Page 8 of Exposed Ink

“Are you single?” she asks, getting straight to the point.

For some reason, even though Shane isn’t mine, nor do I want him to be, the thought of her going out with him causes an emotion I haven’t felt in a long time to stir within me—jealousy.

“Natalia, leave him alone,” I chide, trying to keep my voice nonchalant.

“I am,” Shane says, answering her question.

“Do you think my cousin is pretty?” she asks, making me gasp.

“Natalia!” I hiss, now wishing she were flirting with him instead of doing what I think she’s doing.

“I do.” Shane chuckles, his eyes, now filled with a mixture of mirth and lust, locking with mine.

“You should ask her out then.” Natalia shrugs, then looks at me. “And you should say yes because you owe him for saving your life.”

“Okay, Miss Matchmaker.” I glare. “I’m betting my family is out in the waiting room.”

“They are,” she says. “I insisted on coming back since I felt responsible. It was my drink you consumed by mistake.”

“It’s not your fault. Things happen. Now, stop harassing that poor paramedic and go let my family know I’m okay.”

“Fine.” She sighs.

I think she’s going to let it go, until she stops right next to Shane and says, “She works at Exposed Ink, in case you want to reach out,” before making her dramatic exit.

“Ugh, sorry about her,” I say once she’s gone, dropping my face into my hands since I can feel the warmth that’s crept up my neck and cheeks. With my semi-translucent skin, I’m positive my flesh is bright red.

“It’s all good,” Shane says, laughter in his voice. “I’m just glad you’re okay.”

I nod into my hands and then glance up, finding him smiling softly at me.

I open my mouth—to say what, I’m not sure—but before any words can come out, the door opens, and my entire family piles in.

“They couldn’t wait,” Natalia says with a huff. “I tried to tell them you were busy, but …”

She shrugs, and I glare. Then, I focus on my mom, who rushes to my side, ready to dote on me with her motherly love, and my dad follows, worry etched in his features.

My thoughts go back to the last time they showed up at the hospital, causing my insides to clench at the memory of having to tell them that Brandon and our baby were gone. They held me in their arms and told me everything would be okay even though we all knew it never would be.

Now, here they are again, visiting me in the hospital …

“I’m sorry,” I tell them, hating to worry them. “I should’ve remembered my EpiPen.”

“Stop it,” Mom chides. “You have nothing to be sorry about. All that matters is that you’re okay.”

By the time they’re done double- and triple-checking to make sure I am, in fact, okay, Shane has disappeared from the room, and I tell myself that it’s for the best. I have nothing to offer him or anyone else.

But as I recall his warm brown eyes and boyish grin, I can’t help but wonder what it would be like if I wasn’t broken.

Would I have given him my number? Would he have taken it? Where would he have taken me to dinner? Would it have been the start of something fun and exciting, or would the date have been awkward and ended early?

My train of thought causes a lump of emotion to settle in my throat, making it hard to breathe. I’m broken because of my actions. I killed my unborn baby and husband, and if I hadn’t, they’d be here. And instead of lying in a hospital bed, thinking about what it would be like for a man to ask me for my number and to take me out on a date, I’d be home with them, cuddled in bed.

I had my chance at a family.

At happiness.

At love.

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