Page 53 of Christmas with Four Tattoo Artists

“Shit,” Kai said. “I’m sorry.”

I pursed my lips and nodded in response. It’d been over a decade since I’d lost Mom and Dad, but the pain was still fresh. Wounds like that never really healed, no matter how thick the scar was.

“I've been on my own since I was sixteen."

Their faces were filled with concern, with care, and I pressed on, not wanting to lose my momentum. "When they passed, I got tossed into the foster care system. No aunt or uncle was fit to take me, most of them drunks or addicts or something just as bad. I went from home to home, never really fitting in, never really finding a place where I felt I belonged."

I looked down, my hands trembling as I remembered those dark days. "I kept my head down, made it through until I was sixteen. After that, I emancipated myself. I moved out and started from scratch with nothing more than the clothes on my back and a determination to make something of myself, to not have to rely on anyone else. I found a tiny studio apartment with money I’d saved from a paper route, finished high school, and put myself through community college, working two restaurant jobs just to make ends meet."

The words were coming easier now, the dam having broken, my story pouring out of me. "I love to read. Books were always my escape, ever since I was a kid. Kind of my way of leaving reality behind, if only for a little while. And somewhere along the way, I realized that I wanted to write. I wanted to become an author. I don’t know, I guess I figured that if there was anyone else like me out there, a girl who’d lost everything, she could read my story and realize she’s not so alone. Maybe it’d help her be a little less scared.”

I looked up, meeting their eyes, seeing the respect and admiration in their faces. "So I spend most of my spare time writing. Blog posts, articles, anything that pays. I write for cash on different freelancing networks, scraping together every penny I can, hoping that someday, I'll be able to make a living doing what I love."

The room was silent when I finished, the weight of my words hanging heavy in the air.

“You’ve got the talent,” Kai said. “Not a damn bit of doubt about it.”

I don’t know what it was. Maybe it was thinking and talking about my past, maybe it was how vulnerable I felt, maybe it was the faces of the guys as they looked at me, admiration and care written in their expressions.

The tears surprised me, slipping down my cheeks before I had a chance to stop them. I'd never been the type of woman to cry in front of anyone, always the strong one, always in control. I had to be. But as the memories of my past washed over me, as the pain and the struggle and the loneliness came flooding in, I found myself unable to hold them back.

"I'm sorry," I choked out, wiping at my tears, feeling foolish and vulnerable. "I don't know what's gotten into me.”

They were on their feet in an instant, surrounding me with their strong arms, words of comfort and reassurance filling my ears.

"It's okay," Finn whispered, his voice gentle. "You don't have to be strong all the time. Not with us."

"You're free to be who you are," James added, his hand on my back, his touch warm and comforting. "You don't have to hide anything.”

I leaned into them, letting their strength support me, allowing their affection and acceptance to wash over me. Something profound and deep inside me shifted.

For the first time in as long as I could remember, I felt truly seen, truly understood. I felt a connection, a bond that went beyond the physical, beyond the superficial. I felt a sense of belonging, a sense of being part of something bigger than myself.

I'd exposed myself, not just through my writing, but through my story, through the very essence of who I was. I'd laid myself bare, and to my surprise, instead of judgment or rejection, I’d found acceptance.

As the tears continued to flow, as the guys continued to hold me and comfort me, I realized that I'd found something else, too.

I'd found a home.

Finally, the tears subsided, and I pulled away, wiping at my eyes, feeling a sense of peace and contentment that I hadn't felt in a long time.

"Thank you," I said, my voice soft, my words filled with gratitude. "All of you. Thank you for being here, for accepting me for who I am."

"You know, Jules, with a story like that, we might have to start calling you the Jane Austin of Miami," Andrew quipped, winking at me.

"I don't know about that," I shot back, grinning. "Let’s see if anyone actually wants to pay to read what I’ve written before I start thinking about titles, as appealing as that one might be.”

Laughter and joy filled the room, warm and comforting, and I felt my sadness fading, replaced by the happiness of being with them, the contentment of knowing that I was truly accepted.

The moment was shattered by the sharp ring of James' phone. He glanced at the screen, his brow furrowing, his expression darkening.

"Shit, it’s Carlos, gotta take this.” He raised the phone as he stepped away, his voice tight as he answered.

We all fell silent, watching him, sensing that something was wrong. His conversation was brief, his words clipped and tense, and when he hung up, his face was ashen, his eyes filled with anger and confusion.

"What is it?” Kai asked.

James took a deep breath. “The shop. It’s been wrecked.”

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