I’m here now.
ME
Give me ten.
I give my station one last sweep, making sure every surface gleams before heading over to Rune’s spot.
He’s finishing a piece on a woman’s inner thigh, his touch softer than usual. There’s a warmth in his voice I’ve only heard when he talks about his ex. She leans into it, but tension crackles between them, hinting at old wounds almost as if he’s hurt her before.
Since I wrecked my own life, I can spot the same damage in others, like scars inked right onto their skin.
It’s strange, and I’m not sure I like it. Lionel calls it empathy, but I’m not convinced it’s anything but a curse.
“Rune,” I call.
He glances up, his chartreuse eyes swirling with emotions I’m all too familiar with.
“Gotta head out for a few.”
“Everything good?”
His voice has always had this gravelly tone that makes him sound perpetually angry. It’s like he spent years screaming so loud he’s damaged his vocal cords.
“Yeah, man.” My eyes fall to the quiet girl hiding her face behind her neon green and black hair. “All good here?”
“Shit’s fine,” Rune says, but I keep my eyes on her.
“What about you, lady? Are you good?”
Her head snaps up, eyes wide and startling—bright honey ringed with dark chocolate. But it’s not the color that stuns me. It’s the pain swirling in them, so raw that ‘startling’ barely scratches the surface.
The only time I’ve seen that kind of agony was when I shattered Charlie.
“I’m good,” she says so softly that I almost miss it.
I catch Rune swallowing hard at her words, and I wonder if she’s the one withholding comfort from him.
When I glance at Rune, I expect anger for not trusting him, but instead, I catch a flicker of gratitude in his eyes.
That’s when it clicks. Her identity is revealed by the way he looks at her.
Deyanira. His ex.
He’s talked about her before, but I never knew the details. I don’t need them to see the pain hanging between them.
I draw a deep breath, their pain echoing in my chest. I nod to Rune, tap my knuckles on the counter, and head out to find Charlie.
***
Outside Grinders, I wipe my sweaty palms on my jeans, nerves crackling at the thought of seeing her again.
Charlie stands beside the counter, arms folded, as she chats with one of her employees.
I can’t stop staring, searching for any sign she might be pregnant. But she’s just the same beautiful woman I’ve loved since we were kids. Untouched by time, at least in my eyes.
Drawing a deep breath, I wrap my fingers around the handle and pull it open.
Her icy eyes lock onto mine, sending a rush of warmth through my veins. Something shifts in my chest as she holds my gaze, like hope flickering to life.
My skin tingles with the ache for her touch, every nerve alive with memory.
I could swear I catch a flicker of desire in her eyes, but it vanishes before I can be sure it was ever there.
Every part of me aches to close the distance, but I force myself to move slowly, careful not to shatter the fragile peace between us.
Every time she stands in front of me, it feels like a dream I could wake from at any second, never knowing if it’s the last time I’ll see her like this.
"Hey," I manage, stuffing my hands in my pockets to stop myself from reaching for her.
Her face is blank as she stares at me.
I rub the back of my neck, trying to ease the itch her stare leaves burning beneath my skin.
Charlie doesn’t give anything away, unlike the last time I stood before her.
“I’ll grab us a coffee. Go on over to that back corner booth,” she says abruptly.
Coffee’s a good sign, right? She wouldn’t be drinking it if she were pregnant.
I don’t think.
Unless it’s decaf. Maybe.
I tamp down any flicker of hope as I make my way to the booth she pointed out.
It’s tucked in the back, away from the crowd. Private enough for honesty, public enough for her to feel safe, like a confession booth for two.
My knee bounces under the table as I shred a napkin to ribbons. The wait is only minutes, but it gnaws at me, sending my nerves into a tailspin.
It feels like a lifetime before she returns.
Charlie slides into the booth, nudging a heavy cup toward me. She blows steam from her own before taking a careful sip, her empty gaze fixed on me as she gathers the courage to speak.
The longer she hesitates, the more sweat beads at my temples, my heart pounding like it wants out of my chest.
After another sip, she finally exhales and leans back. "The tests came back negative."
Tears sting behind my eyes, my muscles going slack with relief and exhaustion.
I press my palms to my eyes, fighting back tears. Charlie shouldn’t have to deal with my mess, especially when I have no clue how she feels.
I wipe my damp palms on my jeans and finally look at her. "How are you feeling about this?" I reach for her hand, but stop short before making contact.
“I’m okay.” Charlie takes another drink of her coffee. “I’m not ready yet, Keaton. But it scared me and made me so damn angry at you. More than I already was because, like I told you at the store, I should have been doing that with you.”
I wince as the coffee scorches down my throat, savoring the sting. It reminds me I’m still here, still paying for my mistakes.
“Why’d you tell me, Charlie? You don’t owe me anything.”
She laughs ruefully. “If only you knew how often I said that to myself when deciding.” Her sigh fills the space between us.
“I don’t even know, honestly. It came down to the fact that, despite how cruelly you hurt me, I just don’t have it in me to ever hurt anyone else that way.
Not even you, Keaton. I know you enough to know it was eating at you. ”
“That’s because you’re a good person, Char.”
She scoffs, shaking her head. “Keep me off the pedestal, Keaton. I can’t explain how many times I’ve fantasized about causing you the amount of pain you’ve caused me. There were days when it was the only thing giving me peace.”