Cuffs - Cara Lockwood Page 0,9

A hairline crack in that brick wall she used to dam up her emotions. She thought of her mother, how the breast cancer had been found too late. How she’d wasted away in a matter of months before her eyes. How her death had begun the downward spiral of the whole family. The medical bills that had stacked up, impossibly fast, the way it had drained their bank accounts. Then, of course, came the foreclosure. She blinked fast, shocked at how the memory hit her hard, as if it felt like it had blown its way out of the chest where she kept it locked up in her mind. Blown its way out, intent on doing damage.

So Gael had a sister with cancer. She glanced at him and could almost sense the weight of the worry on him. She remembered what that felt like all too well. He wasn’t all handshakes and smiles and big banker deals, after all. Now she kind of did feel like an asshole for kicking him out of her place. And he’d come back with piping-hot cheeseburgers.

“Why didn’t you say that in the first place?” she asked him.

“I was trying, but I believe you were too busy kicking me out.” He patted his mouth with his napkin.

She had been a little harsh. The apology lodged itself in her throat, but she forced it out. “Sorry.”

“Oh, so the tattoo queen does apologize.” Gael grinned.

“I’m about to take it back if you keep gloating.” She glared.

“Duly noted.” Gale flipped through his phone’s photos. “This is Ava.” Gael offered up a picture of a girl who looked even younger than seventeen, hospital gown, bald. She had Gael’s smile, was using it to its full advantage, grinning ear to ear, the brave one, despite the fact she looked paler than her sheets. It reminded her suddenly of her own mother’s bedside. Her mother, all frail and pale, a shell of her former self. “She already went into remission once. The cancer is back. A second time.”

“What kind does she have?” Mags asked, swallowing back the memory and the wave of emotion that threatened to follow it.

“Thyroid cancer,” he said, voice low, as if saying it too loudly would give the cancer power, as if there was an evil wizard hiding somewhere. Mags studied the picture. She could see even more of the family resemblance—the little sister had his eyes.

“What’s her prognosis?”

“The cancer spread, so not as good as I’d like.” His eyes clouded. Gael tugged at his silk tie, loosening the knot as if he needed some air. Mags’s attention went to his neck, to the little hollow at base of his throat. She wondered what he looked like without a shirt. Not that she should be having such thoughts about a banker. “I know you don’t have to do this, but that album is Ava’s favorite. She listens to it every day, and I wanted to carry a piece of that with me, to remind me of her, but also to let her know that she’s not alone in this fight. I promised her I’d get the tattoo—to help her recovery.”

Gael met Mags’s gaze, and she could feel his determination, the importance of the promise he’d made. Now, there was no half smile on his face, no charm offensive, no salesmanship. There was just need. Pure and simple. He needed her to do this.

“What’s her favorite song?” Mags still needed proof.

“What?”

“Her favorite song on the album?”

“‘Blue Sky.’” He didn’t miss a beat. Well, damn. That was her favorite song, too. She hesitated as she glanced down at the black paint on her nails. Was she really thinking about breaking her own rules for a suit? Just because he had a sob story? Yes, she damn well was. Her place, her rules. She could bend or break them if she wanted.

She considered Gael once more. “Okay,” she said at last. “I’ll do it.” Hell, her heart wasn’t made of stone. The girl had cancer. The suit wasn’t just getting a tattoo for the fun of it.

His whole face lit up then with joy...and, she saw, relief, as his shoulders relaxed just a tad. Well, maybe he had actually been worried she’d say no.

“Can we start now?” he asked, hopeful.

“Don’t push it.” She glanced at the white-and-black clock on the wall. She was hoping to close up shop early today. Maybe grab a beer. But then again, Clint was working at her favorite bar, so maybe a beer wasn’t a