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Asher
Two years later
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“I can’t believe this view.” Blakely turns her head to look at me through the open door of our hotel room.
“I told you.” I smile, joining her on the balcony that overlooks the ocean.
“It’s so beautiful here.” She turns back to face the water as I slide up next to her and drop my arm over her shoulders.
“I take it you approve, Mrs. Evans?” I kiss her temple and pull her closer.
“Oh I approve all right.” She leans into my embrace.
When we talked about places to spend our honeymoon there was only one place I wanted to go. It didn’t take much convincing to get Blakely on board. I think she’s wanted to visit here ever since the day I told her this was the place that brought me back home.
I had only been able to dream of the day I could bring her to Iceland. Actually being here with her, and as my wife at that, is more than I could have ever imagined.
Of course back then I didn’t realize what a rough road laid ahead. I think a part of me was hoping I’d walk back into town and B would be there to greet me with open arms. Clearly that is not how it played out.
At one point I was ready to accept defeat. I was ready to accept that I had lost her. Had it not been for one of her nosy, and very pushy friends, I very well may have. But in the end she didn’t need me there to stop her and I thank god every day that she chose me.
We didn’t get here overnight, but slowly we began to rebuild, and within a year we were stronger than we’d ever been. And it wasn’t just our relationship that flourished. The flower shop was booming and I had Ray’s up and running, with Mary leading the charge as my business manager. Everything in our lives had fallen into place.
I asked her to marry me on the old swing in her parents’ backyard exactly one year to the day that I returned. If I could’ve had it my way, we would have eloped the next day, but B wanted to take her time and do things right. And so here we are, ten months after I proposed – finally husband and wife, the way it was always meant to be.
“It’s everything I thought it’d be and so much more.” She turns in my arms, smiling up at me.
“Just wait. You haven’t seen anything yet,” I promise, leaning in to press a kiss to her lips. “You about ready to get out of here for a while?”
“I don’t know. I think I favor this view the most.” She slides her nose against mine.
“Keep talking like that and the only thing you’ll see of this country is what you can see from this hotel room.”
“That wouldn’t be so bad, would it?” she purrs.
“No, no it wouldn’t,” I agree, slowly backing her into the hotel room. I keep moving until the back of her knees hit the enormous bed sitting in the middle of the room. She goes tumbling backward, taking me down with her.
“I thought you wanted to get out of here,” she reminds me, wrapping her arms around my shoulders.
“Iceland can wait. Right now the only thing I want to look at is you.” I smile down at my beautiful wife.
“Then by all means, husband.” She lifts her face to mine. “Look all you want,” she whispers against my mouth before pressing her lips to mine.
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Blakely
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“Are you coming or what, slow poke?” I turn and holler back at Asher who’s several feet behind me on the hiking trail because he keeps stopping to snap pictures every few feet.
It’s been quite possibly the best week of my life. I love Iceland. I love everything about it. So much so that we decided to extend our trip by another week.
Mary has the restaurant covered and my mom agreed to handle the shop for another week. I think she’s happy to do it. It gets her out of the house.
Dad is overseeing the construction on our new home that we’re having built. And when I say overseeing, I mean he pops in at random times to make sure the workers are staying on task. I swear he’s been there more in the last week than Asher and I have combined in the six weeks since we broke ground.
“I don’t remember there being this much greenery the last time I was here,” Asher calls after me. “It’s incredible.”
I smile back at him before turning forward again, picking up my speed when I see a clearing in the trees ahead. I reach the end of the trail a good two minutes ahead of Asher and the instant the waterfall comes into view I lose my breath.
It’s just as it looked in the picture, only even more beautiful. The sound of the water crashing at the bottom adds something that can’t quite be put into words, or captured in a photograph.
“Thank you,” I say quietly to the water while I have a second alone. “Thank you for sending him back to me.”
I know it sounds crazy, but as soon as I say it an odd sensation washes over me. Like the universe is acknowledging my gratitude.
