Tattooed Troublemaker - Elise Faber Page 0,24

were almost staccato, short bursts of information that my mind struggled to comprehend. Just as I’d imagined the fair, I pivoted to the car, to a giant teddy bear buckled in the seat next to a younger Charlie.

“Then I woke up. The car was upside down. The bear . . . it wasn’t pink any longer. And my parents—”

She shook her head.

“Oh God, Charlie. I’m so sorry.” I dropped down and pulled her into my arms.

I didn’t have any right to touch her, to hold her, but I couldn’t let her kneel there, reciting this horrible truth in her sad, soft voice and not hold her.

“It happened so fast,” she said. “They were gone, and I was alone, and I shouldn’t be telling you any of this.” She sniffed. “I don’t even know you and plus, y-you’re an asshole and the sun is shining, and I had coffee and a bagel, and I haven’t cried about them in years!” Another sniff before her forehead dropped to my chest. “But, dammit, with the fucking letter showing up in the mail, all of this stuff from my past is just right here front and center and—”

Her words faltered.

“Shh, it’s okay,” I said. “You don’t have to say anything.”

“I—I—”

“Shh. I’m sorry. Shh . . .” I kept holding her, repeating the words, rubbing my hand up and down her spine. I expected tears to come, to soak through my shirt, but they didn’t. Charlie’s breaths were short and faltering, but she didn’t cry, didn’t break down into the heart-wrenching sobs I expected based on the pain in her words.

Instead, she just breathed.

Rapidly at first, and then steadier and steadier until her forehead was still pressed to my chest, but she was no longer out of control.

She lifted her head, started to lean back.

I dropped my arms and let her go.

“My fiancée fucked or tried to fuck any semi-attractive male in her vicinity, including my brother and best friend.”

Charlie’s eyes went wide again.

But then her face softened. “Is this you trying to make me feel better?”

“No,” I said, honestly. “It’s me trying to explain why I’m such an asshole.”

She squeezed my knee lightly, and I felt her touch in the marrow of my bones. “Thank you,” she murmured. “For doing both.”

I laughed.

She laughed.

And then she reached for her pipes.

Okay, so fine, she really reached for her toolbox.

But pipes sounded better.

And so did her laughter. So much better than the pain in her voice and on her face, pain I’d just begun to comprehend, pain I couldn’t begin to understand.

I stood, grabbed my transfer paper, and headed for the door.

“Garret?” she called.

I stopped, glanced back over my shoulder. “Yeah?”

“I’m sorry your fiancée was such a troll.” A beat and her lips twitched when my jaw dropped open. “Even reformed assholes deserve better than someone like that.”

My mouth closed as my heart rolled over in my chest, and I forced my words to be light. “I’m reformed now?”

She picked up a wrench. “Yup,” she said, matter-of-factly. “You’ve skipped over semi-reformed and jumped right into actually reformed.”

“Will wonders never cease?”

Her giggle made my lips curve. “Just make sure you don’t slide backward.”

I saluted. “I’ll do my best.”

Then I turned the doorknob and went upstairs to the apartment. And wonder of more wonders, I had hot water . . . and a clean mug for a cup of coffee.

Maybe life was looking up, after all.

“You ever thought about getting one?” I asked as Charlie glanced at the drawing I had laid out in my station.

It was the end of the day, her pigtails were unraveling, and she had a mark of grease under one eye, but she was as beautiful as ever.

Her finger lightly traced the rounded petal of a bluebonnet I’d drawn.

“Yeah.”

This surprised me.

Blue eyes met mine. “My mother’s favorite flower was an orchid. I mean, it’s not like I planned something. I just thought if I ever did, then I’d do something like—” She shook her head, words cut off, and flipped to another page.

“I can do an orchid.”

Charlie went still.

Mind racing, I grabbed my notebook and pencil, began sketching. “Something like this—” I drew the slender stalk then layer upon layer of petals and texture. Thin, delicate lines. “Have you thought about if you want any color? Pink or purple would look good with your skin tone, or maybe you keep it just black and white to really focus on the line work?” I kept drawing, fleshing out the image, adding details and shading and