Unraveling You Series: The Complete Set

by Jessica Sorensen

  She rolls her eyes. “No way. I can tell he’s over me. He even asked for her number.”

  “Sage asked for someone’s number? He’s always telling me he doesn’t do relationships.” Unless he could have Lyric, which I still think is what his behavior is all about.

  “Apparently, he changed his mind. It’s kind of funny, though. The two of them hook up with more people than I can count. They almost seem perfect for each other in this weird, sick, whore-ish way.”

  “I don’t know . . . It kind of sounds like a disaster to me. I mean, neither of them have ever been in a relationship for more than a minute.” And I still don’t believe this is about Maggie.

  “True, but I have hope.”

  “That’s because you’re you.”

  She smiles at that. “I am pretty amazing.”

  “Yes, you are.” I stretch my legs out. “So, have you told Sage and Nolan about the tour?”

  She hesitates then shakes her head. “Not yet.”

  “Why not?”

  She crosses her legs and reclines back in the chair. “Because I’m waiting for you to agree to go.”

  “Lyric—” I start.

  “My dad said we have until after we record our album. I’m giving you until then to decide. If you want to go, then I’ll tell Sage and Nolan.”

  “I’m not going to—”

  She covers my mouth with her hand. “I’m not asking you for an answer right now, so don’t give me one.” She lowers her hand and sits back in the chair. “Give it a few weeks, and then you can tell me your answer.”

  I puff out a breath. “Fine.”

  But, unless my sister’s found, I won’t go. I can’t take off, hit the road, and live an amazing life while I know Sadie is trapped in darkness somewhere.

  For the next twenty minutes or so, Lyric and I chat about lighter things, like the song she’s decided we’re going to sing together. Listening to the sound of her voice and watching her talk animatedly, I fall into another world filled with ease and calmness. But the moment Cole walks out from the curtain, the bubble around us pops.

  “Come on back, and let’s get this put on you,” he says with a nod of his head.

  My knees shake as I stand up and cross the room. When Lyric laces our fingers together, I feel the slightest bit better, until Cole tells me to take off my shirt so he can put the sketching on my skin and make sure we get it in the right place before we start.

  I glance between Cole, Ethan, and Lyric, knowing I have to do this since the tattoo is on my side, but knowing doesn’t make it any easier.

  “I can step out if you want me to,” Lyric whispers softly enough so only I hear her.

  She’s never seen me with my shirt off, but if I’m going to have her in here with me while I get the tattoo, then it’s going to have to happen. I guess it’s time to rip the band-aid off and get over one of my biggest fears. Having her here while I get the tattoo was my decision. Plus, she loves me, and I need to hold on to that.

  “No, you’re fine.” I take my fiftieth nervous breath of the day, grab the collar of my shirt, and pull it over my head.

  By the time I get it off, my pulse is racing so fast I swear I’m going to have a heart attack. It’s the first time anyone has seen me shirtless since I was freed from that house except on a few rare occasions when Lyric walked into my room without knocking. I’m terrified, yet I’ve made this huge step forward.

  Forward, forward, forward.

  Please, just let me fly

  Instead of falling off the cliff.

  Lyric dips her head to catch my gaze. “You okay?”

  “Yeah . . . I think so.” I cringe at the wobbliness of my voice.

  My heart races violently the entire time Cole aligns the drawing on my ribcage. I hope that, by the time I lie down in the chair, I’ll relax, but that doesn’t end up being the case.

  Instead, I become nervous over the needle. I stare at the ceiling, deeply inhaling and exhaling while trying to picture myself in a calm place—near the ocean, in the mountains, all alone. It’s a relaxation technique Dr. Gardingdale taught me, but it doesn’t help. By the time the needle pokes my skin, I almost bolt from the chair.

  Nails, biting nails,

  Scrape layer after layer,

  Peel away your soul.

  You’ll never be the same again.

  We’ll make sure of that.

  You’ll be tainted.

  I don’t want to be tainted. I want to be whole.

  I’m stronger than that. I have to be stronger.