“Wow,” Asher says as he steps up next to me. “It’s exactly as I remember.”
“It’s beautiful,” I agree, taking his hand and entwining our fingers together.
“Not a day goes by that I don’t think about this waterfall. About where I’d be had I never come here. Would I have gone home? Would I have stayed away until it was too late? Would I have lost you forever?”
“But you did come here,” I remind him. “And for whatever reason coming here brought you home to me. I don’t know about you, but to me that sounds like some divine intervention.”
“Come here.” He shifts, turning me so that we’re facing each other. “I love you so much,” he says, trailing the back of his hand down my cheek before sliding it into the back of my hair. The way he always does right before he kisses me. The way he’s always done.
“And I love you.” I lean forward. “Now until death, and maybe even after.”
“Maybe?” He cocks his head to the side.
“Well I mean, you never know. Maybe I’ll meet someone better in the afterlife,” I tease, wrapping my arms around his shoulders.
“What am I going to do with you, Blakely Evans?” He chuckles, shaking his head.
“You can love me. Love me like you won’t let go.”
“Oh, I will. Until the day I die, and maybe even after.” He smirks, leaning forward to press his lips to mine.
The End
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LOVE ME LIKE YOU WON’T LET GO?
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ALL THAT WE ARE
Harlow
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“Close your eyes. Yes, good. Now take a deep breath. Okay, and slowly let it out. Now, tell me what you see.” I focus on nothing but Dr. Rothenberg’s soft voice, though I don’t find it near as soothing as I’m sure it’s meant to be. Moments of silence pass before, “Harlow, tell me what you see.”
“Nothing.” I exhale, my eyes fluttering open. “I see nothing.”
We’ve been at this for nearly forty-five minutes, and I feel like I’ve gotten nowhere. I know it’s me. My inability to allow myself to open up. I’ve never been good at saying what I feel.
“Okay. That’s okay.” He gives me a gentle smile, displaying patience like I’ve never seen in my nearly thirty years on this earth. “Let’s try this. What do you feel?”
“I don’t feel anything either.” I shrug my shoulders as I sink back even further into the brown leather sofa, silently cursing myself for actually thinking I could do this.
If I can’t tell my only friend Angela how I feel, someone I’ve known for years, and who also happens to be the person I’ve been living with for the last three weeks, how am I supposed to tell a complete stranger? Hell, I’m not even sure I know how I feel.
“I think you’re missing the point.” He shakes his head, his salt and pepper hair swaying lightly against the movement. “Let’s try again.”
“I don’t want to try again. Don’t you get it? This is pointless. I feel nothing.”
“It’s not possible to feel nothing. Take for instance your posture. It says you’re tense and uneasy. Both which are feelings.”
“Because I am tense and uneasy,” I clip.
“Well, that’s something. Now tell me what else you feel.”
“Irritated,” I snip, crossing my arms in front of my chest. “I feel irritated.”
“And what irritates you?”
“This.”
“You’ll need to be more specific.”
“This.” I gesture around the room. “All of this irritates me.”
“And yet you chose to come here today. Why?”
“Honestly,” I pause. “I don’t really know. I guess I was hoping it would help.”
“Help you do what? You obviously had something in mind when you made the appointment. What is it that you need help with?”
“You’re the shrink, you tell me.” I inwardly cringe at my behavior. I’ve never been an aggressive person or one to take my frustrations out on someone undeserving, yet that seems to be my motto as of late.
“I can only help you if you’re willing to share with me, which up to this point you haven’t been. So, I’ll ask again. What do you need help with?”
“Let me ask you something.” I lean forward, resting my elbows against my thighs, the leather of the couch crunching beneath me. “Do you think it’s possible to not have any clue who you are?”
He raises an eyebrow and studies me for a long moment.
“So you feel like you’ve lost yourself?”
“I don’t know if lost is the right word.”
“Okay, so let’s focus on that. Tell me the events that happened before you started feeling this way.”
