Page 31 of Brittle Heart

I need to stop staring.

“We’re just finishing up. I’ll take some pictures, wrap her up, and then we can leave,” Xander says as he returns to the table, and I stand beside him.

I gaze up at Clay and see the moment it hits him. “Hey, Karen,” he smirks.

I don’t say anything, looking back down at my arm.

“Her name is Carolina,” Xander grumbles while taking pictures of my arm, holding it outstretched, his grip on my wrist gentle.

“Right,” Clay says, and when I glance at him, he grins without a hint of shame or remorse.

I don’t react, my attention back on Xander, who is now wrapping Saran Wrap around my arm. Clay leans over the counter, trying to catch a glimpse.

Xander finishes taping everything and releases his grip on my wrist, allowing me to pull down the sleeve of my sweater to cover the tattoo.

“Did you get something cool?” Clay asks, his curiosity evident.

“The goal wasn’t for it to be cool,” I say flatly, reaching for my backpack.

Looking back up, I notice Xander smiling to himself.

This man is going to kill me if he ever happens to smile at me.

I walk up to the register, and Xander follows suit, ringing me up and giving me some aftercare cream and instructions on taking care of my new tattoo.

“Thank you again, I love it. Maybe I’ll see you again,” I say, turning to leave.

Clay says happily, “See you, Karen.”

I don’t even turn around while I retort in a bored tone, “Bye,Clark,” and open the door, hearing him chuckle.

* * *

Xander

“Why were you so rude to her? And how do you even know her?” I ask Clay, his treatment of Carolina does not sit well with me.

She looked so vulnerable, yet there was a strength in her eyes. A resilience. That’s probably why I felt an immediate need to protect her, even from Clay’s banter. The way she presented herself felt so familiar, hauntingly so.

Why did her pain feel so palpable?

I can’t remember the last person to tug at my soul the way she did.

He grins. “Nah… I wasn’t being rude. She knows I’m just joking around.” My brows furrow, but I remain silent, continuing to look at him. “Seriously, babe, I like her. She’s so fucking unfazed, it’s iconic. You should see her at work.”

But is she truly unfazed?

Or has she perfected the art of hiding behind a wall like I had to?

There was a weight about her, something that said she’d been through a lot and, perhaps, was still going through it. That same weight used to look back at me when I’d catch my reflection during the darkest times in my life. Times when my father’s oppressive presence threatened to swallow me whole. The look in her eyes mirrored the look I once held—a look that spoke of trauma, fear, and the desperate attempts to keep going despite it all.

I tilt my head. “At work?”

He takes my hand in his, linking our fingers. “You remember the girl I was teasing Josh about earlier this week? The cute but fiery gothic one?”

Fiery? Or just trying to fight off the darkness?

My eyes widen in realization. “That’s her?”

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