  Or else what do I have to live for?

  “Hey, look at me.” Lyric’s comforting voice draws me away from my thoughts.

  I open my eyes and find her staring down at me.

  “Do you want to hear my story now?” she asks in a calm, soothing voice.

  As I stare into her bright green eyes, a calm rolls over me. “Yeah, tell me the story.”

  She smiles, drags a chair over, and sits down beside me, holding my hand. “So, guess who the blond woman at the bar turned out to be?”

  I hear the buzzing of the needle, distantly feel it, but feel her more potently. “Who?”

  “My dad’s half-sister.”

  “What? Where the hell did she come from? I thought your dad was an only child or something.”

  “Remember how I told you that he hasn’t had contact with his father or his new family in forever. Well, I guess his half-sister decided she wanted to see him. She recognized me because she saw pictures on the Internet and tracked my dad down that way. I guess she chickened out last weekend, though, after talking to me. Then she showed up at his studio last night.”

  “What happened?”

  “At first, my dad was irritated and thought she was there because she needed something. But, when he realized she was genuinely there to see him, they chatted for a while. I guess she wants to be part of our lives.”

  She props her elbows on the edge of the chair and rests her chin on her hands. “She said she’s wanted to meet him for a while, but she was afraid my dad would be upset with her because their dad’s such a fucking bastard. Plus, we lived so far away that it made it hard to just stop by. Then her husband got transferred to San Diego, and she decided she no longer had an excuse. She has kids, too. I think a daughter and a son. I’m not sure about all the deets, but I guess we’re supposed to hang out sometime or something.”

  “That’s so weird . . . that he suddenly has a sister.” So weird, but I’m jealous.

  The jealously is short-lived, because my skin starts to burn from the needle, and my eyelids start to close as I plummet toward the darkness.

  Lyric pulls me right back out, delicately placing her palm on my cheek. “Hey, look at me.”

  When I open my eyes, my gaze locks with hers. I wait for her to say something, but instead, she intensely carries my gaze. I feel myself falling again, only someplace different. Someplace new.

  Feel, feel, feel your heart beating.

  It feels so free

  With her eyes on you.

  Nothing else matters.

  Time has vanished.

  The past doesn’t exist.

  The pain and the wrong is gone.

  Feel, feel, feel yourself sinking.

  Not into the darkness

  Where the chains pull you down.

  But into the light

  Where your heart is waiting to be found.

  Found, found, found.

  I’m not sure how long I lay in that chair, but it’s enough time that my legs are wobbly when I stand. Once I get my footing, I stare at my reflection in the mirror. The outline of the tattoo inks my ribcage. Through the twists, lines, and dark curves of the feather and beak, the scars are still visible, yet I feel lighter inside, different, less bound. I took a massive step today.

  Ethan thanks Cole for doing a kickass job then makes me another appointment to get the outlines shaded while I put my shirt back on. Then I leave the back room with Lyric, and we head
for the car.

  During the drive home, Lyric and I sit in the backseat with our hands clasped. The contact of her skin lulls me into a relaxing state as I lean my head against the window and watch the buildings and houses drift by.

  My thoughts drift to Sadie. I wish she could have been here with me, getting her tattoo covered up. I vow to myself that, one day, when she’s found, I’ll take her to do just that. I’ll help her feel free from the darkness like the Gregorys and Lyric have helped me.

  Freedom, is that was this is? Have I finally found something I never thought existed? Is it possible that one day I’ll be free?

  All I can do is hope.

  SOMETHING CHANGED IN AYDEN THE day he got the outline of his tattoo. He became more at ease, as if the mark on his ribcage had been weighing him down. Don’t get me wrong, he’s still my shy boy who is holding onto a lot of pain and constantly worries about his sister. But he has been smiling more, which has to be a step forward, right?

  A couple of weeks drift by before he goes in to get the shading done. I want to go with him, but the appointment falls on the day my family and I are meeting my father’s sister and her husband.

