Katelyn wanted to say something, but what was there to say? He was drunk. He probably wouldn’t even remember any of it in the morning anyway. She wasn’t exactly the one who could offer reassurances.
“Alright then,” she whispered, her voice far softer than she intended. Her heart clenched hard in her chest, for the first time in years, bleeding for someone other than herself. “I’ll leave you to it then.” Although to what, exactly, she wasn’t sure.
“Thanks. Sorry about the sidewalk.” He stepped away and lifted a hand to his mussed hair, running his fingers through it, wrecking it further. It stood out at odd angles, draping over the closely cropped parts.
“I’ll never look at it the same way again.” Her softly spoken joke hung in the air between them before she turned and left. She let herself out awkwardly, shutting the door behind her.
I’ll never look at it the same away again. No, I’ll keep seeing those damn pain filled eyes, those lips, those long lashes. I’ll keep feeling his heat in my palm… Her hand stung just thinking about it. She stumbled down the steps, walked away from the nasty area by the sidewalk and finally made it to her front door. She felt as wobbly and drunk as her neighbor had been.
All that and I still don’t know his name.
As Katelyn slammed her front door behind her and leaned heavily against it, shoulders heaving with hard, heavy breaths, she realized it didn’t matter. She was banking on the fact that the guy wouldn’t remember anything at all.
Chapter 6
True Oblivion
Kian
He had absolutely no doubt that his head was going to be a mess come morning.
As Kian rolled over and faced the light slanting through the blinds at his bedroom window, he proved himself correct.
The pounding at his temples was so bad it was nearly blinding. He felt like someone had dismantled his head during the night and stuffed in a bunch of barbed wire and broken glass. He shifted and all that shit up there in his brain moved around, poking and prodding wickedly with every single breath and blink.
His eyes felt grainy, like someone had thrown sand in them and rubbed it around for good measure. His mouth… yuk. His mouth was sour, the kind of disgusting bitter mix that told him he’d probably vomited some time during the night.
Kian slowly rolled out of bed. His stomach heaved with the effort and his head protested the movement with a blinding intensity. He ground his teeth against the pain and stumbled into the bathroom.
Over the years he’d learned that there were few hangovers a good cold shower couldn’t fix. He emerged ten minutes later, feeling a little more human. The fog in his brain was lifting, impossibly slowly, but clearing all the same. He recalled bits and pieces of the night before.
The cab ride home from his and Fiacco’s club. The ground had just rose up to meet him and then everything was black. He recalled her face. The face of an angel come to save him from his own personal hell. He recalled wide, huge blue eyes, long, fine blonde hair that hung around her face like a halo. Her scent. That’s what stayed with him. She’d smelled good. Delicate. Like fresh air, like the countryside would.
Damn it. He remembered, with painful clarity, how she’d helped him up when he’d finally come back into consciousness. He’d ejected up half of what he’d drank or more right on the sidewalk that their units shared. She’d walked him into his place and made him promise he wasn’t going to die.
Can it get any worse?
As Kian dressed, pulling on a fresh pair of jeans and a clean black t-shirt with the shop logo in red on the front, he weighed the odds of dying from humiliation when he stepped out the door. Maybe he’d make it if he never ran into her again.
He didn’t even know her name. Not her first. Not her last. He knew her face and from what he remembered, it was stunning. Her eyes, aside from being the most beautiful shade of blue he’d ever encountered, were kind. She could have looked on him with fear, revulsion, disgust, judgment, pity. Instead she’d just looked worried. Worried and compassionate. Since he’d tattooed his neck, chest, completed his sleeves and most of his back, people didn’t exactly look on him with anything akin to kindness. He was the kind of guy most people crossed over to the other side of the street to avoid.
By the time Kian caught a cab to the club where he picked up his bike and drove to the shop, his head was a splitting mess. He had a bottle of pain killers in his cabinet. Nothing strong, just over the counter shit. He’d never dabbled in drugs and that included most of the prescription kind. He only ever went to the doctor when he’d just about die otherwise.
