CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Stained Skin
SERENITY
“You’re what?” Jimena shrieks, plowing her vocal cords straight into my brain stem.
I smooth my hands over her round dining table. Jimena’s apartment is a mix between new modern, and authentic Mexican. She has sleek white countertops, with a colorful-painted backlash. On top of her counters are three different shaped vases, handcrafted by her mother.
I had no choice but to spill the updates with Lake. Every time I see Jimena at work, she accuses me of wearing a cactus on my forehead or acting like water for chocolate. I have no idea what either of those things means, but I know she’s onto me. So, I don’t know why she’s acting so shocked now.
She stresses her hands out in front of her, and another shriek tears out with her exhale.
“I’m sorry I said nothing sooner.” My head droops. “I wasn’t sure what to make of it. So I kept quiet, but now it feels—like something.”
She pulls out the chair across from me and sits. Her hand meets her scalp, pushing layers of hair from her face, and clearing her eyes to death glare at me.
“He’s been so sweet,” I add, attempting to settle her. “I’m doing something fun for us today.”
Her eyes turn into thin slits. I look over my shoulder into her living space, holding my breath in case I get a lecture in Spanish that I need to pretend to understand.
I showed up uninvited. It’s only fair when Jimena breaks into my house any time she pleases. That’s another reason I’m telling her about Lake and I. I’d rather her find out from me, then bust into my house and find Lake spooning me with a rom-com blaring on our TV.
“So, he is taking you out, and you said nothing? You sleep together, and you said nothing? He’s baking you cookies, Serenity.” She scoffs. “Cookies. And you said nothing.”
I bring my shoulders to my ears and look back at her. “I’m sorry.”
“This is crazy, you understand that? You are husband and wife now. Actually married.”
“I wouldn’t go that far.” I reach to my side, pulling out a sheet of paper from my purse. “We’re maybe dating, and just happen to be married.”
“Sure, Serenity.” She huffs. “I am happy for you.”
She takes the page from my hands as I give it to her. I watch her eyes take in the drawing, and the smallest bubble of nerves pops, spreading in my stomach.
She sits with it for a moment, then looks up at me. “What is this?”
“I know Lake has always wanted tattoos, and he’d want a special tribute to his sister. I drew this for him.” I point to the page. “Do you think he’ll like it?”
The smile that appears on her mouth is soft. “He’ll love this, then. You did a great job.”
She hands the picture back, and I tuck it in my purse.
“Can you help me pick what to wear? My top three scrub sets have vomit, blood, and some other substance on them.”
I scrunch my nose. “Sure. I’ll help.”
“Perfect.” She stands, grabs onto my wrist, and yanks me out of my seat. “Then you can tell me your plans for today. Try not to hide any secrets this time.”
***
Lake has his arms crossed. He squints at the big sign in front of us, reading it over for the third time since we parked. “This is where we’re going?”
I’ve learned he’s not a lover of surprises. He huffed and puffed the entire time I drove his truck, because he wanted to drive to the unknown location, like the gentleman he is. I lied that I wanted him to run errands with me, but my insistence on driving us made him suspicious. Then he demanded to know exactly what I was up to. Now we’re here. The surprise is revealed, yet he’s as skeptical as he was five minutes ago.
“I know you’ve always wanted tattoos. You should stop waiting to do the things you want to do, Lake.” I swallow down the nerves still bubbling in my gut. “So, this is our date today.”
His eyes glow. “We’re getting tattoos?”
I bite on my bottom lip and nod my head. “Well, you are. I’m here as support.”
He falls back into the passenger’s seat, clenching his firm muscles over his rugged chest. “You’re getting a tattoo with me, Serenity. This is something we’re doing together.”
“Lake, I made you something.” I ignore him. “What was the tattoo you wanted?”
He raises an eyebrow. “I want a lot of them, Angel.”
“Yes, but you wanted a tribute to River the most.” I dip my head. “She’s so etched in your soul, Lake. I know that about you. How important she was to you.”
I suck in a deep breath, taking the folded paper from my purse and passing it to him. He unfolds it gently, revealing a drawing of a bird. Its wings are soaring outward, and it’s holding flowers in its beak. Followed by my best cursive writing underneath; From my heart, in my blood.
My hands start to sweat the longer he stays silent. He’s not obligated to get the tattoo, let alone like it, but I thought his first tattoo needed personalization. Something to symbolize his love for his sister, more than a mere drawing.
He sobbed on that cold hospital floor. Crying out of his horrendous withdrawal, but all it took was a mention that River must be proud of him for Lake to find the courage to pull through that breakdown.
So, I hope he likes it.
