“That wasn’t true the whole time.”
“No. I know it. I just… I knew she was wild and kind of flighty, but I thought she was into it, after a few months. We were good together. She’s the only person I’ve ever felt truly connected to and I guess it’s just a sucker punch not to feel like she felt that way about me too.”
“I think she loved you. I mean, if that’s the right word. It’s a tough one to understand. I could tell by the way she looked at you though, since I’ve known her for a few years, that it meant something. I don’t know why she broke up with you, but if I were to take a guess, I would say what I just told you hits somewhere close to the mark. I’m not trying to tell you what to do, but don’t live the rest of your life with a piss pile of regrets. I know how hard it is to walk that path, and let me tell you, taking a chance and a few risks might seem hard at the time, but it’s a hell of a lot easier and more rewarding in the end.”
“Just because it worked out for you doesn’t mean it will be the same for me.”
“It’s working out for me because Katelyn and I try like hell every single day to make it work. It hasn’t been easy. It’s not easy, but we make that decision to keep going and what we share, the way we love each other and are still learning every single day, the way we love Isabella and are getting through losing her mother, grieving together, it’s not easy, but I wouldn’t give it up. I’m glad that Katelyn met me when she did and pulled me together. I was in one hell of a rut and those never end up good. I just hate to see you walking down that same road, towards those same ruts, even if you’re circumstances are different than mine.”
“That’s quite a lot of words for a guy who doesn’t usually say anything at all.”
“Shut up, fucker.”
Mike grinned despite himself. “Alright, go home and be with your wife and kid. I know you want to be there anyway. Thanks for coming. I’ll take what you said into consideration.”
“If you do end up contacting her somehow, just don’t fuck it up. She’s probably pretty tender, if that’s the right word, at the moment. Lost, confused, scared, tired, hormonal. I don’t know. Women are a different breed and they have to be treated with care. Don’t forget that she’s my partner’s daughter. If you hurt her in any way, I’ll forget our friendship and won’t hesitate to fuck you up.”
“That’s why it never could have worked, no matter her crush on you. You were always more like her father.”
“I’m old enough to be.”
“No you’re not. People don’t have kids when they’re like twelve.”
“You get my drift.”
“Yah. I do. I’m not going to hurt her. We’re on the same page with that. If that kid isn’t mine and I end up finding out someone did hurt her, though…”
“Don’t do anything stupid, Mike. I know you’re capable of it. Show some restraint. That’s probably what she’d need at the moment, more than handing out a good ass kicking to some punk.”
Mike’s fists ached to do just that. He watched his friend get up and leave. Mike dug out his wallet a few minutes later and laid out a couple bills on the table, the amount far more than their few beers had cost.
He got up and left without waiting for his bill. Their waitress had gone elsewhere, to a group of guys who were more fertile ground for big tips and possibly more than that.
As Mike started up his car, his sixties baby that he’d so painstakingly spent so many hours working on, pouring love into, pouring everything he had, he thought about Kian’s one question.
Did it matter that the kid wasn’t his or did his feelings for Savannah override genetics? He already knew the answer. It didn’t matter. If she was willing to see him again, hell, even be friends, as hard as that would be, he’d accept whatever she had to give.
A couple years ago he would have thought that was pathetic. Now? Maybe he’d grown up a little. Maybe it was just because he knew what it was like when times got rough and it was hard to be all alone, even if you had other people around you. He knew what it was like to need a friend and not have one there. So yah, he’d write that damn letter, even if he was shit at it. He’d give it his best and hope, like a fool, because it was all he could do.
Chapter 6
The Letter
Savannah
Some things were more than just things. They represented something else entirely. Savannah stared at the small white envelope in her hand. The paper wasn’t truly white, it was an off shade, the business kind that offices used. The stamp had been placed on the corner haphazardly. It was thin, likely containing only a single sheet of paper, folded three times.
The scrawling handwriting on the front, oddly neat and artistic, could only belong to one person. Mike.
She’d half expected him to show up on her doorstep, after her father had come home from the club a few nights ago and confessed that he’d told Kian everything. Everything except what he doesn’t know. However, Kian was a smart man. It wouldn’t be long before he connected the dots and told Mike.
Which meant she had two options. Lie or admit the truth. She didn’t think it was within Mike’s rights to demand a paternity test, but what did she know. He might hire some fancy lawyer, being as he had money, but so did her parents. They could fight back, but was it worth it? If she lied, she didn’t know if she could do a convincing job. She’d never been able to pull off dishonesty with any amount of theatrical flair. It just wasn’t believable.
Her eyes slowly returned back to her name on the envelope. Her hand trembled and the paper vibrated, almost imperceptibly. Her name was written with such flourish, as though time and attention had gone into the placement and making of every single letter. It didn’t make sense, but she was oddly touched. Mike could have scrawled her name on the front and thrown the thing in the mailbox, but like everything he did, all his art, he did it with care. Mike was one of the finest artists she’d ever seen. She thought he was wasted on tattooing, but he didn’t seem to mind. In fact, he enjoyed it.