Mike entered the private room quietly, slipping in behind Kian. He knew the guy was there, because- well, the guy was always there. He was there drawing, tattooing, sleeping, even making meals for himself in the staff room like he didn’t have a life. He sometimes worked on oil paintings. One time he even tried to set up his damn pottery wheel and kiln in the back. It made such a mess, Kian promptly had it removed.
He turned at the same time he slammed back two pain killers and swallowed them without the aid of water. “Mike. Why are you here two hours before we open? What about Savannah? Doesn’t she ever stay the night and stay long enough to make you late?”
Mike’s eyes shifted to the floor and Kian instantly knew that of all the things he could have come up with, that one was about the worst.
“Shit. Man, what happened?” He reached out and clapped Mike hard on the shoulder. He was just shy of six feet and naturally athletic. He had the streamlined look of a guy who didn’t need to work out or bother to eat right, though he knew Mike just happened to be a Vegan. He was just over thirty and was tattooed from stem to stern, including his neck, hands, knuckles and other highly public areas, but for some reason people intrinsically trusted him. Maybe it was his eyes. They were dark brown, like his closely cropped hair. He had a genuine kind of smile too, soft and real sweet.
“She dumped me,” Mike said flatly. He also had the kind of voice that was always moderate. Never quiet or loud. It gave the impression of instant understanding, like Mike was the kind of guy who actually listened.
Kian made it a personal rule never to allow himself to get close to anyone. That didn’t exactly work with Mike. He’d count the guy as his best friend, if he could go that far. They didn’t do typical guy shit. They didn’t hang out after work. There was just something about Mike that Kian instantly trusted. Mike talked to him too, about everything. Mostly art, but about personal problems as well. So far Kian hadn’t returned the favor.
“Why?” Kian didn’t bother beating around the bush. He finally got out of his own head enough to realize that Mike’s eyes were blood shot, probably from lack of sleep. His normally cheerful features were pinched. He hid it well. It was only because Kian had known the guy for a couple years that he could tell there was something wrong at all.
“Dunno. Does anyone really know?” Mike shrugged. “I know she’s just with me because she’s in love with you anyway.”
Kian nearly choked. “Come on, man. That’s not true.”
“It is and we both know it.” The words were flat, non-emotional, but it took a great deal of effort to spit them out that way.
He sighed, long and hard. His head felt like it was going to explode and his stomach burned its way up his throat. “It might be true, but I’ve done nothing to encourage it. I’ve taken every opportunity to actively discourage it. She’s always had this ridiculous crush on me. I’m older. Inappropriate. Her father’s business partner.”
“Don’t forget fucked up.”
The laugh that broke free of his throat sent another pain shooting through his head. “True. Anyway, I don’t think she’s with you just because she wants to be around me. She has every reason to come to the shop. She knows I won’t make her leave because of who her father is. She’s his little messenger anyway.”
“The damn guy never uses a phone.”
“No. He doesn’t trust them. He barely does anything online either. He hat
es paper trails.” Smart. Very smart. “She could come pretty much anytime she wants. Just has to make up an excuse. I’ve seen the way she looks at you. I thought she meant it.”
Mike snorted. “Who the hell knows. Savannah is her own woman. She told me that straight up when I asked her why she was with me.”
“You actually asked her that?”
“Yah. I accused her of being in love with you.”
“That was not smart. No wonder she dumped you.”
“If it’s true then I didn’t want to continue it. I was investing myself in her, my time, my feelings. It’s not easy.”
“Savannah Fiacco has had everything handed to her for her entire life. Of course she’s not easy. She’s about as high maintenance as they come, but I believe she has a good heart. Her parents are good people when it comes right down to it. They raised her in love as much and as often as they threw money at her.”
“She’s a spoiled brat.”
