“No, they loved you. Believe me, they did.” Her head drops.
Talking about our parents is hard for her. It will be hard for her for a long time. It still hurts me, and I’ve had ten years to process it. She’s had days.
I nod, tucking her hair behind her ear and drawing her eyes back to me.
All the truth is there, shining in pretty blues.
And I do believe her… about everything.
“Come on.” I lift her from the seat. “Let’s go get you that tattoo. You can even pick the placement for mine.”
“You’re getting another?” she asks, taking my hand as I step out of the booth.
“I think so.”
“What are you getting?” The words come out with a puff of air as I pull her in a little too hard, our bodies slamming.
She’s fine with it, arms already wrapped around me.
I let my scars ache as I smile down at her. She stains my heart, my soul, my mind. It’s only fair I put her on my skin, too.
“I’m getting a doll. A little doll with pink hair.”
CHAPTER 82
Dollie—present day
“Idon’t think you should be doing this. You said your body was tired.” Three times, he almost fell asleep while getting tattooed.
It probably wasn’t a good idea to get tattooed, and the guys at the parlor even questioned it, asking why there were bandages on Ambrose’s wrists. They were suspicious but continued when he laughed and said the bandages were merely there to hide something that offends me. It was kinda true, until he winked at me and told the guy who was ready to jab a needle into his arm that they were ex-girlfriend’s names.
Sliding through the mud as rain pours down on our heads, Ambrose saves my favorite sneakers by carrying me on his back.
“You’re not exactly heav—” the word cuts off as we fall face flat to the floor.
Mud splashes up, catching me in the face and hair, and damn, there goes my sneakers.
I roll from Ambrose’s back, making it easier for him to lift his weight from the ground. Poor Duggan is squished between us as Ambrose lifts me into his arms. If I didn’t know his telltale signs, I’d never know of the pain in his arms.
“You’re hurting.” I almost fight him as he lifts me back into his arms.
“You rubbed my tattoo.”
“Lying to me again.”
“You worry too much,” says the man, keeping us out here in the pouring rain while he flicks mud from his hoodie with the hand not pressed to my back. “Of all the days to wear beige.”
A rumble in my stomach becomes a laugh. I blink back raindrops from my view as we continue, the rain washing us almost entirely of mud.
“My key is in my back pocket.”
My new key, as Nyx changed the locks this morning, without adding it to our bill.
We reach the door, and Ambrose props me against it while still in his arms. Wandering hands hunt through the tight pocket, prodding me long after a finger loops through the keyring.
“I know what you’re doing.”
“What am I doing?”
