Tattooed Hearts (19 page)

“I’m glad you’re here.” A
shaky smile settled on her lips.
“Coffee?
Tea?”

He shoved his hands in his
coat pockets. “No thanks.”

“Forrest…”

“I don’t know why I came
here.” He glanced over her shoulder to the wall, specifically to the spot his
mother had repainted after he and Claire went on a crayon coloring frenzy.
Relentless memories continued their destruction.

“This is your home. It
will
always be.”
Eyes similar to his focused on a picture of his late
father.
“Regrets are moral residue,” his
mother’s voice was low as she spoke. “I was hurt and angry and I did something
out of character. Now it’s stuck with me. I can’t undo it.” She looked
at him. “I will never regret having you.”

“I’m not here to discuss
you and Charles.” He ignored the gripping pain deep in his stomach and asked,
“Did you or Dad ever tell Victoria that Claire wasn’t good enough for me?”

His mother waved a
dismissive hand.
“That’s absurd. We never thought
that. Why do you ask?”

The answer didn’t surprise
him. “It’s not important.” He glanced around the hallway. Everything was as
tidy as he could remember, not in a cold, detached way. Growing up in the
house, as big as it was
, had been the exact
opposite–animated and full of life. His father, his mother, and he had been a
team. “Do you need help with anything?”

“I was making some pies
for a delivery tomorrow.”

“All
right.”
He removed his jacket, hooked it on the edge of the st
airs, and started toward the kitchen. His mother always
insisted he hang his jacket in the closet. Forrest waited for the scolding, but
it didn’t come. “I’ll deliver them tomorrow,” he offered.

“I’d like that. I can come
with you.”

He shook his head. “No n
eed.” In his peripheral vision, he caught her nodding,
seeming to understand he wasn’t ready for all of that mother-son relationship
they once had.

“Have you seen Claire?”
his mother asked as they walked down the corridor.

“Yes.”

“She’s here for you.”

“It’
s too late for me and Claire.”

She glanced at him.
Forrest kept his focus straight ahead.

“She loves you.”

“Maybe.”

“She does.”

“Okay.”

He pushed open the cognac
oak slab door and entered the well-equipped kitchen. A beautiful toned modern
table stood in t
he middle. Handy wall hatches to keep
appliances close at hand. Dried flowers hung from beams. Mixed style chairs
provided tone and balance in the country setting.
Nothing superfluous–minimalist and uncluttered.
He walked by the fresh
fruit on a cutting bo
ard to the sink, rolled up his
sleeves and washed his hands. The kitchen, the heart of the house, always
exuded a warm and welcoming spirit. How many nights had he sat there talking to
his parents? Nostalgia washed over him once again. Forrest put up a men
tal hand to stop the onslaught of memories.

“Why are you shutting her
out?”
his mother
asked while pulling out ingredients from
the cupboard.

He turned off the running
water and wiped his hands dry. “I don’t trust her.”

“You’re too hard on
yourself and eve
ryone around you. We all make
mistakes. Even you are capable of those.”

“I’m not here for a
lecture, Mom.”

His mother placed several
already prepared crusts on the counter. A busy silence fell between them. It
wasn’t the comfortable kind, more like tension
-filled,
but he stayed and baked pies.

Late into the night, one
fresh-baked pie in hand, Forrest entered his house. After placing the sweet
dessert in the fridge, he made his way to the sitting room, found the TV
remote, and turned on ESPN for the latest sports news. But once again, his mind
we
nt to Claire. When she first left, his heartache
had been an insatiable fire that burnt all the oxygen in his body, leaving him
lifeless and empty. Years had reduced the pain to a thin layer of ice, cooling
his insides, a gentle reminder of what came befor
e
and a warning not to stoke that fire again. They said once bitten, twice shy,
but for him, it was more like forever shy. He wouldn’t take that chance,
however tempting it was, because his heart couldn’t survive another inferno.

Still, he picked up his ph
one and checked on the auction for the first time. Claire’s
bid was now up to three thousand dollars. Despite all the internal warnings, he
was eighteen again and Claire soaked right into his bones. Only this time, she
wasn’t fifteen and he didn’t have to
ignore the
burning desire coursing through him. He scrolled through his contact list to
her name and typed.

Tell me you made some progress with the song.

And
pressed
SEND
before he could change
his mind and erase the text.
Forrest threw the phone on the sofa,
telling himself she wouldn’t answer
.
I
t was late, well past midnight. Besides,
he didn’t care if she answered or not. Within seconds, the ping of his phone
announced her response.

Some.

He
texted back.

You bid on me again.

She answered.

Someone tried to outbid me.

A reporter talking about
Tom Brady and the New England Patriots blared in the background. While he was
everything Boston, from the Red Sox to the Bruins, when it came to football, he
was all about The Ni
ners. He continued typing.

You should stop.

Her response came quickly.

Tell me you don’t love me, and I’ll stop.

