Page 23 of Splintered Hearts

“I like your tattoos.”

“Oh, uh, I—”

“On your arms, silly.” Noah’s manicured brows rise. Could a person look expensive? “Unless you have others you’d like to share?” He winks. “Show and tell was always my favorite subject in school.”

“I don’t think that’s a subject.” I can’t drop my pants and show him the ones on my legs, the ones I’m most proud of, so instead, I roll my sleeves up, just to my biceps—that’s enough—and as I expose the ink on my arms, Noah’s eyes brighten with delight. He steps closer. Vanilla and something masculine fills the space between us. Whatever he’s wearing smells so damn good. Reaching out to touch me, his fingers brush my arms, tracing the snake, dragging his fingers over the designs. My breath quickens with his closeness.

Why the fuck did I wear sweatpants?

I try to shift and not show off the problem growing in my pants, while Noah searches the art on my arms as if he’s deciphering a code. My other arm is filled with random art, here and there. It’s all my best friend Madd’s work, as he practiced on me when he was an apprentice. I didn’t mind being a test dummy. He’s one of the most talented artists I know.

Was.Was and knew.

“This is beautiful.” Noah looks up, focused on the black and gray snake winding up my arm. Cherry blossoms weave in and around the snake in pops of red and pink—the only color I have. I don’t like colored tattoos, butsheinsisted it was needed. Now, nearly six years later, I have to agree, and I’m grateful I did it. It’s like having a little piece of her, always.

Jesus. Blinking, I focus on Noah who’s still inspecting the work. “Thank you.”

“Why the snake?”

“I love snakes.” It’s as simple as that. Snakes are fascinating. People fear them, but that’s mainly due to their scary-looking nature. Some are pretty docile, and some only strike when provoked.

“And the cherry blossoms?”

Well, that answer is a bit more complicated. “My birth mom is Japanese. We visited her mother in the spring, when I was a toddler.” Or rather,shedid, not me, because she couldn’t let her mother know I existed. I was an abomination—the result of my mother’s reckless behavior. “She loved to see the cherry blossoms.”And she hated me.Tattooing something she loved so much on my body may seem fucked up, but there’s some sick sort of satisfaction that hits me knowing they’re there. Something so beautiful she loved on someone she hated more than anything.

“There’s so much detail in this snake. It’s like you can touch it. How does it look so wet like that? It’s insane. It looks like it’s inwater.”

Landing on a black mamba took time, and to this day, I can’t tell anyone why I picked that particular snake. It seemed fitting at the time—the world’s deadliest snake—and there was something about it I liked.

“Where did you get it done?” The question is innocent but hits like a gunshot.

“A friend did it for me.”

“Your friend is very talented.”

He was.“So, apartment hunting?”

I look beyond Noah, maybe needing a breather. Everything feels a little too tight—a little too suffocating. “Yeah, this all happened kind of fast. Hunter’s being nice about it, but I’m realistic. I know he doesn’t want me there. Starting from scratch is kind of new for me, though, so I’m just doing what I can to survive.”

My eyes drop away from him. Fuck, I know that feeling a little too well. What a piece of shit, kicking your child out because they’re gay. “Well.” The words spill from my lips before I can catch them. “If you need a place to stay, I have a room available.” Why is my mouth moving? Stupid fucking brain. “Rent is cheap.” What the hell! Stop making words! “Hunter and I split utilities, and he bought his own food.”

“Really?”

“I mean if—”

“Hey, sorry.” Xavier grins, but I see it for what it is. He wants something. “Can you help me out? The attic door is stuck—”

“Why are you going up there?” Noah looks between us but it’s as if I’ve plunged into water. Noise dulls around me. Everything sounds muffled. “There’s nothing in there for you.”

“I just want to—”

“No, there is nothing.” This isn’t his house. Why does he always have to mess with my shit?

“I just want to see if—”

“I’ll go with you.”

“You don’t have to babysit me. I won’t—” Ignoring him, I look to Noah, both sad and happy this conversation has ended. But I need a little bit of space anyway. From Noah. From the crowd. From my friends. And there is no way he’s going up there without me. What if he breaks something? Takes something he’s not supposed to? Then that would be it. Gone. There’d be no way to replace it. “I’ll see you later, alright?”

---