Page 123 of Under the Ink

“Suit yourself.” His father started heading toward the door to the garage.

“Help yourself to whatever you like, honey. We should be home this afternoon. If you want, we can show you the new trail by the creek before dinner.”

“Sounds good, mom.”

Giving him a big hug, she held on a little longer—which told Sage she’d figured out something was wrong.Wrongwasn’t exactly how he would put it—andhurtingwasn’t quite right, either. After all, everything Naomi had suffered throughout her life—thatshit was true pain and suffering, both mentally and physically.

Just because her lashing out at him hadfeltgut-wrenching didn’t mean he was actually suffering. No…it was something else.

He could handle a lot of the shit Naomi had said over their last few days together, because he’d understood she was unraveling. But there were two separate notions gnawing at him—and that was the reason why he hadn’t wanted to stick around last night to celebrate with the band.

Hell, yeah. They’d earned it. After just a few months on the first leg of the Punish This tour, they’d had bigger audiences and more album sales than ever. There was a lot to celebrate.

But Sage just hadn’t been feeling it.

What he’d been dealing with was an overwhelming sense of loss…like his soulmate had disappeared from his life.

Or like he was missing a chunk of his heart…yet it had somehow continued to beat.

There was more, though. He had this underlying worry about Naomi. Once he got over the hurt she’d dealt him, he wondered what was going on inside her. It was like some sort of emotional typhoon wreaking havoc.

Would she make it? Could she continue to survive?

So many times, he’d picked up his phone to call or text her, immediately putting it back down again. She hadn’t been ready to deal with her shit—and maybe she never would. And he had the feeling that he’d been making it worse.

Way worse. Maybe he’d somehow knocked a lot of her buried shit loose and now she was trying to navigate it alone.

So he also knew he was feeling a little guilt, too, like maybe he’d caused some of her turmoil unintentionally.

He couldn’t get the image of the dead mouse she’d talked about out of his head, the one she’d compared herself to.

But she had so much life inside, so much to give. Why hadn’t he been able to convince her of that?

He probably couldn’t, because she’d have to find it in herself.Shehad to decide she was ready. She didn’t need Sage cheerleading.

Meaning he needed to stay out of the picture—whether he liked it or not. No texting, no calling. Nothing. Maybe sometime next year…

Making his way to the kitchen, he pondered simply heading back to bed, but the smell of the coffee was calling him.

One cup. Then, if he still felt tired, he’d go back to sleep.

After filling the mug to the rim, he headed into the dining room so he could look out at the backyard hanging onto the last remnants of summer. He could imagine the mountains out there, but he couldn’t see them from here. Maybe if he took the trail later today with his parents, he’d be able to see the aspens changing colors along the hillside.

His parents probably had a great view from the green.

But he really wasn’t in the mood for being around people yet—especially on a pretentious golf course. Give him a few days to reacclimate—and start feeling normal again—and he’d be more than happy to spend time with his mom and dad.

Even on the links.

Sitting in the chair, holding his cup in his lap, he tried to simply appreciate the present. Did he still miss Jimmy? Of course, he did—but, unlike his old friend, Naomi had brought some sort of balance and calmness to his life, even while she was dealing with a ton of her own shit. By now, enough time had passed that he could appreciate the role Jimmy had served and his friendship—even while owning the fact that all their partying had been a recipe for disaster.

And all the women. Jesus H. Christ. Before Naomi, Jimmy had kept a steady line coming to Sage—and, ever since the bullshit in high school, Sage had considered himself a bit of a Casanova. It was easy getting the ladies in bed, and he knew his profession had a lot to do with that. But, goddammit, Naomi’s presence had made him reflect on all that shit in a way Jimmy never had.

Sage was no ladies’ man. He wasn’t even a Casanova. Instead, he was nothing more than a guy who’d been hurt, who’d felt like his heart and his pride had been ripped from his chest and thrown in the meatgrinder—in front of every kid in school, no less. And all the pussy he’d been pounding ever since? That had just been a response, something that felt like a reassurance telling him was loveable and worthy of adoration and admiration.

But it was all a mask, and the escapades left him feeling hollow. He’d pretended for years that nothing got to him—and women, combined with alcohol and the occasional illicit substance, helped him believe it.

Naomi’s presence in his life, followed by her absence, merely emphasized just how wrong he’d been.

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