Marked

by Drew Elyse

  “Nope.”

  “Nope is right. Art is cool.”

  “Cool,” he echoed, eyes wide on me like he was absorbing every word.

  Shit, he was cute.

  “You wanna be cool and make some art?”

  “Yeah!” His little arms shot up in a cheer.

  I held out my hand for him to high-five, and he laid one on me full force.

  “All right, let’s do it.”

  I fished a t-shirt out of a box for the kids to use as smocks and helped him pull it on. It covered him nearly to his feet, but I helped him take his shoes off, too, just in case. All the paints for the kids washed off skin no problem. Shoes might be a different story.

  By the time I had some paper up on a mini-easel for him, I was glad I’d nixed the shoes. In a matter of minutes, Owen had paint everywhere. There were streaks of color on the paper, the easel, the floor, both his feet, all over his arms, and a few on his face. There was even a big old glob of blue in his hair.

  I might not be fully cut out for babysitting duty.

  Owen was laughing. A lot. Too much, seeing as he flailed around as he did, flinging water all over the place while I tried to wash some of the paint mess off of him at the sink.

  “Hold still, buddy,” I pleaded as I tried to wipe him down with a soapy paper towel.

  “It tickles!”

  It would have to, the way he was reacting. If his mom wasn’t going to be here any minute now to see the mess I’d let him make of himself, I’d just give in and let the kid be crazy. However, I was still trying to get on Kate’s good side. I’d have watched Owen and enjoyed it either way, but I was way more inclined to return him clean because of that fact.

  “I thought this was supposed to be washable,” I muttered, rubbing at the paint smears, but not scrubbing. I didn’t want to rub too hard.

  “It is, but they usually have to soak and then use a washcloth that scrubs a bit more.” I heard.

  “Mommy!” Owen cried right after.

  Damn it. So much for impressing her with my childcare skills. All those years of watching Tracy and Connor were not paying off.

  Time to go for broke. “I’m sorry.”

  She was smiling, though. Probably because Owen was there, and he always did that for her, but I’d take it.

  “Don’t be. He likes to make a mess,” she said, coming over and leaning down to kiss Owen. “Were you good for Liam?” she asked him.

  “Yes!” he replied, no hesitation at all.

  She glanced up at me, looking for the truth. I nodded. He was. Messy and hyper, but good. When I told him it was time to stop and clean up, he got right to it.

  She smiled wider, right at me. Fuck, seeing that was like a fist in the solar plexus. She fucking glowed when she smiled.

  “Do you have all your stuff?” she asked him.

  “We need my paintings.”

  Yeah, no way his papers that were all under several layers of paint were ready to move yet. I had some concern that they might not ever be.

  “They’ve still got to dry. How about we leave those here, and your mom can get them another time?”

  He looked at me as I spoke with a serious expression, and I thought this was going to be one of those situations where reason meant nothing to a kid. But that wasn’t Owen. He just smiled and agreed.

  Kate grabbed a couple paper towels and started drying Owen’s arms a bit. As she did, she gave a sidelong glance at me before saying, “Thank you for watching him. I’m sorry you got roped into this. I’d have come and brought him to the bakery.”

  “I volunteered,” I admitted. “I was just going to be sitting around. Instead, I got to paint with this cool little dude. Right?” I asked the last of Owen, holding my hand out for him.

  “Right!” He slapped me another enthusiastic high-five.

  She smiled, and that would have made it worth it even if watching Owen had been a burden.

  “How’s your side healing up?”

  “Good,” she said, tossing the paper towels that were now a bit tie-dyed by the lingering paint on Owen. “It finally stopped itching.”

  “Can I take a look? Make sure we’re good to go for the second session.”

  She didn’t hesitate to lift her shirt on the one side. I knelt down a bit to get a good look and felt a rush of pride. It was only the line work, but it looked fucking fantastic. Better yet, it was healing like a dream.

  “We can definitely work with this. It’s healing perfectly.”

  “That’s great. I can’t wait to see the finished thing,” she replied, and the excitement was palpable in her words.

  Christ, tattooing an awesome piece on a beautiful woman that really appreciated it.

  Talk about a way to make a guy feel good.

  “Just a couple more days, gypsy.”

  “Right.”

  I was taking a selfish minute to look my fill of her anyway since I couldn’t seem to get enough.

  “Liam?” Jess called, coming around the corner.

  “Yeah?”

  “Your next appointment is here early, whenever you want to get started,” she announced.

  “Got it. Thanks.”

  She smiled at Kate and Owen before asking, “You have a good time painting?”

  “It was awesome!”

  “Well, all right.” With that, she hustled back out, probably still watching Emmy up front.

  Kate offered her hand out to Owen, who took it by rote. “Well, we should get going then. Can you say thank you to Liam for painting with you?”

  “Thank you!”

  “Anytime, bud.” I looked up to Kate after I said it, making sure she understood the offer there.

  She gave a slight nod, noncommittal but acknowledging. “I’ll see you Thursday.”

  “Later, gypsy.”

