His eyes snapped shut, a visible cloak of cruelty smothering his features. When he opened his eyes again, he was back to being a blizzard king. “How am I supposed to hide ink and scars, Olin?”
I swallowed hard.
When the accident happened, I’d forgotten who I was.
I’d been alone in the hospital and alone in rehab and alone in the months after with my dreams shattered by my feet.
I’d searched for something to make me feel worthy again—to stop the aching wasteland my chest had become.
I’d turned to Google, searching chat rooms for advice on moving on from severe accidents and tips on how to turn bad into survivable. I’d learned about the miracle of tattoos. From women with breast cancer to men with missing limbs—they all turned to the undeniable superpower of turning grotesque memories into fresh beginnings, and I’d designed the piece myself.
The day I’d scrimped up enough cash to sit the three full days in the tattooist chair was the happiest I’d been since Gil made me his. I’d found myself—my real self—as I embraced the discomfort of needles and pigment, covering the nasty red scars with something pretty.
I loved that piece more than anything.
I refused to let Gil ruin it. “I don’t know, but you can cover it somehow.”
“It marks half your back.”
“It was needed.”
He stopped touching me, stepping from the podium as if everything between us shot him with a thousand arrows. “What happened?”
It was a question free from ice. A question that demanded to know.
I didn’t give him what he wanted.
He stopped below me, his gaze tearing into mine as if he could yank out my memories, desperate to uncover the ones where he hadn’t been there.
His eyes always had the power to bend my will to his.
I’d been weak and totally his to command whenever I’d caught him staring at me as if his love couldn’t be contained.
He wasn’t allowed to look at me like that anymore.
I wasn’t his.
He wasn’t mine.
This is no us.
Yet I was trapped in him. Caged by his vexation and prisoner to so many childhood connections.
He swallowed hard as heat and history prickled between us, hissing with past need and a love that hadn’t had the chance to die. It had been torn in two. Ripped down the middle the moment he’d left, two ends unable to heal because the knots tying us together refused to let go.
“Olin, I—” He winced, his voice sorrowful velvet. “I’m sorry you went through something so painful.”
The genuine dismay on his face reminded me so much of the boy who’d loved me. The boy who’d protected me, walked me home, supported my dancing, and watched me as if I held his moon and stars.
That boy deserved an answer that wasn’t curt or cold.
That boy broke my heart all over again.
His hand shook as he swiped hair from his eyes. “You don’t have to answer. It’s—”
“It’s fine.” I shrugged with a half-smile. “There’s nothing really to tell. Oldest cliché in the book. Just a silly dancer with big dreams.”
“You were never silly.”
“I had my moments.”
He winced. “That doesn’t explain how your back is scarred to shit.”
“It does if I was dancing at all hours and didn’t have a car to get to and from the theatre.”
“What happened?” He cocked his head. “Do you...can you still dance?”
Ouch.
I wasn’t successful in hiding my flinch, skirting away from the painful memories. Holding my head high and embracing my flaws, I no longer worried my scars were on display. I painted myself in the fake confidence that came from dancing in front of hundreds of people.
The stage, bright lights, and pantomime granted no room for error. That world was a dangerous place for someone with no confidence. This chilly warehouse was no different.
I was on a stage.
Gil was my spotlight.
I merely had to dance this dance until the curtain fell.
“I was overtired, overworked, underpaid, but in love with dance. You know how I was.”
He made a sound under his breath. “Addicted. You were addicted to any form of movement.”
My heart did a cabriole, ridiculously happy that he remembered.
He rolled his eyes, his voice doing its best to be dark and disinterested but his green eyes gleamed with history. “You never just walked, you—”
“Floated like a leaf in the breeze.” I smiled, a true smile tugging after guarding myself from him. “You told me that the day I cooked you—”
“Pancakes in your parents’ kitchen.”
His gaze snagged mine.
I sucked in a breath.
He swallowed a curse.
Something that shouldn’t have happened cut through