by Laura Kaye
Thinking of her made him ache, but less and less with unworthiness, guilt, and fear. No, this ache stemmed from the hollowness caused by their long separation, by her absence from his life. He missed her so bad that his chest often throbbed with it, like he’d left a part of himself in her hands. And he unquestionably had.
He just needed a little more time. A little more time to get himself right. A little more time to make peace with the past. A little more time to become the man that Makenna deserved and Caden wanted to be.
He just needed a little more time.
A few nights later, Caden was sitting at his kitchen table writing out bills and suddenly found himself staring at the dragon tattoo on the back of his right hand and arm.
He saw it every day, of course. But for some reason, he hadn’t actually seen it in a very long time. He hadn’t remembered why it was there.
The tattoo had been a declaration and a promise. A declaration to himself that he’d conquered his fears, and a promise to his brother, Sean, that Caden would be strong, that Caden wouldn’t live his life in fear when Sean couldn’t live his at all.
“I forgot to be the dragon, Sean. But I won’t forget again,” he said out loud.
Which gave him an idea.
He placed a call, got lucky making an appointment, and booked it out of the house. Caden made it to Heroic Ink within twenty minutes.
“Glad you called, man,” Heath said, extending his hand. “Been slow as fucking molasses in here all day.”
Caden returned the handshake. “This is win-win then because I really wanted to get in tonight.”
“Well, come on back and let’s rock and roll,” Heath said. “Flying solo?”
“Yeah,” Caden said, the reference to Makenna not making him sad and regretful—for once, but making him even more confident in what he was about to do. Because clearly, he was in need of a new reminder, a new declaration, a new promise. And ink had always been part of his process for coping and healing.
“So tell me what you’re thinking,” Heath said, gesturing to the chair at his station.
“It’s text. I want it on my left forearm, big as you can make it.” As he sat, he handed Heath a sheet of paper he’d written on in the Jeep.
Heath nodded. “Want any embellishments? Flowers? Ribbon? Flourishes. Have any thoughts on font?”
“I’m open. You know what looks good, and I always like what you come up with. Just so the words are bold and the most prominent thing about the piece, I’ll be happy,” Caden said.
“Gimme ten to pull something together,” Heath said, opening up his laptop. It didn’t even take ten minutes. “What about something like this?”
Caden’s gaze ran over the design on the screen. It was different from anything he’d imagined, so naturally it was perfect. “Do it. Just like that.”
The first dig of the needles into his skin was like a balm to his soul. He’d always loved the feeling of getting a tattoo. He liked the pain because it reminded him he was alive. Enduring it always made him feel stronger. And each new piece always left him feeling like he’d donned a new plate in the suit of armor he’d spent a lifetime creating.
This one was no different.
What Heath had designed was intricate, and good-looking lettering took time, so Caden was there a long while. But he was totally fucking content. For once. Even though tattoos on the forearm hurt like a mofo.
About two and a half hours later, Heath said, “All done.”
Caden hadn’t been watching because he wanted to wait for the full effect when the tat was done. Now, he looked.
Solid black cursive words sat at an angle on his forearm in groups of twos, reading from his wrist to his inner elbow:
One Life / One Chance / No Regrets
Open-faced red roses flanked the top and bottom of the words and wrapped around his arm, while red and black flourishes curved out from some of the letters and around the flowers. The center of the bottom rose morphed into a clock with Roman numerals to remind him that time was always ticking—and wasting, if you didn’t play things right. The way Heath had combined the elements looked phenomenal.
Caden might’ve survived that accident fourteen years before, but he’d never really understood why. He’d never really felt he had anything specific to live for. Meeting Makenna had changed all that, even if Caden had been too mired in the past to see it at the time. But now that he was working so hard to get himself healthy again, he saw it with a clarity that was startling.
Caden wanted a chance for a life with Makenna. And though he knew there was a chance she wouldn’t take him back after what he’d done, he at least had to try.
“Fantastic work as always, Heath. Thank you,” Caden said.
“Anytime. I hope it gives you what you need,” Heath said, leaning in to bandage the piece.
“Me too,” Caden said. “Me too.” And though so much remained uncertain, Caden couldn’t help but marvel at how far he’d come these past six weeks. Because, sitting there in that chair with his arm on fire, Caden’s soul felt lighter than it had in longer than he could remember because he’d renewed his commitment to Sean.
And, more importantly, to himself.
Chapter Twenty
Lying in bed on his day off, something Caden’s therapist had said at his last session pinged around in his brain: Find ways to close the door on the past.
Caden had been thinking about it for days, wanting to find a way to do just that so he could start looking forward instead of always looking back. It was the last thing he needed to figure out before he’d feel ready to go after what he wanted.
Makenna James.
His gaze drifted to the stuffed bear on his nightstand, the one she’d given him to make him feel better. All these weeks, he’d kept it close—well, he hadn’t slept with the damn thing because he was a twenty-eight-year-old man, after all—but he liked having something she’d touched close by.
And Makenna was what Caden most wanted. If she’d have him. And who the hell knew. Given the way he’d bailed on her—abandoned her, really, he might as well call a spade a fucking spade—he wouldn’t blame her for slamming the door in his face.
Dr. Ward’s advice had stemmed from discussing Caden’s realization that he’d let the past control him so much that he’d made his own worst fears come true. The question was, what the hell did it mean to close the door on the past? How was Caden supposed to do that? All the people involved in the accident that he’d let define his life were gone. And he’d never been one who’d found any answers or solace in talking to gravestones.
The only thing that left was the scene of the accident itself.