  They arrive at the house around five o’clock to have dinner, dressed to impress. Seeing my aunt again, I wonder how I ever could have missed the family resemblance. My father and her share the same blond hair and sky blue eyes and joking mannerism to the point that the relation is almost uncanny.

  Around six, we gather around the dinner table to eat. Outside the window, the sun is setting, and next door, the Gregory’s driveway is vacant, which means Ayden is still getting his tattoo. As soon as I see that car, though, I’m bailing out to go over there.

  “So, where are your kids?” I ask Ava as I pick at my chicken.

  “They’re actually still back in New York with their grandparents,” Ava explains, wrapping her fingers around the wineglass. “We wanted to get settled before we brought them out here.”

  I wonder if she means with the grandfather I’ve never met. I don’t ask, though, since I can tell the subject is making my dad uncomfortable.

  “We’ll definitely have to bring them over when we get them out here,” she continues after taking a sip of wine. “I think you and my oldest would really get along. He’s really into music.”

  Funny, I wonder if my dad got his musical talent from his dad, then.

  “Does he play anything?” I ask, scooping up a glob of mash potatoes.

  “He plays the cello,” her husband, Glen, answers, poking his fork into the salad. “And he used to play the flute when he was younger, but when he reached fourteen, he gave it up. Said he was too old for it.”

  “I play the violin,” I tell them. “Maybe we could rock out sometime, orchestra style. Unless he plays symphonic rock.”

  “I think I’ve heard him mention something about that before.” He exchanges a look with Ava who shrugs.

  “Beats me.” She sets the wineglass down. “He goes through a new phase every other week. The only thing he’s stuck with is the cello.”

  “How old is he?” I reach for a roll.

  “He’s fifteen,” Ava replies as my mom refills her glass with wine.

  “So, Kale’s age,” I remark. “Sounds about right.”

  Kale goes through phases like no other. Like that girl he had a crush on a month ago. He’s moved on from her and is already focused on someone else.

  “Who’s Kale?” Ava wonders, picking up the glass again.

  I open my mouth to reply, but I see headlights pull into the Gregory’s driveway and turn to my mother. “Ayden’s home. Can I go over and see how everything turned out?”

  She glances at Ava and her husband then starts to protest, but Ava interrupts.

  “Don’t keep her here on our part.” She winks at me, reminding me so much of my dad it’s weird. “We have plenty of time to catch up.”

  “Fine. Go.” My mom gets up to gather the dishes as I push back from the table. “You should tell Lila and Ethan to come over later and chat for a while.” Chat is code for drink wine and reminisce about the good ol’ days.

  Nodding, I take my dishes to the sink and rinse them off then hurry for the back door.

  “Don’t stay too late,” my mom calls out as I step outside. “And make sure to keep Ayden’s door open.”

  “Okay!” I roll my eyes then shut the door and jump the fence.

  I walk in without knocking, a bad habit of mine. Aunt Lila and Uncle Ethan are in the kitchen, chatting about something.

  “Hey,” Aunt Lila greets me when I close the back door. “How’d everything go with the family dinner?”

  “It seems to be going okay, but that’s usually the case when wine is involved.” I slip my sandals off and walk into the kitchen. “They said you two should go over and chat for a while.”

  “I think we could do that for a bit, right?” Lila says to Ethan. “It is the weekend, and no one has practice or anything.”

  He shrugs as he moves for the cupboard. “It’s fine by me. I’m not working this weekend.”

  “Is Ayden upstairs?” I ask, walking backwards for the stairway.

  “He is.” Lila eyes me warily from across the kitchen. “If you go up there, you better make sure you keep that door open.”

  “My mother said the exact same thing.” I pause at the bottom step. “How’d his tattoo go?”

  “He seems okay,” Ethan answers, opening the fridge. “I think he handled it better when you were there, but he still did pretty okay today.”

  Ethan’s version of okay can be a little iffy since he’s fine with almost everything.

  Without saying anything else, I turn around and trot up the stairs. When I reach Ayden’s closed bedroom door, I knock as I walk in, something I’ve done since the day we met.

