Just One Night Together (Flatiron Five Fitness #3) - Deborah Cooke Page 0,73

glanced up at him through her lashes as if she was suddenly shy. “Why this design?”

“What do you mean?”

“Tattoos often mean something. I don’t understand this one.” She flicked another look up at him, as if she sensed that there was more to it than met the eye. “What does it mean?”

“Nothing,” Damon admitted without intending to do so. “It’s just big with a lot of ink.”

She watched her own fingertip as she outlined the design. “Because you wanted to cover up another one,” she guessed, and he knew better than to be surprised.

“The guys on my team all got the same one when we were deployed. I didn’t deserve to wear it any more.”

There. He’d said it out loud. He hadn’t admitted that since he’d gone to the tattoo parlor for this one.

“What was it?”

“It doesn’t matter. It’s history now.”

Haley looked at him, her expression skeptical, but Damon didn’t want to argue about this, and he didn’t want to talk about it any more. His chest was tight with the memory and he knew he had to distract himself from the path that led to his worst nightmare.

He kissed her quickly, as much to silence her inevitable question as anything else. “You haven’t shown me what you learned at F5F,” he said, trying to sound normal.

Haley hesitated only a moment, assessing his mood, then nodded. “You’re right. I haven’t. Roll to your stomach and I’ll show you.”

“There’s some lotion in the bathroom. I’ll get it.”

She stayed him with a fingertip. “No, wait here. I’ll get it. I want to wash up a little first anyhow.”

Damon remained on the bed, his chin braced on his fists, and remembered having the tattoo covered. The artist had admired the old tattoo and had been reluctant to cover it up because it was such good work. Damon had insisted, and eventually—when he’d threatened to go elsewhere—the artist had relented.

He’d taken a picture of it first, though, just for his own collection.

The big tribal tattoo had hurt, while Damon didn’t remember the first tattoo hurting much at all. He supposed it was psychological, a kind of penance for his failure.

He felt his heartbeat slow and a languor steal through his body even as he heard the water splash. He was so tired. He’d been running for a long time, trying to juggle his mom’s illness with his responsibilities at F5F, and probably not doing a very good job of it. He’d felt torn between his obligations and unable to reconcile them. He hated that his mom was gone and he missed her already, but in a way, it made his life simpler.

There would just be work.

There would just be F5F.

Could he convince Haley to stay? Damon wasn’t sure he had much to offer her. The sex was great, but that wouldn’t be enough. He wanted to tell her things but he knew he wouldn’t be able to. It just wasn’t in his nature to expose his secrets to view. He was willing to try, but he doubted it would be enough.

His best hadn’t been enough for Foster, after all.

Damon wondered what had happened to Buchanan. They hadn’t kept in touch, although Buchanan had emailed him a couple of times in the early days. Damon had never replied.

He hoped his former teammate was okay. It had to be hell to live without a hand, his dominant hand, too. He had to have been given an honorary discharge for medical reasons. Damon wondered if Buchanan had married that girlfriend who always wrote to him, or if his injury had been a deal-breaker.

Was it possible that Buchanan was just as much alone as he was?

Was it possible that a person’s truth could be the obstacle to his or her happiness?

That was a troubling possibility. Would telling Haley all of his truth end what she called the perfect moment?

“I hope you’re not asleep.” Haley’s light step sounded on the floor as she returned. She went toward his desk, probably intending to turn on the lamp.

“Leave it off, please,” he said and felt her turn to look at him. “I like the darkness.”

“All the better to hide your secrets,” she said lightly.

Of course, she’d guessed the truth. He really didn’t want her to see the drawings he’d made of her, not just because they weren’t done. They weren’t right yet.

He was self-conscious about them, fearful that they might reveal more than he realized to Haley’s perceptive gaze. She might dislike that he’d done them, as if he was a