Chapter 7
Seven
Mya
The tattoo needle buzzed softly, but I barely heard it anymore. All I could feel was him, his touch, the heat of his palm resting against my skin to steady me, and the way he kept glancing up at me like he still couldn’t believe I was here and could disappear if he looked away too long.
He was so careful. I could tell he’d done this a thousand times before, but with me?
It felt like he was learning all over again.
I watched his brow furrow, his tongue pressing slightly to the side of his cheek as he filled in a section of the sun.
God, he was beautiful. And when he wasn’t looking, I let myself drink him in.
Same hands. Same voice. Same wreckage in his eyes.
But different too. Like something about seeing me again knocked loose a piece of himself he thought he’d buried.
The second he finished, he leaned back slightly, pulling off his gloves. “All done.”
I looked down. It was perfect, exactly what I wanted… But there was something I noticed.
“What do you think?” he asked.
“You’re really good at this.” I smiled, trying to cover the sadness that was creeping back up.
He huffed a soft laugh. “Thanks. I try.”
“Nick…” I muttered.
“Yes?”
“It’s your bike.”
“It is.” He nodded before turning away from me.
“But you didn’t know you were drawing this for me.”
“All I knew was a bike and a sun. How could I not think about our night?”
“I haven’t stopped thinking about it.” I mumbled, but he was already busy doing something else.
I stood and grabbed my jacket, and he reached for the wrap to cover the tattoo, his fingers brushing the inside of my arm. That touch alone made my knees weak.
“You should eat,” he said suddenly. “You just got a tattoo, and you haven’t passed out, so that’s impressive, but you should eat.”
I tilted my head. “You offering?”
He shrugged, but his eyes sparked. “There’s this place down the block. Greasy, loud, and probably has questionable health ratings, but the food is good.”
“Perfect,” I said. “I like questionable.”
“Or dangerous.”
“Both,” I smiled.
“Come on, Sunshine.”
The way he said my nickname, like he’s said it our whole life, has my stomach twisting. But I followed him anyway, because Nick was never just one night to me.
* * *
The diner was half-empty, but somehow still too much. The overhead lights were buzzing loud enough to make my brain itch, and the smell of syrup and bleach mixed in a way that made my stomach turn and then growl.
I picked the booth by the window because I needed to see out. I needed something moving to focus on, something other than the weird heaviness in my chest or the fact that I couldn’t tell what Nick was feeling at all.
He slid into the booth across from me like he’d done it a hundred times, smooth and quiet, with that unreadable look on his face, and my whole body tensed. I had to look away before I got stuck trying to decode him again.
I grabbed the menu and ordered quickly. “Uh… a side of hash browns, a biscuit, and… a chocolate milkshake.”
The waitress blinked at the combo but didn’t question it. Just jotted it down and called me “baby” on her way out. I flinched without really meaning to.
Nick raised an eyebrow. “That’s it?”
I glanced at him, already second-guessing myself. “Yeah, I don’t know. I always order weird things. It sounds good now, but I’ll probably still be starving after.”
He didn’t judge me for it, but he also didn’t answer. He just leaned back in the booth like he was thinking. Which, in return, made me overthink the whole situation. A few minutes later, when the waitress passed by again, he flagged her down.
“Add a short stack to that order,” he said casually, nodding toward me. “She’s gonna regret it if she doesn’t.”
I opened my mouth to argue, but he was already settling back like it was no big deal. Like this was normal for us.
“You didn’t have to—”
“I know,” he said. “Did it anyway.”
I chewed the inside of my cheek until it hurt.
“You okay?” he asked.
No. Yes. Kind of. Not really. I didn’t know. I nodded anyway. “Yeah. I’m fine. My brain is flipping channels too fast, and I lost the remote.”
His eyes softened. “I get it, Sunshine.”
That word. Sunshine. The noise in my brain slowed down for a second. Just a second. But still.
“Nick,” I said softly. “Why’d you disappear?”
“Because I didn’t want to screw it up,” he said faster than I thought he would. “And I didn’t think I had the right to want you again. We both agreed on no strings.”
I exhaled, slow and quiet. “I don’t think you’d screw it up.”
He reached across the table, his fingers brushing mine. “I’m not good at this,” he sighed. “But I think about you every day.”
“I think about you too.” I whispered. But before I could say more, the waitress brought us our food.
* * *
We walked back to the shop, but I wasn’t ready to get in my car and not see him again. I wasn’t ready to say goodbye, again.
“I have to feed Bear,” he mumbled as he rubbed the back of his neck.
“Oh.”
“He misses you,” he all but rushed out, like he wasn’t sure if he should say it or not.
“He does?” I laughed. I only met the dog once, and something told me that was a lie.
“I mean… You could come with me,” he added, eyes locked on the pavement. “If you’re not in a rush. He’s probably being dramatic and chewing up my couch.”