His voice is hoarse. “You drew this?”
I tilt my head. “Well, not technically. I’m not much of an artist. I found a similar tattoo and used it as a reference. The quote is my creation, though.”
His eyes leave the page, giving me his full attention. His lips drawing apart. I still can’t tell if he loves it or hates it. There’s sorrow riddled on his face that makes me believe it can be either, but then he leans over the truck console, pulling my head to his lips, and kisses my cheek.
“Angel. Beautiful. Thank you.”
His caveman speech makes me smile. “You like it?”
“Love it. Gonna get it.” He rocks the paper back and forth in his palm. “You gotta get one with me.”
I slouch. “I’m not against it, but there’s just nothing I want.”
“Wanna get something to remember your sister by?”
That idea makes me wince. I don’t, especially not with everything happening behind the scenes. I loved my sister. I think she loved me too, but she ruined the progression of my life, and she never offered any sympathy. Ever. She can’t rise from the grave and apologize to me now, but I also don’t believe she’d bother if she could.
“What’s wrong, honey?” He holds his future tattoo tightly. “Was she like your parents?”
I tuck in my bottom lip. The anxiety solidifies like glue in my mouth. It needs me to keep to myself. That is what I’m used to, but Lake wants me to open up.
“You don’t need to protect her, Serenity.” He shrugs. “Not like she’s here to get offended.”
Protect her? Is that what I’m doing? Why do I bother protecting her? Why do I hide the truth about her possible crime to shield my family, as if they treat me with any respect? I’m married. I got married to this man—this stranger—who's watching me with patience and tenderness, and it almost makes me want to cry, because the gentle caring is so unfamiliar to me.
It’s nice to know that protecting Lake from my secrets isn’t a one-sided affection. At least my care for him is pouring right back into my cup. Filling me.
My breathing hitches. “Like River was to you, Delilah was my older sister,” I begin, looking out the windshield instead of at Lake. “But our relationship was different from yours with River.”
I catch him nodding and passing his tongue along the inside of his cheek, so I continue. “I know River was a parent to you, and that isn’t right by any means, but Delilah was barely even a sister to me.”
“I’m sorry she was like that, Serenity.” He glances back at the paper. “You know you can always talk to me, right?”
Lake somehow possesses the ability to read my mind more accurately than Jimena does. He seems to always know what I need, if it’s a certain type of breakfast or a specific rom-com—Lake knows. So, I think part of him is questioning what I’m holding in, and why speaking about myself is so soul-sucking.
It’s just how it is for me.
“I didn’t grow up in an environment that allowed me to share.” My throat feels like it’s tightening. “I don’t think I know how.”
My husband scratches his neck, pondering to himself, and we stay painted here, listening to the birds chirp through the wind. Like another moment in time where neither of us is completed, and someone bigger than the world we know is stroking a paint brush across this canvas, helping us find our words and our ground.
“Why’d they not let you talk?”
It’s weird how my mind reacts to his sentences. I want to insist I’m okay and to scurry back into an invisible place. That’s how I was raised. My mother could talk about how stressful work was, my dad as well. They could listen to Delilah’s problems, but they excluded me from those conversations. So I stressed over adding more to everyone’s issues, and I stayed in the dark.
“The few times I spoke up, my parents dismissed me.”
Delilah was more crucial to them, always. Even when we were children, long before she spiraled to addiction.
“I thought if I got better grades, took up healthy hobbies, and won awards, my parents would acknowledge me.” I confess. “It’s like they threw these expectations on us, but they experimented differently. They ignored me, and they were overbearing to Delilah.”
I give a tiny shrug. “It feels unnatural to me now. I don’t want to be a burden.”
“You’re not a burden to me, Serenity.” He shakes his head. “You’re my wife.”
My body trembles, just for a moment, but as his words settle, the most steadying entity of peace whisks through me. Whatever is painting us here makes the scene—the surrounding earth—smell like paperbacks, florals and it feels like an old movie. My peace.
I draw my eyebrows closer. He means it. I know he’s being genuine, but I don’t know what that means for us. The energy flowing, multiplying our feelings, where does that put us?
His wife. I’m his wife. And maybe that is more than a title now.
He takes my hand. “You talk to me when you want to. About anything.”
“Thank you.” A bit of weight lifts off of my shoulders. “We’re gonna be late for our appointment.”
He squeezes my fingers. “Doesn’t matter, Angel. Still thinking about what tattoo you’re getting.”
“I’m not getting one. We’re here for you!”
I free my hand from his and squeeze his thigh. Only for him to slap his hand back over mine, turn my arm around, and clutch onto my wrist.