Savannah had received the mail earlier that morning. She’d opened the box expecting the usual bills and what not and instead found the envelope with her name. Knowing right away that it was from Mike, she’d hidden it in her desk until Carter was finally asleep for the night. Her parents were tucked in down the hall. The house was entirely quiet.
Under the golden glow of the light from her desk lamp, Savannah slowly stroked her hand across the smooth, flowy script. She was almost disappointed that the letters weren’t raised or indented. He really had written her name with the utmost care.
Her heart pounded wildly and her entire body broke out in a cold sweat as she grabbed the letter opener from the left hand corner of her desk and slit the envelope top in one fluid motion.
She hesitated, hand gripping the letter opener far too tight for far too long before she set it aside. The tremors that started originated from somewhere deep inside. Her hands shook violently as she slid out the letter. It was as she thought. Folded three times, almost perfectly symmetrical.
Fear held her in the grip of its clutches for a few long moments before she realized she was being ridiculous. She’d waited all damn day to open that letter, had thought of nothing but. Finally she flipped open the folds and stared down at the single sheet of paper. The writing there was small, but not cramped, as neat but not as flowy as her name on the outside. The blank ink stood out in stark contrast to the creamy white paper.
It was so pretty it made Savannah wonder why no one sent letters anymore.
She squeezed her eyes shut and took a deep, fortifying breath. Her heart beat out a wild pace, knocking painfully against the underside of her ribs. She felt fluttery inside and couldn’t determine exactly if it was good or bad. It just felt a little painful.
Slowly, so very slowly, she began to read.
Savannah.
I wanted you to know that I’ve thought about contacting you for a long time. I’ve thought about you every single day since we broke up. If that’s corny
as hell, then so be it. I’m no writer and I’m certainly no poet. I just wanted you to know.
I thought about showing up at your house, but didn’t want to scare or pressure you. I didn’t want us to say things that neither of us meant and thought this would be the best way to keep us from doing that.
Kian told me you have a child. I could ask you if it’s mine. I could ask you a thousand other questions. I won’t. Not now. Not ever, unless you choose to tell me and welcome the dialogue. Know that I am not angry. I understand that sometimes life throws us curveballs we don’t expect and we don’t always know how to deal with them. I’m not saying that’s the case, but if it is, just know that it’s alright.
If you don’t have someone in your life already, or if the child is mine and you would welcome me being a part of its life, please tell me. I assume you still know my number, but this kind of conversation is probably better done in person. I’ll stay at the shop late every night this week. If you would like to talk, please come in. I’ll keep the door unlocked until nine. My last appointment leaves at seven every night. There will be no one else there. I’ll make sure of it.
Even if the child isn’t mine, I’ll be honest and say it doesn’t matter. I miss you. I always have. I always will. I don’t want to overstep or pressure you. Just know that I’m here if you need it.
Mike.
Savannah set down the letter. Her eyes had long ago, right from the first line, filled up with tears. They spilled over, clogged up her throat, burned her eyes and the bridge of her nose. He doesn’t even know if it’s a boy or girl.
She thought for so long that he’d be angry that she hadn’t extended any form of communication. She was so afraid of what he’d say, of how he’d judge her for not knowing how to tell him. Or worse, she was afraid that he might not want anything to do with his son, or with her, if she had told him.
The time had come. There was no running from the truth any longer. She knew it as soon as Kian spotted her with Carter outside the car that morning.
She knew that she had to do the right thing and go to the shop. Even if she couldn’t find the words, she just had to go and somehow hope that everything might turn out alright.
Chapter 7
The Meeting
Mike
The sound of the front door opened and closing slowly, the chimes ringing through the empty shop, brought Mike’s head up from his sketch book. He was trying, and getting nowhere, to draw up a tattoo of a traditional pin up girl for a client.
He stood so quickly that his sketchbook, the page still white and empty, flew from his lap. He wondered if it was just someone walking in off the street again. That had happened twice in the past two nights. In hindsight, he should have left better directions in the letter. Like, knock and I’ll open the door. It wasn’t the smartest idea to keep it open after hours. It seemed to attract all sorts of vagrants walking in, wanting a tattoo, even though all the lights were off in front.
Yes, probably someone else I’m going to have to tell to leave. Mike stalked quickly down the hall, not wanting someone loitering around in the shop. Kian hated the idea of leaving it open as it was. If someone damaged something or stole anything…
Mike opened his mouth to tell the shadowy figure that they were closed, when he stopped short, a foot shy of the reception desk. Their receptionist, Heather, had left her laptop open, but the screen was black and dead. The appointment book was open as well, flipped neatly to the next day’s client bookings.
Savannah. He blinked. It was really her. She looked different than she had before. She spotted him and sent a nervous glance over her shoulder. Her eyes roamed the room and he could tell she was debating about leaving.
Because he was being awkward as hell standing there gaping at her.
“Savannah,” he finally ground out. “I… you came.”