I hesitated. This was the part where I was supposed to say goodbye. Walk to my car. Pretend like my stomach wasn’t twisted up in knots because I didn’t know when I’d see him again, or if I’d see him again. But I was so sick of pretending. “Sure,” I said softly. “I’ve got time.”
He looked up. Not quite smiling, but something close. “Cool,” he said, like it was no big deal. Then he was walking me to my car, not giving me time to think, let alone change my mind. He shot a glance over his shoulder before swinging a leg over the bike and taking off.
* * *
As soon as we stepped inside, a thundering bark echoed down the hall, and Bear came barreling around the corner. Seventy pounds of fur and joy nearly knocked me off balance.
“Bear, easy,” Nick laughed, catching the dog’s collar.
But Bear wasn’t interested in anyone but me. He jumped and wagged and whined like we hadn’t just met that one night. I crouched to the floor, letting him lick my cheek while his whole body vibrated.
“Well, someone missed me,” I said.
“Told you,” Nick muttered.
I looked up at him. His mouth curved, but there was something off in his eyes. That shadow again.
He moved to the kitchen to scoop food into Bear’s bowl, and I wandered to the living room, settling on the couch.
There were more sketches pinned to the wall.
A couple empty mugs. A leather jacket draped across the armrest. And something about being here, just the two of us, no noise, made my chest tighten.
Nick came back a moment later and sat beside me, elbows resting on his knees, fingers toying with the rings he always wore. He didn’t say anything right away. Bear curled at our feet. It almost felt… domestic.
Then, almost under his breath, Nick said, “I almost drank yesterday.”
Everything stopped. Just stopped. I blinked at him, brain scrambling to catch up.
Words got stuck somewhere between my chest and my throat.
I wanted to say Are you okay? or What happened?
or literally anything helpful, but my brain just sort of…
spun. He didn’t look at me, just stared straight ahead like he was confessing something to the wall.
“I was standing in the liquor aisle,” he continued, voice rough like gravel, “just about to grab the bottle. I kept thinking… Just this once. One night. One drink. One chance to shut it all off and feel numb again.”
I nodded too fast. It was a habit. When I didn’t know what to say, I nodded. It was fake reassurance for both of us.
“I didn’t buy it,” he said. “But I wanted to. I really wanted to. But it never really is just one night or one drink. It’s an addiction. A binge that will ruin everything I worked so hard for to begin with.”
There it was again, that panicked flutter of say something, say something, SAY SOMETHING, even though my brain was frozen on the image of him alone in that aisle, carrying all of that pain by himself.
“Why did you want to drink?” I asked softly.
Nick let out a slow breath, one that sounded like it hurt on the way out.
“I don’t know,” he said at first. Then shook his head. “That’s a lie. I do.” His hands curled into fists on his thighs. “I was thinking about you.”
That caught me off guard. My breath hitched.
“I kept picturing you walking away,” he said quietly. “Wondering how I got so fucked up that I couldn’t even ask you on a second date. And even if I did, I figured I’d end up screwing it up somehow.”
He shook his head slightly. “It felt easier to fall back into the version of me that doesn’t care.
The one who doesn’t feel anything.” He finally turned to look at me, and the rawness in his eyes stole my breath.
“That version doesn’t get hurt,” he said.
“He just drinks until everything goes quiet.”
I swallowed. “What stopped you?”
His eyes met mine. “You.”
My heart lurched. My brain tried to find something. Anything that wouldn’t come out sounding small.
“I get it now,” I blurted. “Why you said no strings. You didn’t think you were safe. For me. Or for yourself.”
His expression faltered, like he hadn’t expected me to understand. “I told myself I’d ruin you. That you’d wake up one day and see I was just another screwup with a good jawline and a past he doesn’t talk about.”
“You think you’ll ruin me,” I said slowly.
“I’ve ruined plenty,” he said flatly.
“Okay, but you haven’t ruined me,” I snapped.
“Sorry, I just… I hate when people think I can’t handle hard things.
” My heart was pounding. “I know I talk too fast and feel too much and overthink literally everything—” I exhaled, trying to catch up with my thoughts.
“But if there’s one thing I’m sure of, it’s this: I don’t want perfect.
I want you. Even when it’s heavy. Even when it’s messy and dark and weird.
Even if all we had was one great night, something about it was real. And fuck the strings.”
He blinked like I’d knocked the wind out of him this time. “I didn’t drink,” he said again, softer now. Like he needed to hear it out loud.
“You didn’t drink.” I reached for his hand before I could talk myself out of it. Probably squeezed too hard. I always did that. I never knew how to do things halfway.
“I don’t know how to do this,” he admitted. “I want to stay, but I’m scared.”
“I don’t care if you’re scared, Nick,” I whispered. “I’m scared too. Stay scared. Just don’t shut me out while you’re doing it, because I’m here. And I’m not going anywhere just because you’re human.”
He closed his eyes and leaned forward until our foreheads touched. “Okay,” he breathed. “Okay.”
And for once, I didn’t feel like too much.