Inked: A Driven World Novel (The Driven World)

by Tracy Lorraine

  “What’s wrong?” he asks as we walk. “You’re tense.”

  “I’m sorry. It’s just…”

  “Just what?”

  “Do you remember anything from last night?”

  He pulls me to a stop and steps into my body so I have no choice but to back up against the wall beside me. He ducks down and stares into my eyes.

  “I remember you wrapping your lips around my cock. I remember you coming with my tongue inside you, then my fingers and finally my cock.”

  My cheeks burn up as oblivious pedestrians continue to walk past us as if he’s not whispering these things to me in the middle of a public place.

  “Corey.” It’s meant to be a warning, but it comes out more like a moan.

  “You remember how good it felt?” He closes the space between us and presses the length of his body to mine.

  A whimper falls from my lips. How could I forget? He reminded me less than an hour ago.

  “T-that’s not quite what I meant.”

  “Oh?”

  His eyes bore into mine, and I stand no chance of getting myself out of this now.

  “Y-you…” His brows lift in curiously as I fumble around my words. “You had a nightmare. That’s why I was up this morning. You woke me and I couldn’t—”

  “Motherfucker.” His angry grunt and giant step back cuts off my words.

  “Hey, it’s okay. I just didn’t know if you could remember and…”

  “Can we not?” he barks, his eyes pleading with mine to stop before he breaks the connection between us and looks away.

  “Yeah, sure. I just wanted you to know that I… I understand, and it’s okay.”

  “It’s okay?” he asks incredulously. “It’s not… it can’t. Fuck.” He lifts his hands to his hair and tugs. I fear I might have just ruined everything between us, and all because I couldn’t keep my big mouth shut about his damn nightmare.

  I stay where I am and give him a moment to compose himself. Even if he can’t remember the nightmare, I’m assuming that he’s aware of what it would have been about and me bringing it up is just as painful.

  Tipping his head back, he stares up at the sky for a few seconds. His chest heaves as his breaths race out past his open lips.

  I feel for him. I know how painful memories and regrets are, if that’s what he’s going through, but equally I know that there’s nothing I can do right now other than wait him out.

  “Let’s go,” he says eventually before he begins marching down the street.

  This time he doesn’t reach for my hand.

  He comes to a stop at a diner and pulls the door open for me.

  “Morning, Corey. Whoa… who’s this?” the lady behind the counter says, excitedly looking from Corey to me.

  “Hi, I’m Harlow.”

  “I’m Laura, and I’m shocked.”

  “Leave it,” Corey barks. “We’ll be over in the corner,” he says to the woman who clearly knows him fairly well.

  We take a seat, but the tension between us is palpable and I kick myself for ruining how easy things had been between us this morning.

  “You know her well?” I ask in the hope of breaking the discomfort surrounding us.

  “Kind of. She’s one of my artists’ sisters. I come in here most mornings for food. Here.” He slides the menu over to me and effectively ends my attempt at a conversation.

  “What can I get you both?”

  “The usual please and…”

  “Um… waffles and bacon, please,” I say when my eyes land on the first thing on the menu.

  “Thank you. I’ll be back with your coffees in a moment.”

  The silence returns the second Laura steps away.

  “Corey?” He turns his haunted blue eyes on me and my breath catches in my throat. “I-I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything.” I’ve got so many questions, from his nightmare to his scars, to how it’s affecting him now, but I can’t ask. I daren’t.

  “It’s okay. I’m going to need to take you home after this. I’ve got to get to work soon.”

  “I can call myself an Uber. You don’t need to…” I trail off, hoping that he’s going to refuse my offer and demand he takes me home, but all he does is nod. Something inside me dies. I know he warned me that there was nothing serious here, but it seems my heart ignored it and got carried away with itself anyway.

  Tears burn the backs of my eyes, but I blink any away, not that I think he’d notice. He’s too lost in his own head right now to pay me any attention.

