Page 73 of Under the Ink

COLORADO SPRINGS, COLORADO

JULY 18

Jesus fucking Christ. Had Sage’s balls ever felt that empty?

And what the hell was going on inside his chest?

He wasn’t about to question it…because here he lay, holding this woman in his arms like he’d never held a woman before. Not like this. After seeing all the damage Naomi had inflicted upon herself—because that was what she’d covered up with all those tattoos, right?—he’d felt protective. But it was more than that. It was a primal urge, a need to defend and save and shelter.

Something about her, especially after he’d followed her to her bedroom, had brought that out in him.

He could lie here forever. But, if she made him leave, he’d respect that. After all, she’d practically bared her entire fucking soul to him.

And there was something about her…that peace he usually felt onstage. Holding her here as if reassuring her brought on that same sensation. There was no way he could have ever explained it.

When she shifted, he moved his arm to allow her to do whatever she needed to do to get comfortable, halfway hoping that she was falling asleep and perfectly okay with him staying here.

Unlike last time.

But now that shit all made sense. No wonder she’d wanted to fuck in the dark.

As she snuggled closer to him, her tears long dried, her breathing calm, he figured he could allow himself to fall asleep too.

But she seemed to have other ideas. Running her hand on his chest, she spoke.

And maybe she was getting ready to send him packing.

It would be okay.

“I suppose you have a lot of questions.”

Clearing his throat, he shifted again, mainly to keep himself wide awake. “Only if you want to share.”

For a long time, she was quiet. She must have decided she didn’t want to share after all.

But then she spoke—and he simply listened.

“I did all that to myself. The cuts. And it started in the most innocent way you could think of. I was cutting an onion, helping my mom with dinner, and I cut my finger pretty badly. But later that night, I was lying in bed, and the way it throbbed was distracting in the best way imaginable.

“It took my mind offeverythingelse.”

She was quiet for a while. Sage wondered if she was trying to figure out what else to say or if she’d paused for him to speak. Finally, he took a chance. “Kind of like alcohol. You drink enough, everything else is kind of muted.”

“Yeah, kind of. Alcohol helped too.” Her body kept growing tense and then relaxing, so he didn’t know if she wanted him asking questions or just keeping quiet. But he sensed that he needed to just wait patiently. The words, if she needed to speak them, would come. “I, um…was raped when I was a sophomore in high school. Only…I don’t know for sure if I was actually raped.”

“What do you mean?”

Her body tensed up again, so Sage just held her but kept his grip loose, letting her know she was safe with him but not imprisoned. “I, um…” Her voice took on an almost childlike quality, but he could hear her strength as she spoke. This was perhaps the hardest thing she would have to say. “I was dating a senior. He was the son of the preacher where my family went to church…so, needless to say, my parents trusted him. Actually,everybodytrusted him. Jacob was the golden child who could do no wrong.”

Sage didn’t say anything but squeezed her shoulder, reminding her that he was there. Somehow, that helped her continue.

“We’d gone on a few dates already, but on that night, he had some gummy candies—edibles. I’d never tried them before, but evenItrusted Jacob. I don’t remember if I even said yes to eating it—or if I knew before swallowing that it was an edible. But his best friend and girlfriend were also there and we were watching a movie after the homecoming dance. Oh, and, um…I was a virgin. Anyway, I don’t know if it was the pot or if he actually slipped me something else, but I passed out.”

“Can pot do that?”

“Whatever he gave me caused me to fall asleep or go unconscious—but I don’t know if it was actually pot. Anyway…when I woke up, he was raping me. Or having sex with me. I don’t know. I have no idea if I gave consent before I became aware of what was happening—and, when I woke up, he told me he was almost done. I felt like I was screaming in pain, but was I really? It’s still all so blurry all these years later.”

“Did you tell him to stop?”

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