  Chapter Ten

  Kate

  I had a box of cupcakes on the passenger seat, and butterflies going crazy in my stomach. At that moment, I was on my way to my second session with Liam. A man who, it seemed, had made quite the impression on Owen. This was hard to miss when the last couple days had been Liam this, Liam that, and “When can I paint with Liam again?”

  Owen was firmly in the Liam fan club. I wish I had the same confidence about where I stood on the topic.

  As it was, I was all fluttering nerves again as I drove into central Hoffman. This time—when I let myself admit it, which had been a battle of its own all last night—the feeling had nothing to do with the tattoo. I had complete faith that the tattoo would turn out perfect and I would never second guess the decision to have it done.

  The artist, on the other hand, the name of the game with him was second-guessing.

  The light I’d been sitting at turned green, and I accelerated, wondering again if bringing cupcakes to thank him for watching Owen was awkward. I could see the shop, so it was kind of time to decide. Not that I wanted to take cupcakes home.

  The car came out of nowhere.

  I slammed on my brakes as the asshole flew through the red light, only managing to speed across my path by a hair.

  So close. Too close.

  Too close…

  “You hate that job most days anyway. I’m making enough that you don’t need it. Don’t take that joke they call maternity leave. Just get out of there, and we can figure it out later if you want to start working again.”

  “I think this whole conversation might be a bit premature. We’ve been trying for a few weeks. I haven’t even taken a test yet. We don’t know when I might even get pregnant.”

  “I’m just saying.”

  I rolled my eyes at my husband. He was just using the possibility of us having a baby to give me an excuse to leave my job. He wasn’t wrong, I did hate it. At best, some days were passable just because I was busy enough. The idea of dropping to one income scared me, though. He did make enough, but what if something changed? The early days when we had to scrape by for everything still stuck with me.

  I looked through
the rearview mirror at Owen, who had drifted off in the back seat. I couldn’t deny that I would love to be home with him.

  “What the—”

  My gaze shot down through the windshield, and I saw it. The car. It was on the wrong side. It was coming right at us. Too fast. Way too fast. It was…

  We were swerving. To the right. Not fast enough…

  I screamed. Anything to try and stop the onslaught. I couldn’t see it. Not again. Not like the nightmares that still came too often. The horrible replay of the last moments I saw my husband alive. When I’d watched as he was taken from me.

  A horn sounded, long and insistent, behind me, and I realized I was still stopped at the intersection. Grasping onto every thread of false calm I could manage, I started moving again. My hands shook so badly I feared I’d start jerking the wheel. Nausea clawed at me. I just had to make it half a block. Just right there and I could turn into the parking lot and…

  What?

  What could I do?

  I couldn’t do a goddamn thing. Nothing could turn back the time and keep us from going out that day. Nothing was bringing Joel back. Nothing could change the fact if I had been pregnant, the trauma of the crash had stolen that life from me, too.

  I pulled into the parking lot, slamming on the brakes harder than I meant to in a spot. My body flung forward against the seat belt, and that sensation broke me.

  The memories rushed in like an onslaught.

  Everything hurt. Why did it all hurt?

  “Ma’am?” Who was that? “Ma’am, are you with me?”

  Well, I was here. Wasn’t I?

  Where was here?

  We’d been at the store. Applesauce, milk, cereal, potatoes, chicken, pregnancy test.

  We forgot the cereal.

  We were on the way home when I realized it.

  We were in the car.

  We…

  My eyes flew open. I didn’t recognize where I was. Who were these people?

  “Where is my son? My husband?” I demanded, trying to get up. I had to find them. Had to see them. We were…

  “You were in an accident. You’re in an ambulance. We’re on the way to the hospital.”

  “Where is my son?” I cried.

  “He was taken separately. He went first. He doesn’t seem to have any major injuries, but they always want to check quickly when they’re so young.”

  No major injuries. Okay. Owen would be okay.

  “My husband?”

  He glanced over where someone else was up near my head, but I didn’t look. “They’re still getting him free of the vehicle.”

  They couldn’t get him out. Why? Why couldn’t they get him out?

  “Mrs. Larson.”

  I looked over, and there was my baby.

  My beautiful boy.

  The nurse brought him to me, and I wrapped him tightly in my arms.

  My little Owen.

  “Is he okay?”

  “He’s just fine, ma’am,” she assured me. “A couple scrapes. You might notice some bruising from the car seat, but there are no signs of any injuries beyond that.”

  Just fine.

  He was just fine.

  Owen clung back to me, crying. He was scared; he didn’t understand any of this.

  I was, too.

  “My husband?”

  “I’m sorry, ma’am. I don’t know. I’ll go see what I can find out.”

  She left.

  I wasn’t sure I wanted her to come back.

  “Mrs. Larson,” the doctor addressed me, and my head started shaking.

  I didn’t know how I knew. He’d only said my name, and I still knew what was coming. I couldn’t hear it. It couldn’t be true.

  “I’m so sorry.”

  No. No. No.

  I wanted to scream, to terrify the doctor into shutting up, into leaving and taking the words with him. The scores didn’t come out, though. Just a broken sound I barely recognized as my voice. “No.”

  “We did everything we could, but your husband didn’t make it.”