Forrest studied her words.
Definitely a bad idea to go there
again.
He texted
back.

Goodnight, Claire.

He fixed his attention on
the
television screen.
His phone vibrated. Forrest glanced at
the glowing screen then looked away. The conversation was over. Neither of them
had anything left to say. It was pointless to drag it out any longer. The
buzzing sound came again, taunting his resol
ution.
One peek wouldn’t hurt. He didn’t have to respond. But it was rude to ignore
someone and he was never rude. He read the text.

Any call after midnight is considered a booty call. Is that what
this is?

Chapter Fifteen

“How to save your heart – Know your limits.”

Claire Yasō Peters

This wasn’t good. Claire
frowned at the now-silent phone. No response. The after-midnight conversation
with Forrest ended just as quickly as it had started. Disappointment filled her
chest. What did she expect?

Well, he could have played
along. He did initiate the back and forth texting. The minute she flirted a
little, pushed his buttons a bit, he stopped. A reminder no matter how deep his
feelings ran for her, Forrest had no desire to go down that path again.
A
t least not
without a fight.
He was protecting his heart, she
couldn’t blame him, she’d do the same had the situation been reversed, but he
wanted her, his eyes couldn’t hide that.

She placed the journal on
the nightstand. No point spending another minute
staring
at the words she’d written or waiting for another text. Progress often came one
baby step at a time. Overall, the day had been a good one. She drafted a whole
verse, and finally found the strength to tell Forrest the truth.
Two big accomplishments.
Maybe tomorrow she’d
convince Keely to take the ferry off the island and spend the day shopping in
Boston. Earlier at Vapor, her friend looked like she could use some
distraction.

The ringtone on her phone
snapped Claire out of her daze. Without checking,
she
knew it was Forrest.
Her heart lurched and a host of butterflies swarmed in the
pit of her stomach.
“I didn’t expect a phone call,” she greeted her favorite
doctor.

“This is not a booty
call,” he said on the other end of the phone. His tone, although
dour, still made her belly go mushy.

Claire couldn’t help but
smile. “What is it then?”

He exhaled and she could
envision him lounging in worn jeans, flipping through a book, with the TV on in
the background.

“I spent the evening
baking pies.”

“Oh.” Yikes,
did he have a date? She could almost see Forrest in the
kitchen, relaxed with a half day’s stubble tilted in a wry grin while baking
pies and raising some lucky girl’s temperature at the same time. Ugh! Claire
curled her fingers around the fabric of her c
otton
tank. “Um…”

“With my
mother.”

Her heart did a little
happy dance.
Relief.
“How did that go?” From
what she knew, this was the first time in a month Forrest had made any attempt
to see his mother. As for Charles and Jason—well, that was another battle
he probably wasn’t ready to face.

“Awkward.”

She nodded to herself on
the other end, understanding how hard it must have been for him. “Sounds like
you need a friend.”

“I could use one,” he
admitted after a short silence.

“There’s no way to get off
Chappy
right now,” she said mostly to herself because
if there were, she’d be on the ferry right away. Besides being late, the water
was partially frozen due to the dip in the temperature. Not even the Montgomery
boat could cross Norton Point Beach and the nine
hundred
feet that separated them.

“Good thing.” There was a
strange note in his voice that made her warm all over.

“Why?”

“We’d probably end up in
bed,” he said on a groan.
“Not
probably, definitely.”

The admission caught her
off guard. Every nerve ending
in her body jumped to
attention.
“That would make us friends with benefits.”

“Not a good idea.”

“Would that be such a bad
thing?” Oh, she was playing with fire. But the heady desire she’d kept buried
for so long flared and if she couldn’t be next to him
then
why not improvise and go for a little phone sex.

“Yes,” he answered without
a beat.

“We already had sex.”
For the first time in ten years, and she
wanted more.
“Would it be so bad if we were to do it
again?”

“Claire…”

His tone was full of
warning, but
it caressed her goose-bumped skin. What
she wouldn't give to see his face right now. His expression controlled and
brooding. “Send me a picture.” She pushed.

“Of?”

“You.”
She giggled when he
released a breath. “You thought I meant…” 

“Drop it.”

But she co
uldn’t. If anything, she wanted to whoop it up. “I meant a
selfie. But...” She purposely let her voice trail off. “
If you prefer to send a
pic of
—
”

“No,” he cut her off.

She blew out a breath. He
could be such a tough nut to crack at times. “Can I ask you
a question?” She bit her lower lip and waited for Forrest
to shut her down.

“Ask,” he replied, giving
her the green light instead.

“Do you ever touch
yourself and think of me?” she whispered into the phone.

“Friends,” he reminded her
while managing to avoi
d answering the question.

Pretty clever, Doc.
Not that it mattered. She
took his evasive response as a yes. Heat rushed between her thighs over the
thought. “You want me.”

He groaned.

“I want you too, but you
already know that.”

“Where is this
going?” His
voice was hoarse and tortured on the
other end of the line.

