Chapter 7
KNIGHT
Ready?”
Daisy sits in my chair, but everything about her is different now. She’s calm. Certain. Wearing a button-down shirt she can open at the collar, her long hair twisted up to keep it out of the way.
King Ink hums with its usual energy. Clancy’s working on a back piece two stations over, classic rock competing with the buzz of his needle. Ford is doing a consultation by the window. The familiar smell of ink and antiseptic hangs in the air.
But right now, the only thing I see is her.
She pulls her collar aside, exposing the half-finished kitten. My art on her skin.
I snap on my gloves and wheel my stool closer. “This might sting. The healing tissue is more sensitive.”
“I know.” Her eyes meet mine, steady and warm. “I’m not going anywhere. I trust you.”
The words hit me somewhere deep. I swallow hard, dip the needle, and press the first line.
She doesn’t flinch.
The machine hums, and I fall into the rhythm of the steady buzz, the careful strokes, the way her skin accepts the ink like it was always meant to be there.
This is what I know. This is where I’m sure of myself.
The needle is an extension of my hand, and the Purrfect Kitten design takes shape beneath it.
Body curling. Tail wrapping around. And crossed paws forming the heart I’ve drawn a thousand times.
But never like this. Never as a tattoo on someone.
“Does it hurt?” I ask, though I can read the answer in the set of her jaw.
“A little.” She smiles. “But it’s different this time. I know what I’m getting.”
I trace the curve of the kitten’s body, watching ink bloom beneath the needle. Each line connects to the last, finishing what I started. My chest tightens with every stroke. This design came from the deepest part of me. The part I’ve hidden from everyone.
She’s quiet while I work, but it’s not awkward silence. She’s clearly more relaxed, and I’m calm in a way that’s hard to describe. I’m still getting over Daisy wanting my art on her body.
That thought should comfort me. Instead, something cold stirs in my gut.
Clancy finishes his piece and starts cleanup, and I glance up and see Liam walking his client to the front desk. It’s the end of the day—my day off—and King Ink empties around us, but I barely notice.
When I finally lift the needle, my hands are steady, but my breathing isn’t.
“There.” My voice comes out hoarse. “Complete.”
I clean the fresh ink with gentle strokes, then wrap it carefully in a clear bandage. The kitten stares back at us through the plastic, finally whole. Body curled protectively, paws crossed into a heart shape.
My best work. My soul on her skin.
I grab a hand mirror and angle it so she can see.
Daisy looks at her reflection, and her smile is pure joy.
“Knight.” My name comes out infused with so much happiness that it silences me. “It’s absolutely perfect.”
She sets down the mirror and throws her arms around my neck, careful not to press against the fresh tattoo. I catch her automatically, hands reaching for her soft hips.
“Thank you,” she breathes against my ear. “Thank you so much. I love it. I love—”
She pulls back, eyes shining, and the joy on her face is so pure, so unguarded, that something seizes in my chest.
She doesn’t know. She doesn’t really know me. She thinks she knows me because she knows my secret, but she doesn’t. When she sees how much of a mess I am, that smile will fade. That joy will curdle into disappointment, then goodbye.
Everyone always leaves.
“We should celebrate,” she says, still beaming. “Dinner tonight? There’s an Italian place I love, Ciao Bella, the one with the—”
“I can’t tonight.”
The words come out too fast and harsh. I watch her smile flicker, confusion crossing her features.
“Oh.” She recovers quickly, but she can’t hide how she flinches. “That’s okay. What about Wednesday? I’m off early, we could—”
“Wednesday’s no good either.”
Now the confusion is turning into something else. Her smile fades as she searches my face, and sadness fills her eyes.
“Okay.” Her voice is smaller. Careful. “Then when—”
“I’ll call you.”
The words are cold and hollow. I see the exact moment she understands that I won’t. That this is me pulling away and slamming the door in her face.
Her spine straightens. The vulnerability in her expression shutters closed.
“Right.” She steps back, creating distance I didn’t ask for but caused anyway. “You’ll call me.”
“Daisy—”
“No, it’s fine.” She grabs her purse and heads to the counter, putting it down in front of Liam. “You’re busy. I get it.”
