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.
Though his eyes were still shining and dark, as intense as ever, they were softer when he looked at her. Or maybe she was just imagining it.
He could have reacted any number of ways. She’d gone over a thousand scenarios in her head between getting that letter two days ago and the moment she walked in the shop’s front door. She’d locked herself in, turned that small metal deadbolt so no one else could interrupt the conversation she knew she had to have.
It could have gone any way. She figured it wouldn’t end in anger or a screaming match, which was what wore her down in the end and sealed her decision to come. After laying Carter down she’d lied to her mother, telling her that she needed to go for a drive by herself just to get out of the house. Gianna was understanding and agreed to watch Carter if he woke up. She had to be back by ten and it was just past eight.
“So…” Mike leaned forward, clearly at a loss for words.
She’d rehearsed over and over what she wanted to say, how she would tell him, but now that the time had come, she found herself unable to force out a single syllable.
“What do we do now? Where do we go from here?” He finally continued.
Savannah reached for her orange juice and took another sip. The sugary crystals flooded her mouth, producing enough saliva to unstick her tongue. “I… Mike, I don’t know.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” His dark eyes swept to her face, searching, but there was no anger there. Just confusion. Hurt too.
“I didn’t know how.” She had to look away, down at the juice glass she still clutched in her hand though it was mostly empty. She finished the last swallow off and set it back down on the battered wood coffee table. “I’m sorry. We broke up and I found out I was pregnant a few weeks later. I- I thought maybe I would tell you at three months. That’s usually when women are in the clear. I thought there would be no point in telling you early, in case something happened. Of course, after that time passed, I wasn’t any more prepared to just walk up to the shop and drop the news on you. I kept telling myself I would do it. That I would find the perfect way, the perfect time to tell you. And then it just got to the point where I felt like it was too late. And- well- I remember that night we went to the movies and then we took a walk and you were saying that you never wanted kids. I thought that it would never be an issue. I never saw us together long term and I was too young to think about kids anyway. I wasn’t even listening, but when I thought about telling you, that’s all I could hear in my head, was you saying you didn’t want kids and so I thought that maybe it was best that you- uh- that I didn’t tell you.�
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Mike reached up and swept a hand over his face. He pulled down on his cheeks, his nose and finally his fingers scratched over the new growth of beard on his rugged jawline.
“I didn’t necessarily mean that, Savannah. I just- say stupid shit sometimes.”
“How could I know?” she asked softly.
“You couldn’t, I suppose. Kian and I had this conversation, when he saw you with the baby. He said that maybe you were confused and scared. I have no idea what was really going on with you at the time. I don’t know why you broke up with me. I don’t know why you couldn’t tell me that you were pregnant. I don’t know why you didn’t tell your parents that I’m the father.”
Here it is. Even worse than not telling Mike about the baby, she had to make this confession as well. She forced herself to look at him, to see the wounded frown knit his brows together. She wanted to take responsibility for her actions, not look away, not run away like a coward again.
“I didn’t even tell them we were dating.”
“What? Savannah! My god, we were together for six months! That’s why they never invited me to dinner. And here I thought it was something I had done, even though I hadn’t met them. Where did they think you were all that time?”
“I wasn’t exactly the model daughter and I haven’t been for a long time. I was always out doing stuff with friends. I guess they just thought that was behaving like a normal teenager and then I turned into an adult and I was searing, trying to find what most young people are I guess. They just stopped asking. I didn’t want to tell them because if they found out what you did for a living and what you looked like they’d flip. That would have been the end of it.”
“Or was it that you didn’t want them to know just how close you were to Kian?”
“That’s not it, Mike.” Savannah swallowed hard, trying to force back the shame and the acrid taste of the lie on her lips. “At least it wasn’t true all the time. I only felt that way about him for a little while. It might have been the reason I met you, but it sure as hell wasn’t the reason I kept seeing you.”
Tattooed Hearts_A Secret Baby Second Chance Romance Page 4