“I guess if I had to pinpoint a time when things seemed to shift; it was after I got married. Ever since then it’s like I’ve been watching someone else live my life through a hazy window. I know it’s me, but it doesn’t feel like me.”
“And why do you think that is?”
“Honestly, I’m not sure.”
“Do you think it has something to do with your husband?”
“Ex-husband,” I correct through gritted teeth.
“My apologies. I didn’t realize the divorce was final.”
“It’s not. But he’s no longer my husband.” I swallow past the hard knot forming in my throat.
Every time I think about Alan and what he put me through I’m not sure if I want to punch something, dissolve into a puddle of tears, or, on the rare occasion, do cartwheels down the street because I feel so elated to be free finally. But then reality seeps back in, and I remember the wasted years, the betrayal, what being married to a man like him reduced me to. A trophy wife. Something to stick on a mantle and pull down to show off when necessary but never more than that.
“Do you think that feeling like an outsider in your own life has something to do with your ex-husband?” Dr. Rothenberg cuts through my thoughts.
“I don’t know.” I shake my head. “I mean, yeah, I guess. I don’t know how I let it go on for so long, the marriage that is. He was very controlling. I just gave and gave. Never once putting my foot down or fighting for what I wanted. It was always easier to see things his way.” I let out a slow exhale, looking down to where my hand’s rest, knotted in my lap. “When I found out about the cheating I was almost relieved. How awful is that?”
“It’s not awful at all. Sometimes you need a solid reason. It sounds like he gave you one. And while it might not feel like it yet, it sounds like it was the best thing he could have done for you.”
“Yeah, I think you’re right,” I agree. “I just wish he’d leave me alone. I don’t understand what more he wants from me. I gave him six years of complete submission. Six years that I gave in to his every will and never once took anything for myself. You’d think that would be enough, but no, now he has to chase me out of Tuscan too.”
“And that makes you angry?”
“Hell yes it makes me angry.” I shift in my seat, finally letting the words flow. “Because there’s nothing I can do about it. He’s not violent. He doesn’t cause a scene. But he’s just always there. Lurking. It’s like everywhere I turn he’s waiting for me. He knows my next step before I make it. Moving in to cut me off. I just want to be done. I want him to leave me alone. Unfortunately, moving home, back to my dad’s, seems to be my only option at this point.”
“Aside from the why, how do you feel about moving home?”
Home. God, Kentucky feels so far from home I struggle to think of it that way. Yes, it’s where I grew up, and it’s where my dad and older brother still live, but for the last eleven years, Arizona has been my home. I went to college here. I got married here. I had a life, or lack thereof, here. It’s hard to think about leaving even though there really isn’t anything left for me here. Well, other than Angela, my college roommate. Ours is the only friendship that I’ve managed to somehow hang onto.
“A part of me is excited. I’m moving back to be close to my family, and that makes me happy. But I’m also dreading it. I left home for a reason. I don’t want to be one of those people that went out searching for something more only to return home years later a failure.”
“You can’t look at it that way. You didn’t fail; life simply took you in another direction. There’s no shame in that.”
“I guess.” I sigh, wishing I felt that way about it.
“I tell you what, once you get moved and settled, call my secretary and we can schedule a session over video. I’m curious to see how you feel once you’ve had a few days to reconnect with your family and maybe some of your old friends. I think you’ll be surprised how much better you’ll feel once you’re away from all of this.”
“Time’s up already?” I ask when he glances at his watch for the second time in less than thirty seconds.
“I’m afraid so. I have another patient coming in directly behind you. Unless, of course, there was something else you wanted to discuss before we wrap up our session.”
“No, I’m good. I think you’re right. I need to get out of here, go home, and reset.”
“You’ll call and schedule another appointment once you get settled?” He moves the tablet of paper from his lap to the small table next to him as he stands.
“I will,” I agree, taking the hand he extends to me just as I push up onto my feet.