  He stares out the window as Laura fills our mugs and the silence stretches out to us eating our food. Well, I say eating, I mostly just push mine around my plate. Any appetite I might have had vanished the moment I mentioned his nightmare.

  The second we’ve finished, he pays the bill before getting up and walking outside. I have no idea if it’s me he’s trying to escape from or his memories, but it stings.

  I book myself an Uber and make the most of the facilities before joining him outside when I know the car is about to arrive.

  “Thank you for last night. And this morning.” Reaching up on my tiptoes, I place a kiss to his cheek, but he doesn’t register the move. It’s like the soft and gentle man that I know exists has left his body, leaving behind a cold shell of a person.

  With a sigh, I step toward my awaiting car and pull the door open. I’m about to climb inside when his voice stops me.

  “Harlow?” I turn back to him. The haunted look still covers his face, but his eyes are a little brighter than a few moments ago.

  “Yeah?”

  “I’m so sorry.”

  Before I know what’s happening, I’m pressed up against his body, his fingers are in my hair, and his lips are on mine.

  I feel the desperation in his kiss. I recognize it because I’ve felt it myself on more than one occasion as I’ve craved the relief from my memories.

  His tongue sweeps into my mouth as his arm wraps around my back and holds me tightly.

  I start to think he’s never going to release me, but eventually he pulls back from my lips and rests his forehead on mine. He keeps his eyes closed for a beat before dragging his heavy lids open.

  “I’m sorry, I just—”

  “I get it, Corey. I really, really do. Go and sort your head out. If you want to talk or… not, call me.” He nods, telling me that he heard, before releasing me.

  “Thank you,” he mouths before watching me get into the car.

  I breathe out a tense sigh as the car pulls away. That wasn’t how I was expecting our time together to end. I kick myself for not being able to keep my lips shut about that damn nightmare, but at the same time, I’m glad I mentioned it. If it gets him talking, whether it’s to me or someone else, then it might help.

  Jesus, I sound just like all the people who’ve given me ‘helpful’ advice over the years.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Harlow

  “Here she is, doing the walk of shame at almost lunchtime,” Bailey calls happily through the house when I close the front door behind me, making me groan. “Get ready, because you know I want all the juicy deets.”

  Ignoring her, I walk past the stairs and go straight for the kitchen. The coffee Laura served might have hit the spot, but I need more caffeine if I’m going to have to give Bailey a play-by-play of our date.

  I think back to our picnic on the beach last night. It feels like a million years ago after the tense morning we’ve had.

  My mug is almost full when Bailey’s feet race down the stairs and she appears dressed in her robe with a white face pack on.

  “Wow, you’re looking ravishing this morning.”

  “Is that for me?” She swipes the coffee from the machine and turns to put some sugar in it.

  “No, it wasn’t, but please, help yourself.” I roll my eyes at her and pull down another mug to start all over again.

  “So, start from the beginning,” she encourages once she takes a seat at our table.

&nbs
p; “He took me for a picnic on the beach.”

  “Aw.”

  “We sat out on a blanket and watched the sunset. It was a pretty incredible date.”

  “I knew he was hot, but I didn’t think he had that in him. Way to go, Corey.” I laugh at her antics. “And then you didn’t come home, so I’m assuming you got a taste of the goods.”

  “Yeah. We went back to his place.”

  “Where does he live?”

  “An apartment building that overlooks the ocean.”

  “Sounds flashy.”

  I think back to Corey’s place. Right now, flashy is not a way I’d describe it, although I must admit it does have potential.

  “What? You’ve got a weird look on your face.”

  “I think he’s got money issues.”

  “Oooooh. Now I get the face.”

  “What?”

  “It’s your I-must-help-and-be-a-good-Samaritan face.”

  “Shut up. I do not have a look for that. I just like helping people. Hell knows, I can’t help myself most days.”

