“I guess it’s early morning there. I’m sorry I woke you. I didn’t think –”

“Don’t be sorry,” I interrupt.

“I am sorry, Lottie.” And suddenly I don’t think we’re talking about interrupting my sleep anymore.

“I know. Me too.” Neither of us knows what to say next. I want to speak with him for hours. I want to tell him all about the places I’ve visited in London and keep him on the phone until he falls asleep. I’m hanging on to him like a lifeline, one that I thought I was managing without.

“I shouldn’t have called,” he sighs. “I’ve gotta go, Lottie. Sorry. I … See ya.”

“Spike, no, wait Sp−” I call desperately, wanting so badly for him to stay on the line.

He hangs up on me. Fuck. I contemplate calling him back, but what would I say? I don’t even know where he called me from as it didn’t come up with a number. Double fuck.

I hate that the last time I saw him, he had tears in his eyes. I hate that the last time I touched him, it was a silent goodbye. I hate that the last time we kissed, was just before the accident and I never knew it would be the last time. If I’d known it would be the last time …

The phone call from Spike this morning threw me off course and derailed the progress that I thought I’d made since I’ve been here. Why did he feel the need to call me? Was he drunk? Does he still love me? Was he just lonely?

“You up to the job today, firebird?” Torran asks gently, coming to my side at the desk and crouching to search my eyes for my answer.

“Yeah,” I answer uncertainly, and he frowns at my sorrowful expression.

“Wanna talk about it?” he offers, and I contemplate telling him everything, but I’m not sure I would be able to stop once I started.

I shrug. “No.”

“Okay.” He gently places his hand on my upper arm and rubs his thumb soothingly across my skin. “Wanna see something I sketched up for you last night?”

“For me? A tattoo?” This perks me up a little. There’s nothing like the prospect of a needle pounding in to your skin to distract your thoughts.

“Yep. Just for you.”

“I’d love to see it! But really, I didn’t expect you to do it in your spare time.” We have gone back and forth with ideas for my tattoo over the last week that I’ve worked here, and after seeing loads of tattoos being inked, I’m not as scared as I was before. In fact, I’m really excited.

“I wanted to. I was inspired and when I team inspiration with quite a fair amount of Jack, apparently I can draw pretty awesome shit.” He pulls a sketch pad out from under the desk and slaps it down on the top. “Now, I want you to know that you can say that you don’t like it. You aren’t obliged to have this permanently marked on your body at all. I was just doodling and thought you might like to see, that’s all. No pressure.” His voice is firm, but I sense a little nervousness.

“Yes, sir,” I salute playfully.

He smirks and carefully flips the pages until he comes to the design he wants to show me. I want to tell him to slow down so I can take a really good look at all of the designs he has in that sketch pad, but he’s on a mission to get to the one. As he stops turning, he moves his hand to the side and looks at me to see my reaction. “There. What do you think?”

“Oh my god,” I breathe.

“You don’t like it … it’s fine. I can design tattoos all day long until we get the right one for you. That is, if you still−”

I place my hand on his, cutting him off. “I love it,” I say with genuine enthusiasm and awe. “It’s beautiful. The color is amazing.”

“It’s a phoenix. You know, a firebird. I thought it was very apt for you, strength, healing …”

“I’ve never seen a tattoo as beautiful as this. Can you really do this on me?”

He chuckles loudly, “I know I don’t get to show off my skills here very often, I’ve had to ink a lot of Celtic bands, tribal stuff and a few skulls here and there, but I love doing the more intricate work.”

“It’s perfect. Do it,” I say resolutely.

“Really? There’s nothing you want to change?”

“Nothing. I love the beautiful colors and the way the feathers look like they’re moving. I even love the heart that you’ve disguised in the tail.”

“I wondered if you would notice that straight off. I know you feel like you’re heart won’t heal, Lottie, but it will, one day.” I look up at him with tears welling in the corners of my eyes at his words of reassurance. How is it he always knows the right thing to say or do?

He has a crooked smile, a dimple in one cheek and a couple days stubble growth, and despite his shaved head and tattoos and piercings, he can’t fool me. “You know, you’re not as mean as you make out.”

“I make out that I’m mean?” he remarks, quirking one eyebrow. “Don’t want you thinking I’m a saint, firebird. But I’m good to my friends and we’re friends, aren’t we?”

“Yeah, we’re friends.” I wrap my arms around his waist and hug him tight. He reciprocates instantly, without any hesitation, and holds me so securely I don’t want him to let me go. There’s no intention coming from him or anything remotely sexual. It’s a hug with meaning and just when I needed it most. From the minute we met, I felt safe with him, and after working with him for the last week here in the tattoo studio, he feels like a big brother and he gives me the feeling of loyal protection that I always craved when I was growing up, but never had. One that I felt I had with Spike and the guys back home.

“So, I have a booking due in anytime now. But after that I’m all yours for an hour or so. You wanna think about placing for your tattoo?”

I pull back from his chest and if the amused expression is anything to go by, I look as scared as I feel. “Now? Today?”

“No time like the present, but I’m not going to pressure you. You have to want it for yourself, one hundred percent, or you’ll regret it.”

“Oh, I don’t think I’ll regret it, I just …”

“You’re nervous. I get it. I’ve seen grown men cry like a baby with nerves. You’re handling the idea pretty well so far.”

“Yeah,” I muse. “I can’t believe grown men cry over tattoos.” I shake my head at the thought.

“Yup, they sure do.”

“Pussies.” I roll my eyes comically while going back and forth over the idea of starting it today. I do want it. I mean, I really, really want it. And when I saw the design, I knew it was perfect and actually started to feel excited about it. “Do it,” I say firmly, picking up the pencil and writing my name in the time slot that Torran has free this afternoon.

“You’re sure?” He quirks his brow at me and his eyes twinkle excitedly.

“Certain.” I nod. “Ink me up.”

Chapter 13

My resolution to look ahead and try to be positive didn’t last long. Although I’m sick of hearing the nagging voice in my head that’s wallowing in the darkest depths of self-pity, I can’t seem to pull myself out of it no matter how hard I try. I know I should be grateful to be here. I know I should be thankful that my family has the money to make my situation easier with the best equipment money can buy. I know all of this. But yet, I still feel like I was dealt a shitty hand and a huge part of me wishes I hadn’t survived that night. It would have been kinder to my soul if they hadn’t tried so hard to save my life.

“Morning, Mr. King,” Sue calls out as she enters my room. After the last time I yelled at her and told her to leave, I felt fucking awful. So I called her up and apologized. Truth is, I was getting used to her and her ways, and I actually kinda like her, so the thought of having to adjust to someone else was worse than admitting I need help, and I would rather it be from her. I used to make a huge effort to get myself out of bed before she got here. It was always a struggle, and pretty risky, especially when I wasn’t physically fit and recovered. It was part of my male ego to not want to accept help with the most mundane tasks. I was too proud to accept that I couldn’t do it for myself, but as we’ve gotten to know each other, Sue has made it easier for me to accept help from her, especially when I haven’t slept well and need the extra rest.