“Good luck, Harlow. I look forward to our next chat.”
“Thanks, Dr. Rothenberg.” I give him a small smile and nod before spinning on my heel and quickly exiting the office without another word.
Harlow
Three weeks earlier
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“So, Trey asked if I could join him in New York next week.” Alan loosens his tie and drapes it across the back of the chair before turning toward where I’m sitting up in bed.
It’s the same story as most nights in the Nagle household. I spend the evening alone, and Alan usually shuffles in from work shortly after I turn in for the night. It’s been this way for months. The more responsibility he takes on at work, the further into the background I fade.
“Again?” I question, not hiding the distaste in my voice. “You were just in Boston last week.”
“We’ve been over this, Harlow. You knew what I was signing up for when I took this promotion.”
“At no point did you say this much traveling would be involved,” I object, quickly softening my approach. “I just...it gets lonely here without you. Maybe if I found a part-time job, something small to occupy my time.”
“No.” He immediately shuts me down, stripping his shirt off before disappearing into the ensuite bathroom. “We made the decision when we got married that I would be the sole provider. It’s how my parents did it and how I want to do it as well. You take care of the house, and I make the money. That’s how this works.” He falls silent, the faucet kicking on seconds later.
“I just don’t understand why you’re so against me doing something for myself. It’s not about the money, Alan. It’s about having a life.” I raise my voice to ensure he can hear me over the running water.
He reemerges in the doorway seconds later, his toothbrush in his hand, toothpaste foaming at the sides of his mouth.
“You have a life,” he tells me, shoving the toothbrush back into his mouth.
“No, I don’t,” I argue. “I sit here all day with nothing to do. It’s just you and me, Alan. We have no children, no pets, nothing. There’s only so much I can clean. So much organizing and gardening I can do. I cook dinner every night, but five out of seven you’re not even here to eat it. My life revolves around a man who’s never here.”
His gaze goes stern before he turns and disappears back inside the bathroom long enough to discard his toothbrush and rinse out his mouth.
“What’s this really about, Harlow?” He steps into the doorway, leaning his shoulder against the doorframe.
“I’m telling you what it’s really about. I need something more than this.”
“Is this your way of bringing the children conversation back up? Because I’ve already told you I’m not ready.”
“This has nothing to do with having kids.” I shift on the bed, growing increasingly frustrated. “You’ve made your stance on that subject perfectly clear.” I can’t help how bitter the statement comes out.
I don’t think it’s unreasonable for a twenty-nine- year-old woman to want to have children with the man she has been married to for six years.
At first, it was all about establishing himself in his job. I understood that because he wanted us to be financially secure before having kids. Smart. But then he wanted a bigger house, more money, and once he accomplished that, he decided that being the manager of one of the most prestigious online security firms in the country wasn’t enough. Nope, he wanted to be at the top. And even now, months after landing an executive position, he’s still not willing to have a real discussion about it.
There’s always an excuse anytime I bring it up, so I’ve stopped bringing it up. It only serves to start a fight, and honestly, I’m not feeling up for that tonight.
“Then what? What could you possibly need that I’m not giving you?” He crosses his arms in front of his bare chest.
“I want something of my own. Andrea offered to let me work part-time at the flower shop,” I start, only to be cut off.
“My wife will not be working at some crappy little flower shop making minimum wage. Your job here is much more important.”
“What job?” I demand, my hands going up in defeat.
“Caring for me and our household.”
“Do you hear yourself right now? You can’t really expect me to keep living like this. I’m miserable, Alan. Can’t you see that?”
“I didn’t realize I was making you so unhappy,” he sneers.
“This isn’t about you. It’s about me and having something for myself.”
“I think you’re just looking for reasons to create problems.” He shakes his head. “The answer is no.” His arms fall to his sides before he stomps back into the bathroom, quickly closing the door behind him.
Angry tears well in my eyes and I have to fight back the urge to throw a slew of cuss words in his direction. Taking a deep breath in, I collapse back onto my pillow as the shower turns on.