“She’s way too young.”
“I know. I fooled myself into thinking it didn’t matter. Ironically she called me a child last night before she said it was over.”
“Well… jealousy is pretty unattractive.”
“Fuck you.”
“Well deserved.” Kian sighed. The throbbing in his head was starting to subside as the pills went to work. “What are you going to do now?”
“Do?”
“To make it up to her.”
Mike slowly crossed his arms over his chest. “Why the hell would I want to do that? She said it was over. I’m not going to go after her and beg her to take me back.”
“You won’t have to. She’ll come around. She’s young, like I said. Youth comes with a certain amount of excitement and invincibility, but people also make mistakes. They hurt others and they hurt themselves. You’re a good guy, Mike. You’ve been with her for six months. Even got a couple invites to the Fiacco house for dinner. That says something to me. They don’t extend that kind of invitation lightly.”
Mike slowly nodded. “Yah… well… just wanted to let you know. Do me a favor. If she makes a pass at you, turn her down.”
“Are you kidding me? Get out of here.” Kian shot Mike a look that wasn’t exactly hard. Mike knew where he stood. It was pretty damn apparent he wasn’t exactly the relationship type. He wasn’t the anything type. People could just tell that he was damaged goods. Not good for anything or anyone.
“I have a drawing to finish anyway,” Mike mumbled. He shuffled out of the room, his high top runners making little squeaking noises on the black and white tiled floor that annoyed Kian on a good day.
Once Mike was out of the room, he took a deep breath and braced himself for the coming day. He wished he could cancel his appointment, or better, that the guy would be a no show, but he figured there wasn’t a good chance of that. Not when his wait list was just about a year long.
Most artists didn’t book more than a couple months in advance so they could actually have a life. He didn’t care. Heather booked as many clients with him as he could take. He was amazingly efficient in his work. Even if Mike was a better artist, he could churn people out at double the rate and his work was still astounding and high in demand.
Who cares if I’m booked up for a year? Kian’s eyes slowly moved about the room, taking in his tidy area. The inks lined up on the shelves, the two beds, both folded flat, his stands, his locked cabinet where he stored all his equipment. This place was his home. His wait list could be ten years long for all he cared. It wasn’t like he had anything better to do with his time.
Some people waited. Waited for the next big thing, worked towards success, towards love, towards a family, towards meaning. Others just existed, gliding through life, barely surviving. Him… he was just waiting for that day when he’d finally find true oblivion and the pain that he lived with would finally be at an end.
Chapter 7
A Horrible Meeting
Katelyn
It was somewhat ironic, given the fact she expected John to show up on her doorstep the night before, to find him waiting there after work. She didn’t recognize the black sports car parked half on the curb to the left of her condo, on the street just out of the parking lot, but she knew immediately that it was John’s. It just had that overbearing, overpowered, overcompensated look that she knew he loved.
Makes sense. She couldn’t count how many times she wished she would have asked him what he drove before she followed him over to Chicago and married him.
She wasn’t wrong, she noted with dismay as she pulled up in her parking spot and killed the ignition. Her eyes remained trained on the car and John got out with no hesitation.
It gave her a wretched sort of feeling to see him striding down the short driveway into the parking lot all the condos overlooked. The buildings formed around it in a square that was open only to the entrance way. He was of course, dressed in a suit. He was always dressed in a damn suit or some kind of overly formal clothing.
What is it people say about not trusting a man in a suit? Oh yah. Just don’t.
Katelyn stepped slowly from her car though every instinct inside of her screamed at her to get back in and drive as far away as she could.
No. I’ve been dreading this for a year. I’m going to stand up for myself now or he’s going to keep haunting me for the rest of my life.
She waited, one hand flat on the warm metal of her car where the door met the roof. John approached confidently, shoulders and head held high. As though beating her, diminishing her, intimidating her, their entire marriage was something he was proud of.
