Page 87 of Love Me Tomorrow

His gaze flicks down to my new ink, regret etched in his features. “I fucked it up. I was tired and not thinking straight, and it didn’t even occur to me that Gage wouldn’t put his black where I set mine.” Beneath his breath, he grunts, “Rookie move.”

“Rookie move or not, why hide this?” I throw out an arm, pointing at all the examples of his craftsmanship framed on the walls. “You’ve built up this entire business. Celebrities come here. Locals come here. You’re amazing at what you do, Owen. Better than amazing—your work is an experience unto itself. You should be sharing it with the world.”

“Iamsharing it with the world!” Nostrils flaring, he flattens the trifold on the counter with a rough slap of his palm. “I’ve spent almost ten years sharing it with anyone who walks in those doors.”

I stare up at him, noting the tense lines creasing his forehead. He’s unraveling, coming undone. Still, I push: “Who knows the truth?”

And just like that, his harsh expression crumples. “Savannah, don’t.”

I cup his hip, my thumb skirting under his shirt to brush his skin. For our entire relationship, this man has forced me to take a good look in the mirror and accept pieces of myself that I’d rather not. He’s called me out on not living up to my dreams and my potential, for staying at ERRG when we both know I’d rather be anywhere else. He does so because he wants to see mehappy, and something tells me that keeping this part of himself a secret has more to do with survival and a fear of the inevitable consequences than it does with bringing him any amount of joy.

“Who, Owen.”

His hand comes down on mine, gripping my fingers hard. I feel the slight tremble in each digit. Feel, even more, the anxious rush of his breath against the crown of my head. And then, in the lowest, most devastating tone I’ve ever heard, he answers: “You.”

Tears well in the backs of my eyes. I want to hurl myself into his arms. I want to strip his pain or, at the least, take it within myself because my Owen—the cocky, broody man—is nowhere to be found. Vulnerability radiates from every inch of him, and this time, he doesn’t release my hand. Not even for a second.

“It started out harmless enough,” he says, so softly I have to strain to hear every word coming from his mouth. “I was a quiet kid. Painfully shy. Gage was the boisterous one and I took his lead. It was . . . it was my kindergarten teacher who noticed something, but by then, some of the other kids had started to push me around out in the playground. Typical kid shit. She had my parents come in for a meeting, and they all agreed it would be best if the other students didn’t know. Why give them more ammunition to fuck with me than they already had?”

A protest leaps to my tongue. Therightthing to do would have been to tell the other kids to cut the crap and respect their fellow peer. In the end, I swallow it down. Whether or not Iwould have taken that route doesn’t matter. This was thirty-something years ago and what’s done is, unfortunately, well done at this point.

Even so, that doesn’t explain why Gage wouldn’t be told. They’retwins, for God’s sake. When I vocalize this, Owen only squeezes my hand. “Gage at five is not the Gage of today. Dude couldn’t keep his mouth shut for anything. I think my parents knew that—they were trying to protect me, just in case he let it spill to someone else at school.”

Incredulity floods my body. “They made you lie about who you are, like—like you should beashamedof yourself!”

Owen’s mouth flattens. “I’m not ashamed.”

“Then why doesn’t Gage know?” I demand.

“Because it got weird, all right? Awkward as fuck. What am I supposed to say? Hey, bro, we’re almost thirty-seven and you think that you know everything about me but surprise! I can’t tell if your shirt is red or purple or fucking maroon. Good talk, let’s grab a beer.”

I growl—actually,growl—deep in my throat. “Yes. And while you’re at it, maybe you can tell the world too. Let them see the real you.”

“Not happening, sweetheart.” He brushes past me, hands locked on his hips as he starts to pace. “I’m not about to sign myself up to be the next freak show. Either business is gonna dry the hell up because no one will trust me,oreveryone is going to want to make money off the colorblind tattoo artist.”

“You arenota freak show.”

For the first time since he confessed, his expression softens imperceptibly. “You have no idea how much it means to me for you to say that.”

“Well, it’s the truth. If anything, I’m in awe of you. Take what you want.” I huff a soft laugh under my breath. “It gives that motto an entirely new meaning now that I know this about you. You are the most . . . the most—”

“Stubborn?”

I shake my head, searching for the right words. “I was going to say complex, but I think I’m going to go with something else.” Sneaking a glance at the artwork hanging on the walls, and the trifold tucked away on his workstation, it’s hard not to feel inspired by the greatness of the man before me. People always advise making lemonade out of lemons, but it’s as though Owen has dominated the market and forced everyone else out of the lemonade-making business. Conceding defeat has clearly never been an option for him.

“I don’t agree with you keeping your color-blindness a secret and I really think you should reconsider, at least with Gage, but that doesn’t mean you aren’t the most driven person I’ve ever met. Learning how to tattoo couldn’t have been easy, and yet you’ve done it anyway. You took what you wanted, you made it yours, and you’re living out your dream every day, despite probably feeling like the world is waiting for you to fail.” I shake my head. “Is there anything you can’tdo once you put your mind to it?”

Rocking back on his heels, Owen rubs the nape of his neck. Then, gruffly, he admits, “I’m shit at interior design. It’s painful in a way that tattooing never is, even at its worst. But when I bought Inked, I decided, what the hell. Who’s gonna really complain about mismatched furniture when the drunkest street on earth is down a flight of stairs? Bourbon cures all.”

My heart kicks into overdrive as a realization sets in. “The rental units upstairs,” I manage to get out, “that’s why you wouldn’t sell to us for the hotel.”

Black eyes zero in on my face. “I didn’t lie, Rose. They make me a fuck ton of money as they are, but . . . yeah. I guess, if we’re digging a little deeper, then they hold sentimental value, too. They’re the first units I ever overhauled on my own. All my life, I’ve tried to push back and find ways to prove that seeing the world a little differently doesn’t define who I am. I can draw, I can tattoo, I can design—I can do it all. I’m not any less than you or the next person.”

At his raw admission, I feel myself draw closer to him. “Owen?”

He answers by stepping toward me, with just one foot, but it’s enough to indicate that we’re still good. We’re stillus. He lowers his head, gets on my level, the way he’s done for so long, and looks me in the eye. “Tell me what you need, sweetheart.”

What Ineed, not what I want.

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