Staring up at the ceiling, I wonder how we got here. How did we go from two college students crazy about each other to two people who barely co-exist?
I wish I could say we’ve grown up and apart over the years, but even that’s not true. It all changed when we got married. Alan was one person when we were dating and became someone else entirely after we said ‘I do.’ It was like a switch flipped and the man I fell in love with disappeared right in front of my eyes.
I’ve spent years trying to find him again. Every once in a while I will see little glimpses – little pieces of the things I used to love the most about him. I try to hold onto those moments. The ones where I feel like his wife rather than some burden he endures or keeps around to prance in front of his fancy business associates.
Alan’s phone buzzes to life on the dresser, snapping me from my thoughts. It’s rare he leaves it laying around, and because of this, I can’t resist the urge to see who is messaging him this late at night.
Rolling out of bed, I quietly pad across the bedroom floor, snagging the phone off the mahogany dresser.
Monica: I had such a great time tonight. Can’t wait to do it again.
I blink. Once then twice, sure that it’s not what it seems. Swiping my finger across the screen, I type in the password, my heart rate picking up speed when I realize he’s changed it. It’s been my birthday for as long as I can remember.
Pacing back and forth with the phone still in my hand, I type in two other combinations of numbers before finally getting it right on the third. Of course, he would change it to his office extension. I swear that man could not be more obsessed with work if he tried.
The instant the home screen comes up, I click on his messages. At the top is the one from Monica. I click on her name to open the thread and see that several other texts had exchanged between the two, each one more disturbing than the last.
I can’t believe what I see as my eyes scan the device. Plans to meet up for dinner, drinks, and a hotel in Boston...
My stomach bottoms out.
I back out of their messages and scroll through some of the other conversations, stopping on a thread with a woman named Janice. Opening the text thread, I nearly lose the contents of my stomach as I see very similar messages being exchanged with her.
My hand instinctively goes to my mouth as I read about his plans to share a room with her while in New York next week and how he can’t wait to be able to touch her anywhere or however much he wants.
I feel lost with confusion swirling in my mind and my heart pounding in my chest that I don’t hear the shower kick off or Alan enter the room until it’s already too late.
“What the hell are you doing?” His voice washes over me like being doused with ice water. My eyes shoot open like they’ve been closed for a very long time like I’ve been asleep for years.
“Monica had a really good time tonight. Says she can’t wait to do it again.” I turn, squaring my shoulders as I face my husband.
“You went through my messages?” he questions, not even bothering with denial. Not that I would buy it for a second if he tried.
“And Janice can’t wait until New York, though I doubt she’d be as excited if she knew you were also fucking Monica.”
“Harlow.” He reaches for his phone, but I pull it back just in time.
“How many others are there, Alan?” I ask, tucking the device behind my back. “Three? Four? Ten? I mean at this point who’s counting, right?” I let out a shrill laugh, not sure why this seems so funny all of a sudden.
“You don’t understand. It’s not what you’re thinking,” he objects, denial finally kicking in.
“Actually, it’s exactly what I’m thinking. And for you to sit there and think that you’re going to fool me for even one second is comical. I may have been blind for years, Alan, but for the first time in a very long time, I’m finally seeing the man you really are. And thank god I see it before it’s too late.” I throw his phone as hard as I can at the wall behind him, watching it knock a nice hole into the drywall before finally clattering to the hardwood floor. “Well, now you have one less woman to juggle.” I take off through the house, managing to grab my keys and make it to my car parked out front before he finally catches up to me.
“Harlow, get your ass back in the house.” He comes pounding down the front porch in nothing but plaid pajama bottoms.
“No thanks, Alan. I think I’ll pass.” I tear open the driver’s side door, desperate to get out of here.
“You can’t just take my car,” he warns, closing in on me.
Leave it to him to throw it in my face that technically nothing we own is actually mine. Everything is in his name, considering he’s the only one who’s provided an income throughout our marriage.
