Sylas doesn’t get my door for me when I get out and I don’t expect him to. We’re not dating anymore. We’re not anything anymore. The game is over and now we’re two people who don’t know what we mean to one another.

The bell dings when we go in and Crash is waiting for us. He gives me a smile and a hug this time. Like we’re old friends.

“Nice to see you again,” he says to Sylas, holding his hand out to shake this time. Sylas returns the handshake and Crash leads me over to the chair, patting it for me to sit down. I flip my shirt up and unclasp my bra, but make sure to keep my front covered.

“Hold my hand?” I ask Sylas. He begrudgingly pulls a chair over and clasps my hand in his. It feels both different and the same holding onto him.

He gazes at me and there are so many things written in his eyes. Regret, mostly. I try to force myself not to feel it too, but I can’t help it. Regrets and mistakes. If only I hadn’t fallen in love with him.

“You ready?” Crash asks me, patting the area he’s going to work on. I take a deep breath and nod. The buzz of the needle brings me back to last time I was in this chair. When I was so much happier.

The first stroke has barely a whisper of pain and then he gets down to the nitty-gritty and I bite my bottom lip between my teeth. I wanted a lot of color, so it’s going to take a while to get all of it done.

When Crash finally lifts the needle, I can’t believe he’s done. I feel like I’ve been sitting here for days instead of hours. Sylas has held my hand the whole time.

“Okay, get up and take a look.” I get to my feet, a little stiff, but I’m careful not to move too quickly and wrench the tender skin of my back. I go to a full-length mirror and look over my shoulder.

It’s exactly what I wanted, only better. The colors are too bright right now, but they’ll fade and be perfect.

“What do you think?” Crash asks.

“I love it. I absolutely love it,” I say. I can’t take my eyes off it.

“Good. That was a nice piece to do. I’m glad you like it.”

“I do. I really do.” I look up and see that Sylas can’t take his eyes off my back either. Now there is longing in his eyes. As if he wants to reach out and touch me. Then, of course, he scans upward and finds me watching him watching me. He looks away.

Crash tapes me up and goes over the care instructions again. I put my shirt back down and re-clasp my bra. Ouch.

I pay Ruby, who tells me how much she likes my tat and then we’re out the door. I wish I could go back to those hours of pain because at least I was holding his hand.

“Thank you for coming with me,” I whisper as I get back in the car. The seat hurts against my skin, but it’s bearable.

He doesn’t answer and I can’t take it anymore. The pain has made me bolder.

“We need to talk, Sylas. We really need to talk.” I do and I don’t want to talk to him. He looks straight ahead, his jaw clenched.

“Fine. But I’m not going back to your father’s house.”

“Deal,” I say, and finally start the car.

Four

We end up at my apartment. He definitely doesn’t want to go to his, and mine is mostly neutral territory. Well, as neutral as the two of us can get.

I need a drink, so as soon as I toss my purse down on the table by the door and throw my keys in the skull, I head for the kitchen. Finding nothing but wine and whiskey, I pick the latter and grab two short glasses. I pour some for both of us, but bring the bottle with me as I walk into the living room. Sylas is already there, waiting for me.

“It’s the only hard stuff I have on hand. This moment seemed like it needed alcohol,” I say, handing him a glass. He takes it without comment and we both sip in silence. I take a step closer to him, but he backs up and then sits on the couch.

“You’re right,” he says, finally speaking. His voice is rough, as if he wants to say much more, but is stopping himself.

“What do you want to talk about, Saige?” he says after he’s drained the glass. I take it from him, fill it up and hand it back. We’re both going to end up wasted if we keep going like this.

“I want to… I don’t know.” I’m the one who wanted to talk and now I’m tongue-tied.

“Apologize?” he says with a nasty smile. Something like that. I look into my glass, wishing it had the answers.

“Yes? No. I’m not sorry for what I did. I’m not sorry for how it turned out. I did care for you, Sylas. Do. Do care for you.” But not love. I won’t say love. I can’t say those words to him again. Even if they’re true.

“It doesn’t matter,” he says, throwing back another swallow of whiskey. I join him and I’m grateful for the burn in the back of my throat that takes up residence in my belly.

“It does. It really does,” I say, looking at him from over the rim of my glass.

“You’re still playing the game, Saige. It’s over. You don’t have to play me anymore. It’s not going to change anything.” The alcohol is starting to numb the pain.

“I’m not playing, Sylas.” I set my glass down and lean forward a little. I’m not trying anything, I just want to be closer to him.

“I swear to God, if you try and kiss me, Saige,” he says, glaring at me, his eyes cold and blazing at the same time.

I pull back and pick up my glass again. I shouldn’t have done that.

“I’m sorry. I wasn’t going to. I just want us to be able to talk. We need to be able to be civil to one another. I want to get to know my sister.” When I mention Lizzy, his eyes lock with mine.

“You knew about her the whole time, didn’t you? Be fucking honest with me.” His tone is just as hard as his eyes, and I can’t blame him.

“Yes. I knew. But I never met her before we brought her to the house. I didn’t support my dad telling her that she was my sister and he was her father. I didn’t think it was right to drop it on her like that. You have to know that, Sylas. I didn’t want to do it that way.” I reach out to him, trying to touch him and make him understand, but I drop my hand before my skin brushes his, and look into my glass before looking back up at him again. Yet another thing I shouldn’t have done. My tattoo is burning, but it’s secondary at this point.

“I didn’t mean for it to happen like that, but I’m not sorry that it did. I’ve always wanted a sister,” I say. The last bit is a whisper.

“She’s not your sister. She’s my sister,” he bites out.

“She’s both of our blood.” In a strange twist, now Sylas and I are related through Lizzy.

“You don’t know anything about her.” He throws back what’s left in his glass and grabs the bottle for a refill.

“No, I don’t. But I want to. We want to take care of her. There is no nefarious motive here, Sylas. My father wants to make up for all the years he wasn’t there. He thinks about her all the time. It kills him that he didn’t get to raise her.” He laughs bitterly before taking another sip. If we’re not careful, we’re going to drink the whole bottle.

“Then he should have worn a condom when he fucked my mother.” He’s trying to say things to hurt me. Well, the damage is already done.

“It takes two people to make a baby, Sylas. He’s not the only one to blame.” I try to speak gently, aware he could explode at any moment and he’s got a glass in his hand.

He shakes his head.

“If you saw how many years my father has suffered. He loved her. He really loved her. Still does. Just because she’s gone, doesn’t mean he’s stopped.” He’ll never stop loving her, and it scares me. I’m afraid to love someone that much—so much so that when they’re taken from you, you spend the rest of your life aching for them, unable to move on or get past it.

I throw caution to the wind and finish another glass. Why the hell not.

“I just wanted my parents to love each other, but they never did. It wasn’t easy growing up. Nothing near as hard as you had it, though,” I say. He’s grinding his teeth together. I can almost hear the sound. Finally, he speaks.