Chapter Four #2
Trent put the phone down and shook his head at the craziness of it.
Pursing his lips, he thought of Yasmin. She’d love this shit, and her not being able to share in it would be the ultimate one-finger salute for the misery she’d caused him.
And his parents? Though they’d seen his passion for tattooing start to pay off, they still didn’t really understand it.
Getting this role would be the ultimate proof to all of them, wouldn’t it? He had amounted to something.
* * *
“And how was our resident hottie?” Drea asked, peering over the top of her wineglass, a momentary flash of amusement brightening her features. She sat in the solitary chair across from the sofa, her wavy hair loose over her shoulders.
“Trent’s fine.” Harper tried to hide the smile forming on her face by taking another sip of wine.
“Hey,” she squeaked as she tried to deflect the beaded throw pillow aimed in her direction before it knocked the glass out of her hand.
It would be a waste of the lovely Zinfandel that Drea had brought to accompany the dinner Harper had cooked.
“Don’t give me that, Miss Scrabble Genius.”
There was no arguing. Harper knew she was pretty transparent on the best of days, and Drea was unrelenting. Might as well just go with the truth and skip the interrogation.
“You know how it is. You’re the only friend I have who knows any of this.
I still jump a mile if anyone walks behind me.
I finally just let someone touch my back for the first time in four years.
And to top it off, I just got another letter from Illinois.
Nathan is being considered for parole. I’m not in any place to start something. ”
“I thought you said he was in prison for a while.” Drea moved from the chair to sit next to Harper on the two-seater sofa, tucking her legs underneath her.
“He was supposed to be, but he’s done all these rehabilitation courses. Anger Management for Psychos or something. They do enough of them, they can graduate early.”
“That’s bullshit,” Drea said. “What’ll happen if he gets out?”
“He’ll try to find me. He already threatened to. But he doesn’t know I’m here.” Harper took a large swallow of wine.
“But he’ll have to see a parole officer, right? And the police will watch him too. Won’t he be on some offender list?”
Harper laughed, she’d been that na?ve once. “The same police who witnessed Nathan’s father offer me money to drop the charges, but told a courtroom full of people I made it up. Those police?” Cynicism laced her words.
“Seriously? Oh my God, Harper. So what are you going to do?”
“I can’t do much about it. They asked me to attend the hearing.”
Drea reached out and put a gentle hand on her arm. “Are you going to go? You know I would go with you in an instant if you wanted me to.”
Harper put her wine down and cautiously placed her hand on top of Drea’s. “I know you would, honey, but I still can’t face him. I contacted my lawyer today about submitting a victim impact statement for consideration. Lydia is going to help me pull it together.”
Which was why her tattoo was so important. It was time to move on and she needed to get rid of the permanent reminder, reclaim that part of her. Otherwise Nathan was always going to own her.
Her mind wandered back to Trent working away on her design. She imagined him in a fitted T-shirt like that first night and those dark jeans that hugged his butt. He always seemed to have his baseball hat on, but she imagined him without it. Every ounce of his concentration focused on his sketch.
This time the pillow did hit her square on the shoulder. “Back in Trentville?” Drea questioned with a laugh.
“Sorry. I don’t know, Drea. I think he might be under my skin a little bit. A large part of me isn’t sure I’m ready. I mean I still freak out, yet for the first time in forever, I’m thinking about a guy.”
“So go with it.” Drea leaned over to put her hand lightly on Harper’s shoulder, ignoring the subtle flinch. “It can’t be right that I’m the only person in the world you’ll tolerate touching you.”
“You aren’t.”
“What do you mean, ‘You aren’t’? Did you make out with him already?” The screeching made Harper’s ears ring.
“No. But I let him hug me in his office the other day.” Remembering the comforting strength of his arms made her sigh.
Maybe Drea was right. Maybe she didn’t need to be alone anymore.
* * *
She couldn’t look up. He was watching. She could feel it. Waiting. Patiently. Immobilized on the bench outside of the studio, Harper studied the time on her cell phone. Twenty minutes late, and he knew she was sitting right there.
This is what she wanted, right? Why couldn’t she just walk in there? Why was this so freakin’ hard? Covering the scars was never going to erase the memories of that night, but she could get on with the future if she just did this.
