Chapter 36
We pulled into a small parking lot, a single building with a giant neon sign above the door cutting into the night sky: King’s Tattoo Shop.
My heart leapt as I turned to Cillian, grabbing his sleeve. “You’re kidding me, right?”
“Come now, tattoos are never a thing to joke about,” he said, cutting the engine. “Of course, there’s no pressure if you don’t want to get one—”
“Hell no! I’m in! But … I’m not quite sure what to get.”
“There’s no rush. I’ll go first. Give you some time to think about it.” He squeezed my hand before hopping out of the car, me a step behind.
The door dinged as we walked through. Black-and-white checkers on the floor led up to the front desk like a dark version of the yellow brick road. My stomach flipped as the familiar smell of ink and Vaseline tangled up my nose. Heaven.
“Hey, Cillian,” an artist greeted from the back corner, peeking above their tablet. “Didn’t expect to see you back so soon.”
Cillian clapped a hand in theirs in greeting. “Eh, you know me. Can’t stay away for long.”
“I’m not about to argue! At this rate, you’re paying my rent,” they jested and turned to me. “And who might this be?”
“Fey, Peyton. Peyton, Fey.” Cillian smiled.
“It’s very nice to meet you, Fey. Are we both looking to get something done tonight then?”
Cillian looked down at me. “I think so. But mine isn’t too big, so we’re thinking I’ll go first and give this one a little time to think about what she wants.”
He bumped me with his hip, a chuckle escaping me.
“Sounds good to me, man,” Payton said, returning to their station. “Come on back and I’ll start setting up.”
We waded behind the desk and I sent up a silent thanks to the universe for making it a quiet night at the shop.
No other artists, no clients, just me, Cillian, and Peyton, which made it easy to think and breathe.
Cillian started unbuttoning his shirt, lines of color popping out on his chest, and I couldn’t help but stare.
“Like what you see?” He winked.
My cheeks warmed. “Maybe, so what if I do?”
“I’d say come get a closer look then.”
I stepped toward him as he pulled off his shirt, laying it on the chair behind him.
My eyes widened as I took in the sprawling chest piece sweeping down to his lean stomach: a map of the world, stars positioned sporadically across the surface.
Without thinking, I reached out, running a finger down his chest, and he shivered.
“Are these all the places you’ve been?” I asked.
“Mmm … kind of,” he responded, his gaze heavy on me.
“What do you mean, kind of?”
“Look closer,” he whispered. “Tell me what you see.”
I leaned in, studying the placement of the stars: Ireland, Italy, New York … Wait … “Are these … are these all the places—” My tongue tied itself in knots, tears pushing behind my eyes.
“All the places we’ve met? Yes, they are. And today I get to add another star on the map of our lives together.” He kissed my palm before sitting in the chair.
I wove my hand in his, thinking over all the changes that’d happened over the past months as the tattoo gun buzzed against Cillian’s skin.
How I’d gone from resigning myself to a lonely future to suddenly finding myself so full of love, so supported, and—the most surprising of all—starting to actually forgive myself. Maybe even … like myself. Me.
It felt like an eternity ago that I’d sat in my car, staring down the horror that was my parents’ home and the two tarot cards that’d hinted at the change to come, ready to fight for a future I didn’t even know would become what it had.
It hit me like warm rain, flooding over me: I wasn’t alone anymore.
I had an incredible friend I could always turn to, a mentor who would do anything to help me succeed, and a love …
I met Cillian’s gaze … a love that’d transcended time.
“I know what I want,” I said with a smile.
“Oh yeah?” Cillian raised a brow. “And what is that?”
I leaned over, whispering my vision in Peyton’s ear.
They smiled. “Hell yeah, I’m in!”
After Cillian’s star was complete, he shuffled his shirt back on—to which I lamented internally—and Peyton started on my designs. Twenty minutes later, they returned with two beautiful, simplistic stencils from the back room.
“What do we think?” they asked, a gleam in their eye.
“They’re perfect,” I responded, placing my wrists on the armrests.
Cillian leaned over to catch a glimpse. “Tarot cards, huh? How fitting.”
“Not just any cards,” I said, shivering as the stencil glue smoothed over my bare wrists. “Death and The Star. Change and hope. But also … you.”