  “I know, H. And I love you for it, for your generosity. But should you be getting involved?” I shrug, because she’s most probably right.

  “He’s hiding stuff…” I hesitate. “Dark stuff.” That piques Bailey’s interest.

  “I’m guessing he’s not the only one.” She quirks an eyebrow. “He has no idea about your background or that you can help with this, does he?”

  “What do you think?” Bailey knows that I don’t make a habit of telling anyone who I’m connected to.

  “I think that if you suddenly help him out, you’re going to have to come clean, and I know how much you hate talking about it.”

  “Maybe it’s worth it.” Her chin drops as she stares at me in disbelief.

  “Well, fuck me gently. Is he… the one?” she whispers.

  “I’ve no idea. And to be honest, we didn’t exactly leave things on great terms.” She opens her mouth to respond, but I cut in. “He’s not in a good place. He’s run away from some shit that I only know the basics of. I just want to do something.”

  “What shit? How damaged are we talking here?”

  “He was medically discharged from service six years ago. He’s been through things…” I trail off, because I have no idea what those things really are and I’d hate to do him and his past a disservice by guessing. “Pasts can be painful, B. I know that better than most. I just want to help.”

  “I know you’ll do what you think is right no matter what I say, so I’m just going to tell you that I trust you and leave you to make the decision on this.”

  “I-I appreciate that,” I stutter. I was expecting her to get more involved, but she’s right: I need to stay out of it.

  “I’m going for a soak. Hot date tonight.” She wiggles her eyebrows. “You won’t need to wait up, I’ve got a good feeling about this one.”

  She dumps her mug in the sink before disappearing.

  “When don’t you?” I call after her, but all I get in response is her laughter.

  I make myself another coffee and take it up to my room.

  Sitting myself in the middle of my bed, I open up the website the final notice for Corey’s apartment was from on my cell and hover my thumb over the call button.

  My need to help burns through me. I can make the stress of his imminent eviction disappear with one quick phone call.

  I hesitate, but in the end, I put my phone down and try to forget about it. Bailey is right; it’ll only lead to me having to answer questions I’m not ready for.

  In the end, I finish my coffee and jump in the shower. I need to go and see my aunt.

  I stop at the store on the way to pick her up a few things that she asked for when we spoke on my lunch break yesterday before pulling up to her house.

  My stomach drops the second I pull up in the driveway. All the curtains are closed.

  I glance at the clock and see that it’s now passed lunch. This isn’t right. Throughout all her treatment, even on her worst days, she always got up and got dressed.

  I find her front door key on my keyring, and, with her bags in hand, I make my way to the house. My heart pounds in my chest at what I’m going to find on the other side of the door.

  “Hey, it’s me,” I call into an equally dark house.

  “Upstairs,” a weak voice calls. I drop everything in my hands and take off running.

  Her bedroom door is wide open, and I quickly round the corner to find her propped up in her bed.

  “Hey,” I whisper, walking up to the bed and dropping myself to the edge. “You not doing so well?” It’s a stupid question and one I regret immediately.

  “My seizures have been coming more often.” Everything in my chest tumbles into the pit of my stomach.

  “Would you like me to call the doctor?”

  “We both know what he’ll say.”

  I stare at her. Her previously glowing skin is almost grey, and her eyes have lost their sparkle.

  “I know, but if it’s the safest place for you to be, where you can be properly looked after, then it might be the right thing to do.”

  She lets out a sigh.

  I’ve offered to move in with her time and again to help, but she’s point-blank refused. I understand that she doesn’t want to drag me into this, but I’m her niece. I’m the only one she has left, and I’d do it in a heartbeat.

  That’s probably the reason she always refuses.

  She told me from day one that she’d rather go into a hospice than watch me put my life on hold again, and I know how much she hates them, so it really is saying something. Equally, I don’t want to see her in one of those places either, but it’s something the doctors have been recommending with her having seizures at home alone.

