Clipped Wings (27 page)

“About forty-five minutes. You’re doing great, but you’ve been quiet, and then you made a sound like maybe you were uncomfortable.” He looked wary.

“I’m okay.” I sat up and stretched my arms over my head. The cold air hit my chest, reminding me I was shirtless. “Sorry!”

I cupped myself in an attempt at modesty. His tongue ring popped out to slide between his lips, his eyes on my barely covered chest.

“I definitely need a break,” he said decisively.

The buzz of the tattoo machine stopped and the background music became more prominent.

He stood up and turned around, rolling his shoulders. “I’ll be right back.”

Hayden sauntered across the room, adjusting himself, and slipped out the door. I’d known the attraction between us wouldn’t wane during the session, but I hadn’t expected to find it debilitating, especially since this was as close as we could get physically for the next week. When he returned, he brought bottled water.

I took a long drink. “Thanks.”

“No problem. You need to stay hydrated.” He dropped back into his chair. “How are you feeling so far?”

“I’m good,” I reassured him again, even though the vague burning sensation on the right side of my back continued to grow. I didn’t want to think too much about how the second half of the tattoo would feel.

Hayden tilted his head back and drained half the bottle. I watched his Adam’s apple bob. Strange how something so automatic could seem sexy.

“You sure? You’re awful quiet.”

“I’m sorry.” My focus so far had been singularly on the physical sensation, keeping my mind clear of the memories associated with the reasons behind the tattoo.

“You don’t need to apologize. I’m just checking to see where you’re at.”

“I’d tell you if it was too much.”

“I don’t know if I believe that, but I’ll take your word for it. At least for now. Ready to get back to it?” he asked.

I handed him my half-full bottle and he capped it, setting it on the floor beside my chair. He pulled on a fresh pair of gloves and turned on the machine.

“How far are you?” I asked.

“We’re making good progress. I’m almost halfway through the right side, but the left will be more challenging. Since the scarring is more severe, I expect it’s going to take longer and we’ll need more breaks.”

“Okay. That makes sense.”

He rolled in close, and the needle touched my skin again. The discomfort increased when he passed over my ribs and decreased again as he went lower. This time, I couldn’t stop the memories from playing out like a photo album.

Hayden’s left foot tapped as he worked. I could see his Technicolor arm in my periphery, and if I strained hard enough, I could still make out his profile.

“Hayden?”

He pulled back immediately. “Does it hurt?”

“I’m fine.” I needed a distraction. If I could get him to talk about his past, it might help keep my mind off my own. I ran my fingers over the vines leading to the bleeding heart tattoo. “Will you tell me about this?”

When he stayed silent, I turned my head enough so I could see him. “Please?”

“Are you going to fill me in on why I’m marking you with this?” he asked, bartering for information.

I had a feeling once the outline was done, the next few nights—in addition to being physically uncomfortable—would be emotionally tumultuous. I conceded. “I’ll tell you about the accident.”

“Tonight?” he demanded.

“Yes.”

“Okay.”

I settled back in the chair. “But only if you go first.”

A deep furrow creased Hayden’s brow as he resumed his work. “I got the tattoo after my parents were killed.”

“Both of them?” I asked, shocked. Cassie said his mother died, but she didn’t mention that he lost his father as well.

“Yeah.”

“How old were you?”

“Almost eighteen.”

“Was it an accident?” I asked, wondering how close we were in our losses.

Hayden turned off the tattoo machine and I shifted so I could see him better. “They were murdered.”

“Oh, my God.” When Cassie said he lost his mother, I assumed it had been some kind of accident or illness, not this. I sat up, bringing the towel with me to cover my chest. “What happened?”

His eyes were on his forearm, the vine-wrapped heart on display. “They were shot. I found them.”

I sucked in a sharp breath. “Oh Hayden. That must have been terrifying.” It was bad enough to find out they’d been murdered, but that Hayden had been the one to discover them was horrific. No matter how hard I tried, I could never erase the violent image of Connor’s mangled body from my memory. I doubted I ever would. Hayden’s haunted expression told me it was the same for him.