  He’d swerved right.

  He’d done it on purpose. He’d put his side in front, keeping me and Owen as far as he could from the impact.

  Owen was safe. Asleep on my lap, not able to understand everything we lost.

  We lost everything. Everything that mattered but each other.

  “Kate.”

  My name passed through my thoughts. It sounded like Joel.

  But it couldn’t be him.

  “Katie.”

  I understood then. It wasn’t Joel. Daz was here. He knew.

  “He can’t be gone.”

  My voice was rough, lifeless. It sounded like how I felt.

  “Kate.”

  “He can’t. I can’t lose him. Owen can’t.”

  Your husband didn’t make it.

  “Katie, sweetheart—”

  “No! Don’t say it. I can’t hear it. I can’t. Not again.” It’d kill me. Somehow I had to survive this, even if I didn’t know how. I had to for my son. But I couldn’t if someone said the words aloud again. “It’s all I hear. Since the second they said it, it’s just on repeat in my head.”

  “I’m here. For you, for Owen. Whatever you need.”

  Whatever we needed. We needed Joel back. I needed my husband. Owen needed his daddy.

  I stared down at my son, the little scrapes on his soft skin, the blotchy remains of tear tracks on his face. “He doesn’t get it. Not really. He cried until he fell asleep, but I think that was just him feeding off my emotions. He’s still going to wake up and wonder where his daddy is. How do I tell him…”

  I heard the knock on my window, but I was too lost to care.

  Daz was carrying Owen. Doc had his arm around me to guide me. We were leaving.

  Somewhere in this godforsaken building, Joel was all alone.

  No. Not him. He was gone.

  His body…

  I ripped myself from Doc’s arm, making it to a garbage can as the retching started.

  The car door opened. A hand cupped my face, then I felt my seatbelt release.

  I was crying, jolting with each sob. I could hardly breathe.

  Arms moved in behind my back and beneath my knees, and I startled. Looking over, I saw Liam through the blur of the tears. I didn’t fight as he lifted me. I didn’t know where we were going; I couldn’t care.

  Your husband didn’t make it.

  I let myself curl against his chest. I let him take me wherever we were going.

  I had nothing left in me to do anything else.

  Chapter Eleven

  Liam

  I’d seen her car pull up.

  I had been up at the desk by Jess, waiting for her to come in like a creep. Something Jess was only too pleased to point out. I’d been waiting for it all day. Fuck, I’d been waiting for it since she’d left with Owen.

  There was something off about the way she turned into the lot. It was jerky. It was too fast, and then she was breaking mid-turn, correcting more than once through the curve. When minutes passed and she didn’t come inside, I got anxious. A few more, and I couldn’t resist the urge to go check on her.

  What I found nearly brought me to my knees.

  She was breaking. Completely.

  I didn’t know what triggered it, but there was no doubt that this was grief in its purest form. Almost like she was losing him all over again.

  Fuck.

  I carried her through the back door of the shop, running into Sketch as he stepped out of the prep room.

  “What the fuck?”

  He looked exactly like a fucking biker you didn’t cross when he got a load of Kate.

  “I’ve got it.”

  “Liam, man—” he started to argue.

  “I’ve got it.” My tone wasn’t one for bullshit back-and-forth about it.

  He stared me down for a long moment, probably still considering fighting me on this. He was welcome to try. There was no way in fuck I was backing down.
His eyes shot down to where Kate was curled against me. Her hands had found purchase on my shirt, gripping the material like it was a lifeline.

  Finally, he jerked up his chin. “Take the office.”

  Done.

  I turned left, taking her into the office, glad for the button switch for the lights that I could jab with my elbow easily. I took her to the black leather loveseat to one side and sat down with her still in my arms.

  Knowing there was no magic fix to make any of this better, I didn’t try. I hurt like fuck, each gasping sob from her driving that knife deeper and deeper, but I let her cry. I figured this was probably in part because she’d learned to bottle shit up. I had no clue what triggered the dam breaking, it didn’t really matter. What mattered was that there was no controlling the flood. All I could do was give her something to hold onto and hope she didn’t drown in it.

  Minutes ticked by, and the torrent started to slow. Even as the sobs eased, the hold she had on me did not. When eventually she was emitting nothing more than hiccups, I brought one hand up and began to rub at her iron grip. The tension there released in small measures until her arm collapsed into her own lap. I moved on to the other, doing the same until she let go. I grabbed onto both of her now trembling hands with mine, holding them firm to keep her steady.

  More time passed with us just like that until her breathing evened out. It was even longer still before she spoke in a raspy voice.

  “Someone ran a red light.” She took a shuddering breath. “Right in front of me. I nearly hit him.”

  The trigger.

  No fucking wonder she’d broken down like that. A near miss that way would rattle anyone. For Kate, it was enough to bring her crumbling down.

  “I’m sorry.”

  Hell, no.

  “Don’t even think that,” I ordered. “You don’t have a thing to be sorry for.”

  “I…I’m a mess.”

  “Show me someone who isn’t.”

  She gave a huff of a laugh that had only a bit of amusement in it. I’d take it.