  “I’m sure I’ll be fine in a bit. I just need some rest.”

  I want to argue. She’s got terminal cancer, not the fucking flu. But she wants to be in her home, I understand that, and I hate that, ultimately, I’m the one who’s going to have to stop that from happening. And soon.

  Despite the fact that she’s only said a few words to me, her eyes begin to get heavy. I take her hand in mine and squeeze so she knows I’m here.

  “I brought your groceries and ingredients for soup. I’ll make us both some for lunch.”

  She nods slowly and squeezes my hand back, but it’s so gentle it brings tears to my eyes.

  She drifts off to sleep, her light snores filling the room, and when her hand goes limp in mine, I stand from the bed and slip away, unable to just sit there and watch her sleep. I’m much better when I’m doing something.

  I make quick work of cleaning up everything that’s been abandoned in the kitchen. It’s so unlike her to leave even a glass unwashed, so I know things must be getting bad. I do a lap downstairs, picking up rubbish and making sure that everything is in its right place before putting the flowers I bought in some water and placing them on the coffee table where she can enjoy them.

  They’re roses, her favorites, and they smell incredible.

  I take a second to breathe them in and to try to relax. But it’s impossible. The countdown clock is ticking, and I fear it’s going faster than I can deal with.

  Lowering myself onto the edge of the couch, I drop my head into my hands as tears burn up the back of my throat.

  I won’t cry. I won’t. She could come walking down those stairs any moment, and the last thing she needs is me in a state. She needs me strong, to fight beside her, not to break down.

  Sucking in some strength, I wipe the few escapee tears from my eyes and push up. I’ve got a job to do, and I need to focus on that, not sit here and dwell on what’s to come.

  I’m just about to start chopping vegetables for the soup when my cell pings in my purse. I expect it to be Bailey, so my eyes widen a little at the sight of Corey’s name. His message is simple, but I fear what the message behind the words is.

  Thank you.

  Is that just a thank you fo
r this morning, or the kind of polite thank you, you say when things are done?

  I stare at those two words for the longest time, and they only add to the ache in my heart right now. Yeah, he freaked out this morning, but I wasn’t lying when I told him that it was fine, that I understood. If this is a goodbye, then I’m not afraid to admit that I’m not ready for it. If he’s running because he’s scared I’m getting too close, then he needs to man up.

  I want to reply, but I have no idea what to say. I’m not sure anything I write could make this better or change his mind, if he’s even made a decision. I could just be jumping to conclusions. Hell knows, it wouldn’t be the first time.

  In the end, I close the message and slide my cell into my back pocket so I can continue cooking.

  Thoughts of both my aunt and Corey spin in my head as I potter around. I make the soup as promised, but when there’s no movement from upstairs, I also pull out some of my aunt’s beloved baking equipment and make her favorite lemon slices.

  The scent of them baking fills the room, and my stomach rumbles in hunger.

  Plating everything up, I carry a tray to her room to see if she’s up for eating.

  To my surprise, she’s awake when I round the corner.

  “Harlow, that smells delicious,” she says softly. She’s still not as enthusiastic as she normally is, but thankfully, she’s more awake than she was when I first arrived.

  She doesn’t make any effort to get out of bed, and I don’t make a big deal about it. I just sit with her and chat. He might be the last thing I want to talk about right now after that weird message, but I tell her all about last night’s date and she swoons over a guy she might never meet, telling me that anyone who goes to that much effort for a single date must be worthy of my time.

  I love her enthusiasm and her simple way of thinking. If only reality was that easy.

  The sun is beginning to set when I say my goodbyes. I promise to pop in again tomorrow in the hope that she’s feeling better, although something in the pit of my stomach already tells me that she won’t be. This is a downward spiral. The only question is how long it’s going to take to get to the bottom. The doctor might have said weeks to months, but we all know that this disease is unpredictable at best. So all I can do is what he suggested and try to prepare for the worst.