The mental pep talk was on a continuous loop—and had been since she’d choked down her breakfast. If she didn’t go in, Nathan won. Well, won more. He’d already won when she’d run to escape him and had given up everything she’d known. How much longer was she going to let him keep control of her life?
No more. She could do this.
Harper lifted her gaze and looked into the store, immediately locking eyes with Trent. It was time. She knew it. He gave her the briefest of nods. Returning it, Harper stood.
The ring of the bell was lost over the music blaring. She felt like the geek who’d just entered the cool kids’ party. It couldn’t be true that every single person in there was staring at her, but it certainly felt like it.
“Hey, Harper,” Cujo said, breaking the ice. “Good luck today. It’s going to look deadly when you’re done.” He walked over, leaning in slightly to bump her shoulder with his.
Harper instinctively wrapped her arms around herself. She knew Cujo meant nothing by it, but still. She forced herself to drop her arms back to her sides.
She turned. “Hey, Trent.”
His smile was breathtaking. “Licorice?” He offered her the pack of chewy, red candy.
Harper took a piece. “Discreet way of keeping my blood sugar up?” She took a bite of the sticky rope.
“Nope. Just love red licorice and wanted to share. Not liking it would be a deal breaker on the whole doing-your-tattoo thing.”
Harper laughed. It felt good to release some of the tension that had been building inside.
“I happen to love it, though I like black licorice better.”
He pointed to the door. “That’s it. Get out of my studio. Black licorice is one step from devil worship.”
“Kind of extreme view, don’t you think?” Holy cow, had she just heard herself giggle?
“Not really. Liking red licorice and black licorice is an oxymoron.”
“That’s not an oxymoron. An oxymoron is an adjective-noun combination that combines contradictory terms … like ‘living dead.’ Liking red and black licorice is not.”
“Wow. Into Scrabble. Knows fancy definitions for shit. You an English teacher or something?”
“Yes, I … I mean, no. I work in a coffee shop. I just like words is all.” Her stomach turned.
Why on earth had she nearly revealed her previous career to him?
Her job had been her passion—she’d loved it more than anything.
Not that she could do it again. She’d need to register her papers and use her real name and that wasn’t going to happen. Nathan would find her.
“I’m still holding you to Scrabble, but first there’s something else we need to do today.” He put the packet of licorice back behind the desk. “Are you good?” he asked.
Wasn’t that the million-dollar question?
* * *
So she was an English teacher. Interesting development. Why on earth wasn’t she teaching? Schools all over the city were crying out for great teachers. Today wasn’t the day to push her for information, but he wanted to know.
“This will be our room for the next however many hours this takes. The transfers are ready over there for us. Want to take a look before we get started?”
The hand he was holding was frozen to the bone. The fingers on her other hand were flaring again. Nervousness seeped from her. Every protective instinct in him was screaming to pull her into his arms and hold her there.
“We’ll shave your back and then place these transfers on it. I’m going to do it with you standing so I can make sure they end up straight. If it’s okay with you, I’ll ask Cujo to help me out rather than cut it into pieces.”
“How did you make these?” Harper picked up the layers of what looked like old-school copy paper.
“Some I drew by hand, some I ran my sketch through the thermo fax, kind of like a fax machine for tattoo designs.”
“I’m making this difficult for you, aren’t I?
” Harper suddenly turned to face him. “I mean, I bet you normally have to hold people back. People travel to see you and can’t wait to get started.
They just want to get a tattoo done by you—you being amazing and all.
” Her mouth curved into a small smile. “You’ve had to literally hold my hand,” she said, lifting their joined hands, “every step of the way.”
“Everyone is different, Harper. If it helps, this is probably the most unique situation I’ve ever been in. Can’t say I usually have to literally hold someone’s hand through it, but it’s no hardship and I’ll help you get through this any way I can.”
“I never wanted a tattoo, you know. Before, I mean. I would never have thought about getting one if this hadn’t happened.
” She turned to face him, squeezing his fingers so tightly he wondered if it was possible to cut off his blood supply.
“If surgery to remove the scars had been an option, I probably would have gone that route instead.”
Trent tried to ignore the churning feeling in his stomach. He wished she hadn’t told him, wished he didn’t know that she so disliked something that was a fundamental part of who he was.