“Your wrist.” He drags his finger along my skin. “Breathe.”
“What are you saying?” I giggle.
“Your anxiety attacks. Get a reminder on your wrist, telling you to breathe.” He’s glimmering, proud of his idea. “Probably always see it.”
“That’s really cheesy.”
He side-eyes me. “Serenity, you squeal over rom-coms from the nineties. Beyond worrying about what’s cheesy.”
Last night, Lake and I were watching Runaway Bride . He left to make popcorn, although I could see him stealing and chowing on the cookies he baked while the kernels popped. When Lake returned, I was in tears, laughing at the movie, so he slowly backed away. He took my popcorn with him.
“Okay. I’ll get it.”
***
Lake and I are sitting next to one another with our forearms shaved clean. He yelps out when the needle hits his skin. “Shit!”
I burst out laughing. The two tattoo artists are quick to follow. It’s like his entire personality has been stripped from him. Other than his fidgeting, his body is still adamant about doing that.
“How the hell are you staying still?”
I roll back my shoulders and sink into my chair. “It’s not that bad, Phoenix. It’s kind of like a massage.”
Lake doesn’t want to look at his tattoo until it’s done, but it’s so far beautiful. The bird is soaring gracefully on his upper forearm. The flowers are beginning to come together.
They’re all different, like the ones he got me.
But the best part of his tattoo is where he’s placed it, right under his inner elbow. The bird conceals his scars, and not the random ones he’s gotten from his childhood, but the scars that mark the start of his heroin addiction. Those bumpy little spots where he’d flood his veins are being veiled with something new.
“Once I’m done with the flowers, it’ll be the quote,” June says. She has neon blue hair, like the color of a gemstone. “You sure you want this handwriting? It’s a little wonky.”
For the first time since this whole thing started, Lake’s leg stops jittering. He leans back into the leather chair. “I’m sure.”
My cheeks burn quickly. I turn away and try to focus on the tingle as the needle dips into my skin. I know it’s not healthy to romanticize a person this much. But it’s not a fantasy in my head anymore. I’m not imagining his kisses without ever feeling them. I’m not tricking myself into believing something. Lake is here, with a band on his finger, getting my handwriting engraved into his skin.
“So—” Lake clenches his fist, trying not to squirm. “She wasn’t planning to get a tattoo. I convinced her. Just wondering if that’ll get me some kind of discount.”
“Usually not,” June laughs. “But sure. Why not?”
I look at my wrist. My tattoo artist is more quiet than June, but only while doing tattoos. When Lake and I first walked in, she wouldn’t stop talking. Her name is Ivory. She’s covered in her own drawings, from her neck all the way to where her sleeves and shorts cover. It’s easy to tell this art form brings her harmony.
She moves along the handwriting, lifting the needle every few seconds to swipe away any excess, keeping everything perfect and clean.
It is cheesy, but I’m happy I’m getting it. One reason, sharing this moment with Lake is unexpectedly fun, but it also wouldn’t be horrible to have a reminder. Sometimes when stuff grows overwhelming, I just need to breathe.
***
Lake steals the paper bag from my hand. We had to buy unscented soap and Vaseline for our tattoos. Right now, it looks like we both have plastic wrap tied to our arms, but clear bandages are superior to others. I can’t stop looking at the fresh ink in my skin.
He moves his head from shoulder to shoulder. “Told you.”
I give him a look. “Thank you, Phoenix. I do love it.”
My phone buzzes on my butt cheek. I pull it out of my pocket, seething at the twinge of pain in my wrist, but the pain fades when I go nauseous as I scan Caleb’s contact name. He doesn’t give up, does he?
Caleb: We need to talk.
Lake walks ahead of me once he spots the truck in the parking lot, leaving me to circle through different responses in my head.
I wonder if this relates to work, but I know it doesn’t. I want to tell Caleb to fuck off and leave me alone. It’s not the best idea, he is still my boss. Although, because the nature of his text has nothing to do with work, he should fuck off.
Regardless of how I respond, I don’t think Caleb will give up. It’s like me telling him to leave me alone enables him to do the opposite.
Lake reaches the truck, he tosses the bag in the backseat, then opens the passenger’s side door for me. I roll my eyes internally and externally smile at him.
I spot his calm brown eyes, waiting for me to hop in. His bulky arm delves into the pocket of his pants, getting out the truck keys again, after accidentally putting them away. His sharp jawline rolls in annoyance with himself, and that same sense of security washes over my entire being.
And it hits me. I just need to breathe.
I’m enjoying my day off with Lake. I don’t want to stress about Caleb and the crazy stuff he’s attempted. Maybe it’s more convenient for him to reach me directly, but I don’t need him on my phone. Maggie texts me about shifts, and if anyone needs me to come in, they call.