Cillian raised an eyebrow. “Me?”
“You got a star for me; I figured it was only fair to do the same for you.”
He leaned down, his lips lingering an inch from mine. “How hopelessly romantic. Are you trying to woo me? Because it’s working.”
Before I could close the gap between us, he pulled back and sat. “Tease,” I said.
“Tension is good for the soul.” He grinned. “And know this, little shadow, I always deliver. Always.”
A warm rush ran through me as I focused back on my wrists, approving the placement, and Peyton got to work.
The familiar bite of the needle sent chills up my spine.
I studied the placement I’d chosen, the reality of it proving far more painful than the tattoo itself.
I’d left those spots empty, the chunks of skin on my wrist, for …
dark reasons. The scars, though faded now, were a reminder of my lowest point that I never wanted to return to again.
Finally, I could let go of the sinister fear inside me.
Purge it, because I … I didn’t want to die anymore.
I wanted to live, and live big. Tears built and streamed down my cheeks.
“God, I’m sorry.” I laughed, brushing them away. “I didn’t think I’d get all emotional on you.”
Peyton paused, placing a hand in mine. “Hey, hey, it’s okay. Don’t apologize. It’s just us here, you feel those feelings.”
Cillian’s strong hands wrapped around my shoulders, kneading out the pressure building in me with gentle strokes. His touch said it clearer than words ever could: I see you. You’re safe with me.
And I let the tears fall.
We emerged from the shop to a smattering of stars, and the crescent moon hung heavy in the sky. As I gazed up at them, I realized the stars no longer looked lonely as they once had—the distance between them was thin now. I sighed. “So beautiful.”
“I know I am, but how about those stars?” Cillian teased.
“Smartass.” I slapped his shoulder gently, the impact sending a shockwave through my wrist.
We made our way back to the truck at a leisurely pace, neither of us in a rush to leave or speak, content in the stillness together. I leaned up against the truck and crossed my ankles. “Thank you.”
“For what?” He stepped closer, wrapping an arm around my shoulder.
“For this … for tonight. For being patient with me,” I said with a laugh. “For being honest. Really, this has been an amazing night.”
He smiled, stepping in front of me and placing his hands on either side of my head. “A perfect night, aside from one small thing.”
“Oh yeah? And what might that be?”
His eyes fell to my lips. I felt it then: the invisible string pulling us together like magnets. Heartbeat wild, I leaned closer. He slid his thumb across my bottom lip, and I shuddered at his touch, butterflies erupting in my center.
Voice no louder than a murmur, he said, “If it’s all right, I’d very much like to kiss you now.”
I didn’t bother answering, instead closing the gap between us.
He gasped as our lips met, slow and patient at first, until our magic rose up with all-encompassing need, tangling together in a beautiful mess of buzz and warmth.
His weight pressed down on me, pinning me to the truck, and my hands knotted in his hair in a devouring kiss.
Safe—I was safe there, in his arms. He wrapped a hand around the small of my back and yanked me to him, sending a wave of desire through me.
Again, I pressed closer. Sought more, needed more.
“Okay, okay.” He laughed against my lips. “I think it’s time we head back.”
“Do we have to?” I rested my forehead against his.
“Gods, I wish we didn’t.” His hands wrapped round my cheeks, his thumb brushing my jaw. “But I’m afraid if we don’t stop, I might take you right here and now. And a woman like you deserves far better than to be ravaged in a grimy parking lot.”
“Fine,” I sighed. “But you better make this up to me. Soon.”
He kissed up my neck, pausing at my ear. “Now that I know you like me, it’ll take a damn miracle to keep my hands off you, little shadow.”
I laughed into his hair. “Oh, you think I like you, huh?”
Again, his lips lowered to mine. “Yeah, I think you like me.”
I waited, expectant for that zap between us, but he merely feathered his lips across mine before reaching to open my door. “Tease.”
“Have to keep you wanting more.”
He grinned and shut the door behind me. A perfect date.
Perfect night. A perfect drive through the cool night.
Absolutely perfect. That was, until Saint Peter’s crept back into view, the red flashing lights of ambulances and firetrucks cutting through the joy like a serrated knife.
Cillian parked the truck, and I locked onto a gurney at the base of the stairs.
And the white sheet stained in blood covering it.