“Well, then I guess you can call the fucking police and report me,” I hiss, hopping into the car.
I yank the door shut, click the locks, and fire the engine to life, backing out of the driveway with a loud tire squeal and a middle finger thrown up to my cheating husband.
Moments later, I’m speeding down the road in my pajamas, with no shoes, no money, and not one damn clue where the hell I’m going.
Miles
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“So what’s new with you? I feel like I haven’t seen you in forever.” Winston twists the cap off his second beer and takes a long pull as he settles back down into the recliner that’s caddy corner from me.
Winston is my oldest friend. There’s barely a single memory from childhood that he’s not a part of. And while we aren’t nearly as inseparable as we used to be, we make it a point to get together at least once every week or so to catch up and shoot the shit.
“Not much. The shop’s busier than it has ever been. Business is booming.” I shrug, resting the cold beer on the top of my thigh as I sink back into the couch.
“Think you’ve got time to squeeze in an old friend sometime in the next couple of weeks?”
My eyes dip to the tribal tattoo that wraps around Winston’s forearm. It was the first tattoo I did when I started working for Dexter six years ago. At that time, I had no idea that I would one day end up owning the tattoo shop.
I originally got into tattoos as a way of therapy. It helped calm my mind after I returned home from my second tour in the Middle East. Provided me something to focus on. I’ve always loved art and drawing, so it came natural to me. When Dex decided to retire and sell the shop four years ago, I didn’t hesitate.
INKed was a pretty well established shop when Dexter owned it, but after bringing on some really talented artists and going through one hell of a remodel, I’ve been able to take it to an entirely different level. Our artists are so sought after that people suffer through a six-month-long waitlist just to get their ink done by us.
“That depends. What’s got you itching for ink therapy?” I ask.
Having known Winston nearly my entire life and having done all but two of his eight tattoos, I know he usually only comes in when he needs to let off some steam.
“My sister’s moving in with me.” He blows out a breath through his nose before sucking back a long drink of beer.
“No shit? What about that big shot husband of hers?” Harlow was five years younger than the both of us. When she was in grade school, and we were on our way into high school, she would follow us around like we’d hung the moon.
Harlow always looked cute and sweet with her strawberry blonde hair and adorable freckles that peppered across her nose and cheeks, but she was anything but. As she’d gotten older and we were both preparing to graduate, everything about her, especially her attitude toward me changed.
Winston used to call her the devil, and on many occasions, I had to agree with him. That girl had a temper like no one I’d ever seen. And stubborn, my god was she stubborn.
Last I heard she was living the high life, assumingly better than us with a well-off husband.
“Left him about a month ago. Apparently, that jackass has been cheating on her for years. She was planning on staying in Arizona, but I guess Alan has been giving her a rough time, so she’s decided to move home.”
“Shit, man.” I shake my head, feeling bad for Winston’s little sister, even though she treated me like shit the last time I saw her.
Then again, I haven’t seen Harlow in a decade, so I can’t really say how I feel about her now. Who knows; maybe she’s changed. Lord knows I have. Regardless, no one deserves to be dealt a shit hand like that. I’ve been cheated on before and it’s not something I’d wish on anyone.
“That’s messed up, man. I’m sorry to hear that.”
“It’s taken everything I have not to fly my ass to Tuscan and give that mother fucker a piece of my mind. If I didn’t think the blowback would land on Harlow, I would have. I never liked him. I always knew there was something sleazy about him.”
“How soon she gonna be here?” I tip back my bottle, letting the cold liquid rush into my mouth.
“Next week.” He sighs. “Don’t get me wrong. I’m glad to have her home. And I know Dad and Jackie are over the moon. I’m just not sure what her mental state is going to be like when she gets here. You know me, I can’t handle all that crying and moping shit. I don’t know what to do with someone like that.”