  He’s sitting on his bed, writing in his journal with his leg stretched out and his back propped against the headboard.

  “Hey,” he says, smiling at me.

  “Whatcha doing?” I plop down on the bed beside him, roll on my side, and prop up on my elbow.

  “Just writing about what happened today.” He closes the journal, tosses it on the nightstand, and lies down facing me. “About how good it felt to get that damn mark all covered up.”

  “Hey, we’re going over to your house for a little while.” Lila pokes her head in, suspicion crossing her face as she eyes Ayden and me on the bed. “Would you two mind sitting on the floor?”

  Ayden sighs but climbs off the bed, and I begrudgingly follow. He takes a seat in his computer chair, and I sit down on the trunk near the foot of his bed.

  “Everson and Kale are sleeping over at a friend’s house,” she informs us. “And Fiona is downstairs in the den watching some weird documentary about psychics. Keep an eye on her, please, and keep this door open at all times.”

  She pushes the door open all the way before backing toward the hall. “I’m going to set the alarm, but if you need anything at all, we’re right next door. We shouldn’t be long.” She steps back, pushing on the door again, even though it’s already open to the wall.

  “They’ll be gone for more than a while,” I say once I hear the front door shut. “Ava and her husband are there, and you know how chatty Aunt Lila is with new people. Plus, they have the wine out.”

  Ayden chuckles as he spins the chair from side to side. “That’s okay. They should enjoy themselves. I think I put a lot of stress on them today.”

  “So, how did today go?” I ask, leaning back on my hands.

  “Okay.” He rakes his fingers through his hair. “I mean, it would have been better if you were there, but I made it through it and feel pretty good right now.”

  “Can I . . . ?” I bite down on my lip, wondering if I should ask.

  “Can you what?” he wonders with his forehead creased.

  I let my lip pop free. “Can I see the tattoo?”

  He hesitates before his fingers drift toward the bottom of his dark grey T-shirt. “Yeah, su
re.”

  “Are you sure?” I double check. “You don’t have to show me if you don’t want to.”

  “No . . . I want to.” He grips the fabric. “Besides, you should get to see your artwork.” Summoning a deep inhale, he lifts the shirt up and slips one arm out of the sleeve.

  Bright red and gold ink splatters up his side along with intricate shades that contrast with the dark lines of the feathers and cover the mark.

  “It’s gorgeous.” You’re gorgeous. “Cole did an amazing job.” I climb off the trunk and move in front of Ayden to get a better look. “Man, I so need to get a tattoo.” Instinctively, I reach forward to touch him, but realize he’s probably not going to like that, so I pull back.

  Ayden catches my hand. “I want to try something,” he whispers, his voice strained.

  I nod, even though I don’t have a damn clue what he’s about to do. Don’t care, though. Let him do whatever he wants with me.

  He slowly guides my hand back to him and, with an uneven breath, places my palm on his chest. His heart is hammering and slams against my hand.

  I don’t say anything. I can barely breathe, knowing how significant this moment is to him—to us.

  “Your skin’s so soft,” I utter, afraid to move my hand and ruin the moment.

  His hands slide to my hips, and his fingers inch up my shirt. “So’s yours.” He traces his finger back and forth along the speck of flesh.

  A shiver courses through me, and I suddenly can’t breathe.

  Air ripped from my lungs.

  Heart bleeding.

  I need to see all of him,

  Every inch,

  Feel the softness of him against me.

  I want it so badly my soul aches.

  I start to draw back because it seems like we could both use a break from the intensity, but my hands have other ideas, and my fingers drift up his chest. When he doesn’t protest, I inch my hand higher, keeping our eyes locked, making sure he’s all right. I don’t want to push him. If he so much as even looks like he’s freaking out, I’ll stop in a heartbeat.

  When his eyes snap wide, I jerk back. “Sorry.”

  “No, it’s fine.” He counts to three under his breath then, with a swift yank, removes his shirt. “I want to . . .” His breath falters as I take in the sight of him.