Liam glances from Daisy to me, but rings her up without a word.
She thinks she did something wrong, and I can see that thought taking root, and I should rip it out, should tell her this is me, this is my damage, tell her that she’s done nothing wrong.
But the words won’t come. The fear is a fist around my throat, choking anything I might say.
At the door, she pauses and turns back to look at me, her eyes filled with sadness. She opens her mouth to say something, pauses, and then turns and walks out the door.
And that hurts more than if she’d yelled at me.
I stand frozen at my station, and hate myself more than I’ve ever hated anything in my life.
Joe’s Bar is loud, dark, and full of people I don’t want to talk to.
I’m three whiskeys deep, watching Zane work the room like it’s his personal hunting ground. He’s got a redhead laughing at something he said, her hand on his arm, and it’s obvious he’ll be fucking her tonight.
This is what I know. What I’ve always known. Easy nights with easier endings. No one gets too close. No one leaves because no one was ever really there.
“You’re fucking depressing to look at.” Zane drops onto the stool beside me, watching the redhead sashay across the bar. “What happened with the tattoo girl?”
“Nothing.”
“Bullshit.” He signals the bartender for another round. “You look like someone shit in your cereal. What’d you do?”
I stare at the amber liquid in my glass. “Pushed her away.”
“Why?”
Because I’m terrified. Because she looked at me like I wasn’t too much, and my emotions were too much for me to handle. Because every person who was supposed to care for me eventually abandoned me, and I don’t know if I could live if Daisy did that.
“Doesn’t matter,” I say instead.
Zane shrugs. “Man, this is why I don’t do relationships. Too much drama.” He claps me on the shoulder. “What you need is to get your dick wet. Clear your head. There’s a blonde at the end of the bar who’s been trying to get your attention for twenty minutes.”
I don’t want to look. Coming out with Zane was a mistake. His dick is a pussy-seeking missile, and he thinks a good fuck solves all life’s problems.
“Come on.” He nudges me. “One night, no strings. You’ll feel better.”
I won’t. I know it with a certainty that settles like lead in my stomach. But I don’t tell Zane that. For now, I’m just grateful to be somewhere that doesn’t have canvases stacked against every wall, paintings of cats with wide eyes watching me like they’re judging me, too.
The blonde appears at my elbow. She’s pretty enough, with a dress that leaves nothing to the imagination.
“Hi there.” She smiles, her red lips curved into an invitation. “Can I buy you a drink?”
I look at her and try to imagine saying yes. Going home with her. Losing myself in something easy and meaningless, the way I have a hundred times before.
But the future unspools in my mind like a film reel. This woman tonight, another next month, an endless parade of strangers who don’t know me and don’t want to. My apartment, empty except for my art. Growing old alone, painting cats that hold my heart because no one else will.
And Daisy—somewhere out there, moving on. Finding someone who isn’t too scared to love her. Building a life without me in it.
The thought is a knife between my ribs, slicing deep into my heart.
“No.” The word comes out rough. “I’m not interested.”
Her smile falters. “You sure? I could—”
“I said no.”
She huffs and disappears back into the crowd. Zane stares at me like I’ve grown a second head.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” He gestures after her. “She was hot. She was willing. What more do you want?”
Daisy. I want Daisy. I want her arms around my neck and her joy pressed against my chest and her voice saying I love it like I gave her something precious.
I want to stop being so goddamn afraid.
I drain my whiskey and stand, tossing a twenty on the bar. “I gotta go.”
“Go where? Home to mope?”
“I don’t know.” I grab my jacket. “I have to figure this out.”
Zane shakes his head. “You’re a fool, you know that?”
Yeah, I was a goddamn fool for shutting Daisy down. I know one thing with absolute certainty: I have to get Daisy back. I don’t know how. Don’t know if she’ll even let me try. But a life without her stretches out before me like a desert, barren and endless, and I can’t let that be my future.
The night air hits my face, cold and sharp. I pull out my phone and stare at her contact, thumb hovering.
Not like this. Not with whiskey on my breath and no plan in my head. She deserves more than a desperate midnight phone call.
She deserves someone brave enough to show up and fight for her.
I have to win her back.