She shrugged, not that
Forrest could see her, and went for the jugular. “Every time I touch myself,
it’s always you I think about. Goodnight, Doc.” Claire pressed the
END
button
,
disconnecting the
ir call. That was one of the most brazen things she’d ever
done, planting an image of herself touching, and stroking, her most intimate
spots into Forrest’s mind.

Heart racing, she lay in
the dark, eyes fixed on the ceiling. Apparently torture wasn’t
discriminatory. Her body felt restless and was way too hot.
Swearing, she rolled onto her side.

She wanted Forrest.

She loved Forrest.

She wanted Forrest and his
love. Even though ten years had passed, she’d never been able to let him go.

He told her to le
t go. Let’s try to be friends, he’d said.

Phooey!

He wanted her.

He still loved her.

And damn the weather for
making a trip to the other side of the island impossible. Mother Nature was
definitely a morbid force. If only there was a way to get off Chappy.
 
Whether or not
he wanted to love her, they’d be going at it like two hormone-driven,
angst-ridden teenagers, kissing, touching, and…Claire shifted. The
ultra-delicate spot between her thighs ached.

A vision of Forrest
standing behind her, burying deep in
side, made her
quiver. She wanted more of him. Flopping onto her back, she shoved off the
comforter. Even though the house was well heated, cool air washed over her bare
arms and across her chest. Underneath the cotton tank top, her nipples swelled,
sendin
g a stinging sensation to her flesh, to the
point she captured one breast in her hand and squeezed. A little whimper
escaped her lips as the pressure vibrated from between her breasts to her
thighs. She clenched the comforter as thoughts of Forrest continu
ed to tease her. Their first kiss
to
the first time they made
love a month ago in his house. She could still taste him, could still feel his
muscles flexing against her, in her.

Her breath caught at the
phantom of Forrest’s touch. After ten years, he’d awa
kened
what she’d tried to keep dormant, and now she wanted more.

If only the ocean wasn’t
covered with ice.

If only it wasn’t dawn.

If only she hadn’t waited
a decade.

Along her throat, her
pulse picked up speed, her heart stuttered. Between her thighs,
the ache became more forceful. In the darkness, her hand
fluttered to her stomach, and slid down under the loose band of her sleeping
shorts. She closed her eyes. The muscles in her belly tightened, her breath
quickened.

The edges of her fingers
slowly dri
fted over her thighs and slid between them.
Shots of electricity seared through her veins. Catching her lower lip between
her teeth to stop the cry building in her throat, her fingers slid through the
wetness.

Images of Forrest
continued its pillaging, gra
y eyes on fire with heat
and his mouth against hers, coaxing her open. She moaned and stroked the
swollen area. That felt so good. Her finger moved in quick jerky movements back
and forth before Claire drew in a deep breath, and pushed in. A gasp escaped h
er throat as tension coiled.

She pushed a little
deeper. The pressure sent another jolt and the burning in her core spread. Her
hips jerked, rocked, as tension built deeper and deeper. In the darkness of her
room, she grew hotter, wanting more. Visions of
Forrest
became even clearer–his mouth on hers, his eyes full of the love he withheld,
his lips speaking the words he denied her, his hand, his fingers. The thoughts
amplified the longing, and that was it. A moan erupted from deep inside her
body as she unr
aveled.

Brain scattering of all
thoughts, she collapsed against the pillows, arms and legs shaking. Claire
wasn’t sure how long it took for the tremors to subside, but eventually she
rolled onto her side, the warm and fuzzy feeling reserved just for Forres
t wrapped around her. She smiled and let the languid
feeling invade her body, carrying her into sleep.

* * * *

At the harbor, Claire’s
shoes clacked over the various hues of the wooden boards. Some newer planks
with their bright unworn look, covered with
patches
of snow, sparkled under the sunlight, others dull and beaten by the countless
freeze-thaw cycles and the salty air, perfectly balanced the upgrades and
reflected the shabby chic look of the island.

Martha’s Vineyard was a village of the past.

An e
scape to
the present.

A sea explorer’s dream.

Hands tucked in her
pockets,
she walked down by the
Shanty, still feeling blissful from last night’s conversation with Forrest
and after
. Ghosts of yesteryear
strutted by her side and kept her company.

While th
e air was chilly, it was a beautiful day on the Vineyard,
bringing out a slew of activities in downtown Edgartown. People flowed around
her. They waved, stopped to make small talk, but no one was looking for her to
sing, perform, sign papers, or design clo
thes.
Nothing.
She was simply one of
them.

Such an exposed place,
with nothing to hide behind, and yet, on the island she wasn’t Claire Yasō
Peters the singer, designer, and now actress. She was one of them.
A local in the scenic vistas.

“Hey!”

Smiling, s
he turned to Keely. As always, her friend looked
breathtaking. Under her winter hat and bone-straight brown hair, peeked eyes of
hazel and honey. Unlike yesterday, when they were dim, today they sparkled with
mirth.