Chapter Thirteen
Liv
My mother always spoke of nirvana when I was growing up. An unattainable goal perceived as otherworldly, complete peace.
I thought she was crazy then, but once I became an adult, seeking nirvana didn’t seem so bizarre. Life has a way of beating you down. Why not strive for utter happiness?
Wrapped in a nest of blankets in the center of my bed is as close to this feeling as I’ve found so far. Those first few minutes after waking up from a deep and restful sleep without any aches from tossing or turning, and before you realize your bladder is full.
Lulling in and out of consciousness, remembering those scattered bits of your dream…
A sigh escapes my chest as I stretch, and then my body goes taut once my foot hits a wall.
I have a queen-size bed, and I sleep in the middle of the room…
It’s still dark, and I peek over the blanket in front of my face, but it is obvious that this is not my room. I’m not in my bed.
My body lurches into a seated position as my eyes scan the room. Except it’s hardly a room. It looks like a loft. I can see the railing that oversees another space below.
My vision finally adjusts to the dim light, and I notice the body sleeping beside me. Thankfully, on the floor.
Hayes is on a thin blanket with a single pillow that looks like it’s from a couch, not a bed.
I’m in Jensen’s bed. I grip the blankets under my chin, inhaling his scent on them before I can stop myself.
I need to find my phone. My keys. I need to get out of here, but I can’t move. I can’t stop staring at him asleep on the floor.
He’s wearing a t-shirt, and his arms are folded loosely over his stomach. I can faintly see the tattoos that are scattered across his skin.
While he was working on his motorcycle, I examined each one, looking as closely as I could from the safety of my camp chair.
Most of them are palm-sized and black and white. They’re similar styles but aren’t meshed together like a sleeve would be.
There’s a code of numbers below his wrist on the top of his hand that I haven’t been able to crack.
Claw marks down the inside of his forearm.
A snake.
A dagger.
A compass.
There’s a tattoo that peeks out from the collar of his shirt, but I can’t tell what it is, and I can only imagine what else he’s hiding.
He didn’t have any tattoos when we were teens. He never had the money.
A gentle smile tilts my lips. We were so young and naive about the world back then, always dreaming of making it big and getting out of the trailer park.
The corners of my lips fall. We got out of the trailer park, but at what cost?
“I have an alarm set. Go back to sleep,” he mumbles sleepily from his makeshift cot.
“How did I get in here?”
“I carried you.”
Jitters erupt in my stomach, and I can’t tamp them down.
“You fell asleep, and I didn’t want to wake you, but I also didn’t want you to wake up with a broken neck from sleeping in that chair.”
“Where are we exactly?”
“My room in the bunkhouse. All the other guys sleep on the other side of the loft.”
“Why do you still live here?”
He sits up, wiping the sleep from his face. “I haven’t had a reason to leave.”
“Oh.”
“Lochlan is to me what Thea is to you, Liv. He’s the reason I’m here. I owe him a lot.”
I know he’s the one who started Second Chance Sanctuary, but I don’t think that’s what we’re talking about.
“He’s your best friend.” I don’t know why the words taste bitter on my tongue.
“He was my cellmate when I got to prison. He showed me the ropes and had my back from day one. I wasn’t in a good space, mentally. He saved me, gave me something to look forward to when I got out.”
“What happened to being a professional fighter?” I saw his punching bag in the garage earlier, but I was too afraid to ask him.
He sighs. “It was a silly dream, and I had to grow up. Lochlan and I spar sometimes.”
“For fun?”
“Kind of.” He doesn’t elaborate.
“I’m sorry you didn’t get to live your dream,” I whisper in the darkness.
“We aren’t all meant to get what we want.”
After all he’s been through, and everything we went through… I still want him to get everything he wants in life. I hope he does.
“Does Lochlan… Know about me? About us as kids?”
“He does.”
Embarrassment fills me. “He knew who I was when I came here that day to introduce myself to him.”
“Technically, no. This is the girl he knew of…” He opens the top drawer of the nightstand behind him and grabs a photo, handing it to me.
The corners are worn, and the picture itself is faded, but there is no mistaking it. It’s us, 12 years ago. A selfie that I took with my digital camera. I gifted him the photo before…
Before everything happened.
“Why do you have this?”
“I’ve never been without it.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I only had a handful of possessions when they locked me up, and even less when I got out, but I always had the photograph.”
“Why?” I ask angrily.
“You know why.”
“No, I don’t.”
“Can we finish this conversation in the morning?” He glances around like he’s afraid we’ll disturb the others.
“No, let’s not finish it at all. You have your truth, and I have mine. Let’s keep it that way.” I don’t bother attempting to storm out.
I yank the blankets up to my neck and roll over, facing away from him.
It isn’t until I realize that I’m still grasping the photo against my chest that tears begin to well in my eyes.
I’ve had to miss him for eleven years. Burn with betrayal for eleven years. Fight sickness every time I think of a memory.
The bed dips behind me, and my body rolls as he pulls my nest of blankets into his arms. There are inches of padding between us, but I feel a million miles away.
“It was never supposed to be like this,” I cry, letting myself mourn out loud for the first time in a long time.
“I know,” he whispers.
“You ruined everything,” I cry harder.
“I know,” his voice breaks, tightening his hold on me.
“I’m getting married.”
His body goes rigid, but he doesn’t respond.
“I’m moving back to the city once this case is over,” I add. I don’t know why I’m telling him all of this.
Maybe because I feel guilty. Or because I’m wrapped in his arms when I shouldn’t be.
Or because I want him to tell me not to.
“Okay,” he says instead, pushing a fresh wave of tears down my face.
He doesn’t care.
I know better.
Jensen Hayes is only ever going to break my heart.