“Why isn’t she staying with your dad and Jackie?” I ask, wondering why she would choose to shack up with her brother in a tiny two bedroom apartment rather than live with her dad and stepmom in the large four bedroom home she grew up in.
“I think it’s a pride thing.” He shrugs.
“I get that. How long you think she’ll be here?”
“Hard to say. Hopefully not long. I love my sister and all, but you know me. I like living alone.”
“I can understand that completely. Luckily, I don’t have any siblings, so I don’t have to worry about that shit.” I grin as I tip the beer bottle to my lips.
“Lucky ass,” Winston grumbles, mirroring my action and taking a long pull of his beer. “So, about that ink?”
“I can hook you up, but it’ll have to be after hours. I’m booked solid until December.”
“Shit, dude. It’s only May.”
“Tell me about it. Sometimes I feel like I’m never going to be able to catch my breath.”
“It’s a good problem to have,” he points out.
“It definitely is,” I agree.
“Maybe I can bring Harlow in with me. I’m sure she’d love to check out the shop, and who knows, maybe you can convince her to remove the stick from her ass and get some ink of her own.”
As much as I dislike the idea, I know I can’t verbalize it without likely pissing Winston off. No matter how much she drives him crazy, she’s still his baby sister. While he would never admit it out loud, he’s always been protective of her.
I nod, choosing not to say anything as I drain the remainder of my beer in one long pull.
“How’s next Friday work?”
“I should be able to make that happen. Be at the shop at eleven and don’t forget you’re responsible for the beer.”
“As always.” He chuckles.
“Or I could charge you like I do everyone else,” I jokingly counter.
“I think I like our beer trade off better.” He grins.
“Yeah, thought so.” I laugh. “Speaking of ink, I gotta bounce. I’ve got a doubles appointment at four,” I say, pushing to a stand. “Thanks for the beer.” I cross the open space into the kitchen before dropping the bottle into the trash can.
“Anytime, man,” he calls from the chair, not bothering to get up. “I’ll call you next week to confirm Friday.”
“Sounds good.” I throw up a half wave before pulling open the door and stepping out into the humid Kentucky heat.
If there’s one thing I hate about summer here, it’s the humidity. Mid-May and already the air is so heavy it feels hard to pull in a real breath.
Taking the stairs down two at a time, I reach my black Ducati within seconds. Snatching the helmet off the seat, I quickly slide it on before climbing onto the motorcycle.
I was never a fan of bikes when I was younger, but a buddy of mine that I’d served with had an old Kawasaki that he let me drive when I visited him after I left the army. I fell in love and purchased my first bike within a couple of weeks of returning home.
Firing the engine to life, I glance behind me to make sure I’m clear before slowly guiding my bike out of its parking spot. Having stayed a little longer than I had anticipated, I’ll be lucky if I make it into the city by four.
My shop is located right across the river in Cincinnati. It’s only a few short miles, but with the amount of traffic going in and out of the city late in the afternoon; it takes a lot longer than it really should.
Because of this, it’s ten after four by the time I pull into the small parking lot directly behind my shop. INKed is sandwiched between Beans and Things, a hip little coffee shop, and Mike’s Sub. Both of which are pretty good neighbors to have considering I don’t usually have a lot of time to grab food between clients and more often than not I need caffeine to pick me up about halfway through the evening.
Pushing my way through the back door, I drop my helmet and keys on the cluttered desk in the office before making my way into the front of the shop. I nod to Chuck who’s busy working on a back piece, before throwing a half wave to Bryan who barely nods before turning his attention back to the belly button he’s about to shove a needle through.
Delia, my recently promoted manager-in-training, looks up from the front counter and offers me a smile the moment she catches sight of me approaching.
“Bout time you showed up.” She gives me her normal dose of shit. If I walked in and she didn’t bust my balls about something I’d know something was up.
“Got caught up at Winston’s,” I explain even though I don’t need to. “My double here yet?”
“In the waiting room.” She gestures to the small room at the front of the shop.