“It’s been almost seven years. It was a long time ago.” Hayden picked the tattoo machine up again, but I didn’t take the cue and lie back down.

“It doesn’t make it any less traumatic.” I wanted to reach out and ease the ache that was so obvious in him, but his posture was rigid, his eyes dark, and I wasn’t sure the contact would be welcome.

“I got the bleeding heart as a reminder of what my choices cost me.”

“You say it like you were responsible.”

“I made it easier for it to happen. I was grounded, which was normal, because even then I couldn’t follow rules. They’d gone to some event and told me not to go anywhere. As soon as they left, I Ferris Buellered the shit out of my room and took off to get fucked up with some friends. My mom had this planter at the front door, and I kept a key hidden under it. It was gone when I came home.” He shook his head in disgust, his eyes on the floor. His chest rose and fell as his palms moved over his thighs, his anxiety transparent.

“I assumed I’d moved it or taken it with me by accident, which was dumb, because I would never do that. I was so messed up at the time; high and drunk. I tried the door anyway, even though I was sure it’d be locked. I’d done that before, locked myself out. I had to break a window to get in. My dad was pissed. He even threatened to put in an alarm system. It was why I stowed the key in the first place.”

I could see where this was going. I already understood so much better his hard exterior. He carried the weight of their deaths with him, just as I did. I reached out tentatively and touched his forearm. I sensed he needed the reassurance before he could go on. His gloved fist unfurled, and I put my hand in his. He closed his fingers around mine and squeezed.

“I thought I was so damn lucky when the door opened. It confused me, at first. My dad’s shoes were at the front door, which meant they’d come home early. Usually they waited up so they could ground me some more. But the house was totally silent. I thought maybe my ruse worked. Nothing was out of place on the main floor, not a goddamn thing. But there was this smell . . .” Hayden took a deep, unsteady breath. “Anyway, when I went upstairs, I found them in bed. My dad had a hole in his head and my mom had been shot in the chest.”

“Oh God. I’m so sorry you had to see that,” I whispered.

Corroding his armor, the emotions he tried to contain leaked through. It gave me a glimpse of the boy he’d once been.

“It’s my fault. I’m the one who left the key there, and I’m the reason they came home early. They shouldn’t have been there that night. Whoever killed them must have cased the house. My parents had a safe in their room, and the fucker tried to get into it after he killed them.”

I studied the hard lines of his face. His emotions were painfully familiar, because he, too, wore his loss in a shroud of self-blame. He stared back at me, looking lost. He let go of my hand, and a glove-covered finger swept under my eye to wipe away a tear. “I don’t deserve these.”

“You couldn’t have known that would happen,” I said softly.

“If I hadn’t been a shit teenager, my parents might still be alive.”

If only Hayden knew how well I related. Although truly, it wasn’t his fault—whoever killed his parents could have found a way into the house, key or no key.

I didn’t express those thoughts, though. It didn’t matter if it was true. He would still carry the blame, just as I would always know my truth.

“Did they ever find the person who did it?” I asked.

“No. For a while I wondered if it was someone I knew, or maybe someone who knew my dad. Only the rooms upstairs had been messed with. But some rookie cop processed the evidence incorrectly, so it ended up inadmissible. They closed the case.”

“Wasn’t there anything they could do?”

Hayden scoffed. “And make the CPD culpable for their fuckup? Not a chance.”

I understood better Hayden’s disdain for rules, given that they had failed him so entirely. How long had he tried to expel the cancerous emotions that ate him from the inside out? His armor of ink and steel protected him; it kept most at a distance. Getting to know the man underneath would never be easy. And yet here he was, letting me in, hoping I would do the same. We were both slaves to the guilt we harbored. The damage was so profound on both sides. I worried we might never reach a middle ground where we could find freedom from our pasts.

“You need another break,” Hayden said.

I began to protest, but he cut me off. “We’ve been at it for close to two hours. The right side is finished. You need to stretch before we start up again.” His tone left no room for negotiation.

Now that I was well beyond the point of backing out, I should have felt relieved. This was what I wanted. But after what Hayden divulged, I was suddenly filled with fear and remorse. He had given me exactly what I’d asked for. He would expect the same in return, but the more ink he added, the more vulnerable I felt. There was a chance I might shatter if I revealed too much.

