Page 35 of X's and O's
And her standing here, staring at me, listening to me reject her, even if it was for her own good, would be hurting her all over again.
I’d already done that enough tonight.
Forcing her to listen to the truth wouldn’t change the outcome.
That I couldn’t be with her, no matter how much I wanted to be.
Boyd pounced on me the minute I got back to the halfway house. He flapped my sketchbook around in my face. “I found one! This is perfect!”
At some point on the ride home, I’d gone numb. Not the sort of numb that came from riding for hours, but the sort that started deep inside and spread, Violet’s words and the hurt on her face leaving a hole inside me that ached.
I stared down at the drawing of a rose wrapped up in a thorny vine.
On the opposite side of the page was a deep-purple violet, the stem turning into her name as I’d moved down the page.
I’d drawn it the night I’d received her first letter.
My fingers crumpled in the paper, tearing it from the book.
Boyd stabbed a thick finger at the rose drawing. “That one, dumbass. Not the violet. I want this rose, but I want my wife’s name on there somewhere too. Come down to the tattoo shop with me?”
I tossed the crumpled-up violet tattoo into the trash can with a heavy heart. “Sure. Whatever.”
I didn’t care what we did.
Not when Violet’s hurt was all I could think about.
God, I was a fucking piece of shit. The thought ofnever getting another letter from her seemed unimaginable. I’d had multiple letters a week from her for months, and now, in the space of one awkward five-minute conversation, that had come to an end.
The tattoo shop on the main road that ran through Saint View still looked the same as before I’d gotten locked up. I’d spent a ton of time here over the years, getting work done, watching as the guys marked up my skin with ink.
“How’s it going?” Dax asked when we entered. His gaze slipped past Boyd but stopped on me. “Holy shit, Reaper? Get the fuck outta town!”
His grin widened, and he came out from behind the desk, slapping his palm against mine and pulling me in for a hug. “I had no idea you were out!”
I hugged him back. “Only been a week. Good to see you, brother.”
Dax pulled back, and for the second time that night, someone’s gaze drifted across my skin. But unlike Violet’s, which had made me feel hot beneath the collar, Dax’s gaze was purely an artist studying his work.
“Tats look good. You got any that need touching up?”
I shook my head. “Nope. You do quality work.”
He winked. “I know. But doesn’t hurt to be sure you didn’t go doing something dumb like letting some prison inmate scar up your skin.”
I shook my head. “You’re my guy.”
Dax leaned back against one of the padded tattoo tables. “So what are we doing tonight?”
I pointed at Boyd. “Not me. Him.”
Dax’s gaze slid to Boyd. “You know what you want done?”
Boyd pushed the piece of paper he’d ripped from my sketchbook toward Dax. “I want to get this with my wife’s name.”
Dax took the artwork and studied it, whistling low under his breath. “Never a good idea to get a woman’s name on your skin, bro. Done too many cover-ups not to warn you of that.”
I chuckled. “I said the same thing.”
