Page 26 of Sins and Secrets

“It’s not a big deal. I missed out on twenty bucks for my birthday. Whatever.”

He lifts his head and glares at me. “Between child support, summers, and birthdays, you’re looking at a quarter of a million dollars.”

“Oh.” I feel microscopic. Yeah, a fifteen dollar journal is kinda minor. I’m not bringing it up.

He closes his eyes. “I can’t fault you for not knowing about the child support, but…” He slams his hand against the steering wheel again. “You never even questioned why you weren’t getting anything else? Did you ever feel like you were a part of the family?”

I don’t understand where all this is coming from. Yesterday I would’ve lied, but I’ve had too many truth bombs dropped on me. “No.”

Then he makes a sound, like he’s being sucker punched in the soul. He dips his head low as his eyes slam shut. When he finally talks, it sounds like the words are choking him. “Lukas, I am sorry you had the impression you didn’t belong. Honestly, I thought I was doing the right thing.”

Another wall I built to keep myself safe cracks and crumbles. Soon I might not be left with any childhood trauma, and then where will my personality come from? I swallow and ask a question stabbing at my brain all day. “If I had said something?”

He cuts me off, “Everything would be different.”

The walls have crumbled, the soul crushing weight of reality rushes in. “So it turns out communication is important to being a functional human, who knew?” I say.

He huffs a bunch of air out of his nose and gives me a half smile. “We should probably work on that.” He starts the motor and motions to the outside. “I need some time to sort stuff out. After the wedding, let’s get a beer.”

“Sounds good.” I point to the bar. “But not here. This place sucks.”

“Agreed.”

I open the car door and step out. “And there’s a vegan bakery we should avoid.” I don’t hear his response as I head back to my car. Holding things in and letting my fears and insecurities dictate my actions has really fucked up my life, and it only took one day to figure it out.

Time to set a new path.

My phone buzzes and Waverly texts me a picture of a dancing cow, saying, “Thanks for everything today.”

New life, new path, and if I’m not a total chicken shit, it might just lead to her.

ChapterTwelve

Lukas

In the weeksince Waverly last laid on my table, I've been recruited to be a groomsman, developed an addiction to her damn cookies, and rekindled my hatred for my brother. I also filmed two interviews for the YouTube channel I collaborate on, booked a tattoo convention, plus I’m able to squeeze in a session with one of my favorite clients, Grae world famous music producer to Amanda Chase.

I am a consummate professional, at the top of my game, and one of the industry's leading artists, but right now, my hand is on Waverly's ass, and I can't stand up.

Her tattoo is healing perfectly. Objectively, it's my best work. I kind of wish I could post the before and after to my social media, but I also don't want anyone else to see that “before” catastrophe.

I still can’t place where I’ve seen the line work before. And there are all sorts of hidden images buried under the surface. If I hadn’t spent hours staring at it, I would’ve missed it. I keep coming back to the letter D hidden in the picture. I’ll worry about it later.

Her skin is the perfect medium, and she's being so still, keeping her breaths steady. The tattoo machine buzzes and I know she can't hear me say, “Good girl,” but I say it anyway. Because she is.

Such a good girl.

Fuck. Focus on the ink, the art.

I never sign my work- it’s gross and unprofessional. With Waverly, I wouldn't be signing my art, I’d be branding her. I have no right to claimher.

I do it anyway.

The L and the S are hidden in the petals of the hydrangea. She’ll never even know they’re there.Pangs of guilt hit me the instant I finish. It's wrong and I should fix it. Instead, I move on to the next color to work on the highlights.

I roll my stool toward her shoulder, bracing and lifting her gently. “Do you need a break?” I ask in a low voice.

“Yes,” she says, her tone matching my own.

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