So instead of wasting my time responding to someone I know won’t listen, I click on his contact and block his number, sliding my phone back into my pocket.
“You know, I can get my door.”
Lake narrows his eyes. “Angel, just let me take care of you.”
I freeze in place. Stuck between Lake’s body and the opened door. He keeps saying things that pull at my heartstrings, but I’m unsure of his seriousness, or how serious I crave him to be.
His wife. A title. Maybe more than a title—more than a sham. The words blurt out of my mouth. “What do you mean by that?”
“Angel,” Lake sighs, reaching forward, and cupping my face in his hands.
I don’t move. Why do I always feel like I’m abandoned when I’m far from being alone?
He closes his eyes, muttering something to himself before speaking to me. “What’s happening in your pretty mind?”
Endless things. I’ve had no consistency with people. Even outside of relationships. Maybe that sounds silly, but I always end up alone. My parents are well aware I’m being framed for murder, but they aren’t supporting me. I kept my sister harbored, but she died under my care, anyway. I am far from perfect, and I don’t want to lose anyone else because of my imperfection.
None of that leaves my mouth. “Phoenix, I don’t want you to go away.”
“Serenity, you didn’t leave my side when I died in front of you.” He bends his knees, trying to make eye contact. “You bruised my ribs to see me breathe. I’m not going anywhere.”
I look right into his eyes. Again, no butterflies spawn, no fresh nerves arise.
“Even if you let me die on that bed, If I knew you, I would’ve forced my heart to get up. All so I could show you what it’s like to be taken care of.”
My soul melts. “I never thought you’d turn out this sweet Lake.”
Lake Phoenix didn’t know I existed. Then, one day, I did, and his brother asked me to keep showing up and existing in Lake’s life. I never imagined that would lead to this moment. With the sun hitting his tattoo, then emerging from behind the clouds and bathing us in its light.
A stranger to his wife. And he wants it to be more than a title.
“Aren’t you scared?”
His smile is genuine to match his words. “I’m terrified.”
“What is this?” I force out.
“I don’t know.” His honesty cuts deep. “Angel, the faith I got in myself is slim. Can’t promise you anything.”
I chew on my bottom lip. The tenseness I’m feeling rattles every cell in my body.
“But I’m trying, Serenity.” He slumps his shoulders. “Can you trust that?”
No promises, and no expectations, but he wants to take care of me. He might not believe in himself, but I believe in him. I’ve seen his progress. He’s transforming into something he’s never been. Everything I begged for, for him and his life, is coming true.
I think he believes in me, too.
My husband. More than a title.
I bow my head. “Okay.”
He places a hand on my lower back, urging me into the truck. Then he presses a kiss on my cheek. “Thank you. For the day. For having patience with me.”
I try to stop my smile, but my facial muscles and pounding heart don’t comply.
Lake Phoenix hates rom-coms, but he watches them with me. He cleans my house, and he cooks my meals. There isn’t much money to his name, but he insists on paying for me. He’s not a billionaire, but I feel like a girl in a billionaire romance.
He’s already taking care of me. Sometimes, when I think our kisses will spiral out of control, he slows himself and holds me instead. Like I’m more than sex. Sometimes I think about how comfortable this ring feels on my finger, then I realize Lake never fidgets with his. Like it’s comfortable for him, too.
He’s not making promises, because he doesn’t want to hurt me, but he’s trying to find his balance, so he can eventually make me promises.
I give him a hopeful smile as he starts the truck and begins pulling away.
“Seatbelt, Phoenix.”
The truck jolts as Lake pauses. “Right.”
I stay swooning as he clicks on his seatbelt and drives us home. Lake catches me staring a handful of times. He shakes his head, reaches over the console, and clasps my hand in his.
No, this isn’t what I envisioned, but I’m happy.
The sweetness in my belly turns sour.
I’m lying to the man who’s trying to prove he’s authentic to me. For us. I’m hiding half of myself from him, while he’s trying to show me all of him.
He told me I can talk to him whenever, but I don’t want him to see me how my parents do. I don’t want him, Jimena, Brooks, Maggie—none of them can know. Not after I’ve been hiding it for so long.
Will they go away, too? If they knew?
I turn my attention to the passenger window. Lake’s thumb brushes against mine over and over, and I try to let that soothe me, but I know my sneaky secrets need to stop.
I wanted to put an end to Mancini’s case before, but that’s not something I can keep hovering at the back of my mind. There are answers somewhere, and I need to find them.
Before it breaks apart my new foundation.