I lean to the side and catch sight of the two-early- twenty somethings standing side-by-side, admiring some of the artwork on the walls.
In addition to some of our best work framed and hung up, the room is decorated with two large black couches flanking both side walls and a large table in the middle cluttered with several generic tattoo books.
The front wall is a huge window looking out onto the busy street, the opposite a half wall that allows the people in the waiting area a front row seat to anyone getting work done. Unless the client isn’t comfortable with the public display, in which, that case they can opt to have their work done in one of the private rooms.
“Should be a fun night for you.” Delia leans in and nudges my shoulder, gesturing toward the two women.
“Funny,” I deadpan, shaking my head.
Delia knows my least favorite tattoos are trivial pieces that have no real meaning. From what these girls sent me last week, that’s exactly what I’m going to be working on tonight. Flowers. And not even cool ones.
I’ll never understand why someone would go on a six-month wait list to have the most generic tattoo done that you can have done anywhere. Not to mention my prices run quite a bit higher than the competition because simply put – we offer the best quality and we can afford to charge for that.
“Oh come on, boss. Laugh why don’t you?” Delia cuts in.
“Say something funny and I’ll think about it.” I arch my brow, fighting a smile.
“Such a dick.” She crinkles her nose which has a small ring through each side.
Delia started working here a couple of years before I came on board. She’s a tiny little thing, barely standing over five feet and weighing maybe a hundred pounds soaking wet, but she’s also one of the toughest people I think I’ve ever met. No one messes with her and for a good reason. She’s as crazy as they come.
She’s a year older than me, is one of the most talented artists I’ve ever worked with and has about twice the amount of ink that I do – which is saying something considering my arms and torso are completely covered. Because of this, she knows she can give me a hard time and get away with it. Most of my other employees wouldn’t dream of speaking to me the way she does. Not that I give a shit. Again, if she didn’t bust my balls about something I’d be worried.
“Do me a favor.” I ignore her dick comment. “Will you schedule Winston in for next Friday at eleven?”
“Another late night?” She arches a brow. “Tell me, Superman, do you ever sleep?”
“Not if I can help it,” I smart, tossing her a smile before heading into the lobby to see if my clients are ready to start.
While I consider Delia, a friend, I have never opened up to her about my issues. Especially not the ones pertaining to my days in the military and the effect that still has on me today. If she only knew just how difficult sleep is for me on an average night.
Shaking off the thought, I force a smile as I enter the waiting room, not missing the way both sets of eyes hone in on me the moment I do.
“Holy shit. You’re hot.” The blonde smiles, both hands going to her hips.
“Thank you,” I say, completely unphased.
I’ve grown accustomed to this type of attention over the years. Not because I think I’m something special, but because women seem to have a thing for men with beards and tattoos.
“Who’s first?” I ask, chuckling when both girls hold their hands up in unison.
“I thought you were going to let me go first,” the brunette whines to her friend.
“I want to go first,” the other counters.
“Tell you what, why don’t we head back and you two can figure it out while I get everything ready?” I don’t wait for a response before spinning on my heel and taking off toward the back.
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Acknowledgments
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Thank you for taking the time to read Love Me Like You Won’t Let Go. I know for some, this book may not have turned out the way you hoped but for me it was exactly the story that needed to be told. I hope you enjoyed it.
A special thank you to the amazing team working behind the scenes to help me bring my stories to life. My right hand and voice of reason when I need it the most- not to mention the best teaser designer ever- Angel. My editor- Rose. My reader group- Melissa’s Mavens. My agent- Two Daisy Media. And of course, my incredible ARC team. You are all amazing and I am so blessed to have you all in my corner.
To my family and friends- thank you for supporting me through all my crazy. I don’t know what I would do without you.
And last but certainly not least, to you, my readers. I say this at the end of every book and I probably will from now until forever- THANK YOU. You are the reason that I get to do what I love to do and your support means more to me than I could ever express in words.
XOXO
Melissa