Holding the towel tightly, I took Hayden’s offered hand. Once upright, I wobbled, my right hip sore.

“Stiff?” he asked, holding me steady at the waist.

I leaned into him, using him for balance. “A little.”

His hands dropped lower, thumbs anchored above my pelvic bone while he rubbed slow circles into the tight muscles at my hips. Reveling in the touch and humming with appreciation, I rested my head on his chest as he massaged the ache away.

“Better?” he asked.

I put more weight on my right leg; the stiffness had eased some. “Yes.”

He shrugged off his button-down shirt and draped it over my shoulders. I pushed my arms through the too-long sleeves. I waited patiently as he rolled them up to my wrists and fastened the buttons. My response to his touch was amplified by what I couldn’t have. Reading my mind, he tilted my chin up and lowered his mouth to mine. “Don’t worry, kitten. We’ll survive a week.”

* * *

When I returned from the bathroom I found him in the main shop, talking animatedly with Lisa. She saw me first, smiling when she noticed my attire.

“Hayden says you’re a pro.”

I blushed at the compliment. “I don’t know about that, but I think I’m holding my own.” The right side of my back stung, like a fresh sunburn. Hayden’s reference to catharsis made sense now, but I feared the point where the internal and external pain matched in intensity. “We should get at it.” He ushered me back into the private room.

Hayden must have sensed my anxiety over the second half of the session.

“It’s probably best if I start at the bottom of the wing and work toward your shoulder. You’ve been amazing so far, but I think if we get the most painful part out of the way, you might be able to relax better through the rest.”

He passed me a stress ball to squeeze when it became too much to handle. Hayden enforced breaks every fifteen minutes or so, rubbing my arm and telling me how well I was doing. The pain was almost intolerable. I wasn’t sure how I would manage if he had to go over it multiple times before the ink took.

When we made it past the difficult areas, Hayden asked the question I’d hoped to avoid. “Will you tell me about the accident now?”

No. “What do you want to know?”

“Would I be right to assume the scar on your hip and the ones on your back happened at the same time?” he prompted.

“They did.” I compartmentalized the memories, pushing them down, willing myself to stay in the present.

“A while back, you said your mom passed away . . .” he trailed off.

“She was with me.”

“Anyone else?” He turned off the tattoo machine, his attention focused on me.

“My dad was there, too.”

“And he’s okay?” Hayden asked. His hope made my heart ache even more.

I shook my head. Tears made him blurry.

“Oh, kitten.” He stripped off his gloves and stroked my cheek. “What happened? Were you in a car accident?”

“We were on a plane. The engine failed.” I barely managed to get the words out.

His mouth went slack. “It crashed?”

I nodded. A tidal wave of emotion rose in me. I’d fought so hard against it, keeping it from pulling me under. I hadn’t considered the possibility that I might find someone who would understand what I had endured and want me anyway, even though I wasn’t whole. For the first time since the crash, I wanted to believe Hayden might empathize with me over the guilt I carried . . . that he might not reject me for my cowardice.

“How did you survive? Wait. You don’t have to answer that. I’m so fucking sorry. I should know better.” He wiped at my tears, but they kept coming, the dam broken. “I’m sorry I pushed. I won’t ask any more questions tonight, okay? I promise. I’ll just let it be for now. I’m so sorry.”

He was frantic in his attempt to calm me. His hands were on my face, in my hair, stroking down my arms. I stilled them with my own, his anxiety canceling mine out.

“It’s okay. I’ll be okay. I just need a minute.” I repeated the phrase in my head until it was true.

“You don’t have to be okay. I know it’s hard,” Hayden said, kissing my forehead.

I shook my head in denial. He didn’t know anything. I’d omitted the most significant details to make telling him bearable.

He rearranged me carefully until I was facing him. I didn’t resist. I wanted his comfort; craved it. One hand rested low on my waist, the other curved around the back of my neck, and he pulled me into his lap. It was the closest he could get to a hug. I, on the other hand, wrapped myself around him and held on tight.