Chapter 29 #2
I cup her neck and turn her face up to mine so I can really look at her.
I trace her jaw lightly with my thumb as my other fingers lay under her hair, pulling her the last inch so she’s flush against me, her front plastered to my drying shirt.
The water is forgotten as I stare at her.
Her hands loop loosely around my back, rubbing up and down slowly.
“We started me on meds, and I feel better. A lot better. My thoughts are less jumbled, things don’t seem to trigger me as much,” I add, still stroking her chin with my thumb, watching her lips part when I drag my thumb along her neck.
The feel of her pulse matches my erratic heartbeat at her proximity.
“But it’s not an excuse for what happened.
I saw you leaving and the panic just took over.
I couldn’t think of anything to say. All I know is I saw my whole world leaving me behind and I couldn’t even chase her.
Then for the next three months, I acted like a fucking idiot, because there you were and I couldn’t figure my own shit out. ”
She rips herself out of my grasp and takes a step away from me. “You hurt me, Kane,” she lashes out, pain evident in her voice.
“I know, baby, and I’m so sorry,” I croak, my voice breaking. I stand up straight and struggle to hold myself back from grabbing onto her again. I watch as her brain wars with her heart. Her hands twitch to touch me, but the hurt stays unchanged on her face.
“I tried. I asked for months. I was so patient, and then when I wanted to talk, you said nothing. And I get it now. I do, and I wish I had known so I could have fixed it. I could have—”
I cut her off with a hard tone. “No, it wasn’t your job to fix. I am not a project for you to fix. I need to fix myself. You don’t deserve another person’s problem on your plate.”
“That’s not what I meant, Kane. I could have been there for you.
I could have gotten you help. I could’ve been by your side, and it hurts that you were going through all of that and we couldn’t just talk about it.
That’s on both of us. We didn’t talk about the hard stuff.
I let you get away with not talking about your dad, what was going on at work.
I waited, but I should have pushed. I should’ve spoken too, about the way I felt earlier,” she replies, sniffling softly.
She wipes more tears that have escaped down her cheeks.
I drop the towel that I used to wipe my face and pull her into her bedroom, needing to be dry for this conversation as the cold has seeped into my bones, leaving my fingers unable to feel her like I want to.
I search my drawer in her dresser—the one where I always kept my things—to find it washed and folded. I grab the first shirt I see and rip the wet one off my body, tossing it into the bathroom before throwing the new one over my head.
I look up and see Avery standing in the doorway, frozen and staring at my chest. Realization strikes me that she hasn’t seen it.
I lift up my shirt and show off the part of my chest—I’ve always kept blank right over my heart.
It was now full with her—her name, in script and a beautiful pink peony weaved throughout, her favorite flower.
I always planned to get her tattooed on me more.
I have little ones here and there, her favorite snack on my inner arm, her birthday in roman numerals down my spine, a small script of pretty girl etched on the back of my hand—on the skin between my pointer finger and thumb, curved just perfectly, like a collar that sits so snug on her neck.
The sight of it for the first time kept us in her room for the night, using her new necklace until we were both spent, wrapped in each other.
I lower my shirt and walk toward her, those eyes not leaving my chest as if she can see through the black shirt.
I take it off so she can look at it better, throwing the shirt somewhere toward the bed as her eyes heat with desire.
I flex a bit and watch as her eyes drag back to that spot again.
I take her chin in my hand and stand with my toes up to her bare ones.
“Eyes up here, honey,” I say with a smirk as I close her mouth with my finger under her chin. She blinks a few times, speechless over what she just saw.
“When did you get that?” she asks, her voice cracking as she finally moves her eyes up to my brown ones.
“Shortly after everything. Maybe that’s not fair of me to do.
I had always planned on getting you there, but nothing ever clicked.
I think because together, it didn’t matter what was inked over my heart.
You were my heart. You are my heart—ink or no ink, you were there.
And when we broke up, I was a mess,” I explain with a small chuckle, not out of humor but because of how hopeless it felt.
I release her chin only to move her hair back over her shoulders, clearing the view of her face, and smooth it against her back.
“Marcus had been asking for days what happened between us and I couldn’t find the words.
How was I supposed to tell him my whole heart had been ripped out of my chest?
When I finally just told him I felt empty, he grabbed his keys and drove me to Johnny’s tattoo shop and he told me ‘then fill it.’ So, this is where I filled the physical emptiness first. After that, I started working on fixing the emptiness inside. ”
She grabs my hand and starts stroking her hands up the back of my arms, slowly sliding closer to me until her hands finally reach my neck, where they wrap around me. I grab her hip, dig in my fingers when that soft lemon scent hits my senses, and slowly pull her back into me.
She hits my chest, causing my dick to perk up as her soft breasts press against me. I imagine the soft threadbare shirt peeling off her. Her arms drop down, skim my chest, and rest above where the art is. Her fingers lightly trace the words and lines.
My skin breaks out in goosebumps at her touch—too much across my sensitive skin.