She finally quit glancing behind her and her dark gaze locked on him. She slowly stepped forward, towards the desk. When the lights from the back hit her, casting a sweet glow over her profile, he realized how much she’d changed. God, she’s beautiful. She’d been pretty before, but now she looked like a woman. She was always curvy, but her hips and breasts were fuller. She’d got rid of the blonde hair and in its place was the deep, rich brown color, her natural color. She had on just a little makeup and her true, natural beauty shone through. She had flawless skin with that olive undertone that meant she bronzed in the sun and never burned like some people did.
She looked so fresh and clean, glowing with the radiance of mother hood and natural beauty, that Mike nearly had to look away. His body was reacting on all sorts of elemental levels and he wasn’t exactly proud of his flesh and blood reaction.
She’s a mother now. Maybe even the mother of my child. Mike tried to steer his thoughts in another direction, to stop the flow of blood to his damn groin. It didn’t work.
“Yes,” she whispered. “I’m here.”
Neither of them moved, both equally as transfixed. Is she feeling the same way? Probably not. Dolt. She’s not some hot blooded male that can’t control himself.
“Do you want something to drink? I can make coffee or tea or there’s water or juice.”
“Do you guys still have the orange juice mix? I always did like that.”
Mike grinned. In that moment it didn’t matter how much time had passed between them or what his body was doing or how much she’d changed and grown up. She was still the same Savannah, so much younger than him but with a zest for life she’d never lose, no matter how many years she’d age.
Her answering smile was pretty, almost hesitant, but finally blooming over her pale pink lips. She was entirely too beautiful and he realized that she’d gained a quiet confidence since he’d last met her. Wisdom. That’s what it is. She has a child now. It’s not just her she has to worry about any longer.
She followed him back to the break room. Of course she already knew where it was. She’d been to the shop so many times before that Mike had lost count. She seemed perfectly at home in the room. Her body visibly relaxed as the tension drained out of her shoulders. She took a seat on the couch and waited for him to mix up some orange juice crystals in one of the plastic jugs stashed in the bottom cupboards.
The break room wasn’t large and it wasn’t fancy, but their receptionist, Heather, always kept it well stocked with all sorts of food in the fridge and freezer and sugary items for clients who needed a pick me up during their tattoos. The orange juice crystals were a favorite among staff and clientele alike, probably because whenever he made it, the juice was so strong he could stand a wooden spoon up in it.
Mike finished, poured two tall glasses and set them both on the coffee table between the two couches in the room. He’d crashed on one of those couches more than once, though he had a perfectly good house to go home to. Sometimes it just felt better being at the shop.
Savannah reached for her glass and gulped down half of it in a few long pulls. After she wiped the orange mustache off her top lip and when she smiled, it reached her eyes. “Oh wow. That’s sweet. Same as I remember.”
“Not much has changed.”
One dark brow arched in question. “No?”
He shook his head. “I’m still working here. Still plugging away tattooing people.”
“And you don’t have anyone?” The question was asked with just the slightest amount of hesitation and forced boldness.
Mike’s heart started to hammer hard. Not that it hadn’t been already, but it picked up the pace big time. His poor ribs took a beating as he forced himself to swallow back a few sips of juice, just to wet a throat that was glued together.
“No.” He could tell Savannah was waiting for him to say something. She locked her hands together in her lap, but to her credit, her eyes remained glued to his face. “Uh- I was dating someone for a while, but it didn’t work out. I didn’t want it to.” He wanted to wince at his own bluntness, but Savannah just nodded, as though he’d just said the sky was blue. He could have
waited, or been more subtle, but it just wasn’t his style. He’d been killing himself for over a week. He needed to know the truth. “Do you- uh- is there someone for you?”
Her gaze burned into him. She didn’t blink. Didn’t look away. “No,” she finally whispered. “There isn’t.”
“Has there been?” She didn’t start or try and evade him like he thought she might. Her composure never wavered, proving just how much she’d matured in the year since he’d seen her last.
“No.”
The old Savannah might have lied. She might have beat around the bush or led him on, or worse, not come at all. This new Savannah, the womanly, motherly, wise Savannah gave him the truth in one direct syllable.
And just like that, Mike knew his world would never again be the same.
Chapter 8
The Truth
Savannah
Was it possible that Mike had changed as much as she had? It was impossible to tell just by looking at him. His features were still the same, strong, chiseled, but he looked different. He’d cut his hair. It was jet black, clipped short, just long enough to style the front into a semblance of order. The growth of a fresh beard covered his angular jawline, probably just so he didn’t have to shave every day.
He wore a red and black plaid shirt with snaps. She remembered he preferred those over buttons. He liked jeans too, never wore anything else. That and his loafer style shoes. They looked like something better suited to an eighty year old man, but Mike lived in them. She knew that underneath that soft looking cotton was warm skin, unending black and gray tattoos, and a physique that women would faint just to look at.
Her fingers itched in a strange way, with a sudden impulse to reach out and touch him. She’d once caressed that skin so easily, felt the ridged lines of where some of his tattoos had healed not as smoothly as others. Her heart pulsed and underneath her skin, her blood vibrated through her veins. She’d almost forgotten what the hard rush of attraction felt like, lost in a sea of late night feedings and dirty diapers.
Hot Ink: All 3 Tattoo Shop Romance Books + 2 Exclusive Bonus Stories Page 16