Katelyn bit back the urge to scream. She wanted to fly at John, nails out, to harm him physically as badly as he had her. On more than one occasion. She wanted to beat his chest and rail against him for being so hopelessly unfair to her when she trusted him blindly. He’d held her heart and her life and he’d betrayed her trust so very bitterly. Pain and rage thrummed through her veins.
“Katelyn.” John said her name like he had a right to it. Like she was still his. She didn’t like the feral gleam in his eyes.
She wanted to say that the year had not been kind to John, but on the outside he was as handsome as he ever was. Far too perfect. That should have been a tip off as well.
“Are you going to stand by that car all day or are we going to go inside and talk?”
Katelyn winced. So much for having time to set up my phone as a camera. She’d been prepared the night before. Stupidly enough, she hadn’t banked on the fact that he’d be waiting for her to come home. Even after all the years had passed, after everything, she was still so blind to his ways.
“I guess so. You have one hour.” She turned coldly and stalked over to the sidewalk and up the steps to her condo. She inserted the key in the door.
She prayed that Missy would sense the evil in the household and stay hidden away. Thankfully she didn’t appear at the front entrance like she normally did. Smart girl.
Though she wanted to do anything but, Katelyn led the way to the living room. She motioned towards the sofa and after a moment, John sat. She took the arm chair and dragged it away from the window to face the couch.
“Aren’t you going to offer me a drink?” John tried one of his dazzling smiles, but it fell flat. She might have been naïve enough not to see him coming, but she had learned her lesson well.
“No,” she ground out. She sat down hard in the chair, squared her shoulders, intent on doing battle. “I just want to talk. And then I want you to leave.”
“Such a warm welcome from my ex-wife,” John muttered coldly. He crossed his one leg over the other with all the confidence in the world.
Katelyn wished she had something to throw at him. A glass ashtray would be nice. Aimed right at his head. Although his skull was so thick it would probably bounce right off.
“You don’t deserve a welcome or warmth.” She knew she was playing with fire, but he was the one who had forced her into this, this final meeting. She was going to
damn well say what she needed to. “You hurt me, John. You took me and all the faith I had in you and you broke it. You broke it when you hit me. You broke it when you called me fat and a slut and a cheat and a liar. Stupid and pathetic. You tried to crush my soul. So no, there is no warm welcome here. Now or ever.”
John’s eyes met hers. They bit cruelly into her soul, bruising her as his fist had once left a mark on her face. He slowly shook his head and had the nerve to actually laugh.
That mother fucker sat right on her couch and laughed at the fact that he’d harmed her in every possible way. “That’s how you see it? You knew I was just joking. All those things I said, it meant nothing. You knew that I loved you. You needed to grow a thicker skin. You needed to grow up. I married a child. I was trying to show you how to be a woman.”
“By beating me?”
“You know I was sorry for that. It only happened when you made me angry. I’d been drinking…”
“That’s not an excuse.” Katelyn’s stomach rolled and she felt physically ill. “Anyway, just say what you need to say. Or no, don’t. Let me.” She took a deep breath, amazed that John stayed silent. His face remained a mask and it was impossible to tell what he was thinking. She knew he was dangerous like that, when he assessed his opponent, trying to find a weakness to exploit. “I’m done. There is no second chances. I will never come back to Chicago. For the first time since I married you, I’m happy. I have my own life. I guess I have you to thank for that. For giving me the confidence to go out on my own and make myself happy. To build up my career, for teaching me how to be independent.” She was sarcastic, her voice acrid and biting. “I loved you, but that love was broken. You took it and you smashed it to pieces. Our marriage is over. It’s been over for a year. I don’t love you. I’ll never love you again. Don’t come here. Stay away from Miami and stay away from me. After tonight I’m going to file a restraining order to see that you do. I hope you find whatever closure you were looking for because this is the last time you ever see me again.”
Tattooed Hearts_A Secret Baby Second Chance Romance Page 16
