Page 127 of So Wild

“It isn’t.” Scott wiped the tear away. “Ten years ago, your father told me to find something to run toward, not from. I didn’t understand what he meant then, but now I do. I don’t want to live in fear, I want to live in love. I want to run towards you.”

Another tear fell onto Sam’s cheek. “I want to run towards you, too.”

“So why hesitate?” Scott whispered. “What’s a tattoo compared to us finally figuring this thing out?”

He had a point, but that wasn’t what made Sam agree. It was the feeling in her gut that said everything was going to be okay and she could do whatever she liked. As soon as she felt that, she knew she’d wanted to give Scott his first tattoo and that if it was for a competition in front of a crowd, then that would make a hell of a story.

“Okay,” she whispered. “I’ll tattoo you. But the rest of this love conversation will have to wait for a more appropriate time.”

“I can live with that, but there will be a tax.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. Kiss me?”

Sam pretended to consider the idea before pressing her mouth to his. In that moment, everything extraneous vanished. There was no Fadeout, no Silver Daughters, no worries or plans for the future. She was rooted in the present, within herself and him. She loved Scott. She’d loved him from the moment she saw he’d climbed the tree outside her window in his little shirt and tie. She loved his gentleness and his wit, she loved his smile and posh voice. She wanted to run toward him.

Somewhere nearby a speaker crackled to life, announcing the theme of heaven and hell and the start of the thirty minute sketch period.

Scott pulled away from her, beaming. “Are you ready to win?”

“Yes,” Sam said, but the truth was she’d stopped caring about winning Fadeout Festival the moment she saw him.

“Glad to hear it.” He released her hands. “We don’t have to keep the love conversation going but I want you to know one more thing—yesterday was the last time I don’t return your calls. From now on, I’m in your corner. I have no intention of letting you go. I’m going to be—”

“Faithful,” Sam interrupted. Her head was suddenly full of the most wonderful, the most perfect image. “Sorry, Scott. That’s super nice and I get the gist, but I need a pen…”

And because he was a wonderful human being, Scott found one and a notepad and let her sit down without another word.

Time vanished as Sam drew. She drew a shining steel helmet on a field of cracked black earth, beside it were several long white feathers, dripping red at the tips. In the middle distance stood a man with bleeding wings. In one hand he carried a sword, in the other, the dripping head of a demon. Sam was so absorbed in her work that once she was done she looked up to see not only Scott and Nicole, but Tabby, Noah and Toby watching her.

“Uh, hey everyone,” she said. “How long have you been there?”

“Long enough. Greetings, by the way. Tat looks sweet.” Tabby was holding one of the puppies and when Sam looked down, she saw the other five and their mother milling about her feet, drawing adoring gazes from passersby.

“I can’t believe you brought the puppies.”

“I can’t believe you can’t believe I would do that.” Tabby hoisted the puppy higher onto her chest. “They’re great promotional tools. Everyone loves puppies.”

Sam opened her mouth to tell her she was a psychopath, but Scott placed a hand on her arm. “Can I see what you’ve done?”

“Oh, of course.” She held up her pad so everyone could take a look.

“Nice,” Noah grunted. “Solid negative space.”

“It’s amazing,” Nicole agreed. “Do you think you’ll be able to do it in three hours?”

“Yeah, it’s not too different from things I’ve done before.” Sam looked to Scott for the only opinion that mattered. The look of wonder on his face made her heart feel tight as a drum skin. “Do you like it?”

Scott smiled softly. “The angel won the battle?”

“Yes, but there was a price.”

“There always is.”

Sam gestured him closer. “Look what’s written on the visor.”

Scott bent over to study the minute writing.“‘My strength is as the strength of ten men, because my heart is pure.’” He looked at her. “Galahad wasn’t an angel.”

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