Page 58 of When Fate Breaks
“We better get back,” Blake says. I nod in agreement. “Thanks, Carlos!” He waves to his friend.
“No problem, man. Happy birthday! Nice to meet you, Annie!” Carlos waves back.
“We better make a run for it,” I say. Blake nods in agreement and I push the door open.
11
PRESENT DAY
Ibrace my hands on the bathroom countertop, inhaling deeply as I stare at the floor. I step back with one leg, stretching my calf muscles and then switching to the opposite side. I roll one ankle at a time, trying to focus on keeping my breathing even as I do anything I can to clear my mind.
Inhale.
Exhale.
I lift my head slowly, my baby blue pajama tank top coming into view before the reflection of my face in the mirror, my hair still damp and cheeks still flushed from the shower I just took.
I stare at myself for a long time, not breaking my own eye contact. I feel my breathing intensify the harder I try to relax myself. My mind feels like it’s racing a million miles an hour. My eyes fall shut and I rub my hands once over my face before lacing my fingers together and resting them on top of my head, using a trick Steph taught me from her many years of athletic experiences. I instantly feel the air refill my lungs, my heart rate becoming manageable.
The same thoughts and questions swirl in my head on repeat, each one fighting for my attention. I feel tears threatening my eyes and immediately open them, not allowing any such thing. I blink hard a few times, raising my arms even higher. My gaze flicks to the side, my heart instantly slamming once painfully against my ribcage when my attention lands on the two inch span of black ink fully on display on my right inner bicep.
My breathing stops altogether as I study the decade old tattoo I always forget that I have until it randomly comes into view once in a blue moon. Even when I am reminded of its existence, I never allow myself to give it thought, always instantly looking away from it.
This time, however, I don’t.
I trace the thin arrows with my eyes, the edges slightly blurring over time. I glance over each of the four letters, purposely finishing on the boldest of the group.
I zero in on theE, letting out a sharp breath.
ForEvangeline.
I blink harder.
To remind you at the end of the day to trust yourself and your instincts when you don’t know what direction to take next.
I drop my arms roughly, hiding the tattoo from view.
If only it were that simple.
My eyes flick back to the mirror when I hear a rustle behind me and what I see causes conflicting feelings to rise in my chest. A comforting warmth of familiarity and an uneasy pang of frustration.
“Hey, babe.”
Remy leans against the doorway. His slacks are still on from work but his boots and button-up top are gone, leaving only a gray t-shirt still covering his chest.
“Hey,” I respond, meeting his gaze in the mirror.
His lips pull to the side as his hazel eyes study me. I can’t decide if it’s regret or concern I see flickering through them.
Remy stares at me for several more seconds before letting out a sigh and pushing off the wall. He closes the distance between us, sweeping my hair over one shoulder. My body instantly stiffens in response.
“I’m sorry, Apple Jacks,” he says, wrapping his arms around my waist and trailing kisses across my shoulder.
Regret.
It was regret in his eyes.
“I’m sorry if I was a dick to your friend.”