Caden had never once gone back. Had never even thought about it. Truth be told, it scared him more than a little.
Which was probably why he should do it.
He gave it one last thought, and then he hauled his ass out of bed, showered, and got dressed. In his spare bedroom, he rooted through boxes of his father’s things looking for the file from the insurance investigation into the accident. His father had died last August, and Caden hadn’t kept many of the man’s belongings—only the paperwork related to settling the estate, family photo albums that Caden hadn’t even known his old man still had, and a few things from around the house that Caden had always associated with his mother. What he’d wanted of Sean’s belongings Caden had claimed years before.
Caden was on his fifth box when he found what he was looking for. He pulled the thick folder from a stack and flipped it open. His gaze skimmed over things Caden didn’t really want to re-read in detail—the specifics of his mother’s and brother’s injuries, first and foremost—until he found the location information for the accident that had occurred along Route 50 in Wicomico County, Maryland.
Bingo. Time for his biggest—and hopefully last—journey into the past.
The ninety-minute ride to the general area flew by, probably because Caden wasn’t looking forward to confronting what he had to confront, but
it took longer to find the actual stretch of highway where his family had crashed.
The investigation file listed a mile marker, which was the first piece of information he had to narrow his search, and there were also pictures of the accident itself. He’d seen them—and the whole file—before. When he was sixteen, he’d found the file and read it cover to cover, needing every gory detail like a junkie needed a fix. Caden had thought knowing would help, but it had just provided fodder for his subconscious to twist into nightmares and guilt and fear.
So he didn’t spend a lot of time looking at the photographs now—except to take note of the fact that the ditch and field where the car had landed were immediately after a long line of trees, which was part of what had kept anyone that night from seeing the over-turned car for so many hours.
First, Caden saw the mile marker, and then he found the tree line. He pulled the Jeep onto the side of the road. Sitting in the driver’s seat, Caden surveyed the scene, but beyond his knowledge of the photographs, not a thing there looked familiar. And why would it? The accident had occurred late at night and, by the time daylight broke, Caden had been out of his mind.
Taking a deep breath, Caden got out of the Jeep and walked around to the grass. The irrigation ditch was still there, creating a deep slope downward just a few feet off the edge of the road. He climbed into it. Stood there. Crouched down and placed his hand against the frozen earth where two people he’d loved had died.
Not a day goes by that I don’t think of you, Mom and Sean. I’m sorry I lost you. I love you. And I’m trying so damn hard to make you proud.
Closing his eyes, he let his head hang on his shoulders.
A tractor trailer roared past, and the sound of it was familiar enough to send cold chills down Caden’s back. But Caden wasn’t trapped in that car. He wasn’t. Not anymore.
He rose to his feet and looked around for one last minute. There weren’t any ghosts there. There weren’t any answers there. The past wasn’t there.
The realization brought both relief and frustration. Relief that he’d come to this place and found it to be…just a place. Just an ordinary roadside sitting under the winter gray sky. Frustration because going there hadn’t brought him any closer to figuring out how to close the door on the past.
What else could give him any sense of closure?
Back in the Jeep, he flipped through the investigation file. A name caught his attention. David Talbot. The paramedic who’d been the first person Caden was aware of on the scene of the accident. What Caden most remembered about the man was the kindness of his voice, the reassurances he kept offering, the way he explained everything that was happening even though Caden hadn’t really been capable of following it. The man’s words had helped ground Caden after a long night of not knowing what was real, and Caden had always been convinced that David Talbot was the only thing that had kept him from going insane. And staying there.
Holy shit, why hadn’t Caden thought of Talbot before? Would the guy even be around? Maybe it was a long shot after fourteen years, but Caden’s gut said there was something to this idea. It certainly couldn’t hurt.
A quick search on his smart phone revealed that Talbot’s firehouse in Pittsville was only a few minutes away. Caden made his way there not knowing what to expect, or whether he should expect anything at all.
The Pittsville Volunteer Fire Department was a two-building complex with the main firehouse having five bay doors, all of which stood open. Yellow and white fire and E.M.S. apparatus occupied each bay, and a line of pick-up trucks filled the lot off to one side. Caden pulled his Jeep in line with the trucks and hopped out.
His pulse kicked up a notch as he approached the firehouse, and his chest filled with an odd pressure borne of anticipation. He stepped into the bay housing a heavy rescue truck and headed in the direction of voices, but something caught his eye. A big number 7 on the side of the truck.
Prickles ran over Caden’s scalp. Pittsville’s fire department was Station 7? The same number as the station he worked in. The same station number he had tattooed on his biceps. What were the fucking chances?
“Can I help you?” came a voice from further inside.
Caden turned to see an older man with a beard and moustache standing by the end of the truck. “Yeah, sorry. My name is Caden Grayson. I’m E.M.S. over in Arlington County, Virginia,” he said, extending a hand to the other man.
“Well, how ‘bout that. Welcome. I’m Bob Wilson,” the man said as they shook. “What brings you over our way?” he asked with a smile. One of the things Caden loved about working in fire and E.M.S.—the community you could find with others in the same line of work.
“Something personal, actually. An accident that happened fourteen years ago.” Anticipation made Caden’s gut feel like he was riding a roller coaster about to crest the highest hill. “Any chance a paramedic named David Talbot is still around?”
“Dave? Hell, yeah. We tried getting rid of the guy but he just sticks to us like fleas on a dog.” Bob smiled and winked.
“Shit, really?” Caden said, disbelief at this…good luck washing over him. “I knew it might be a long-shot.”
“Nope. We’re all pretty much long-timers here,” Bob said, gesturing for Caden to follow. “Come on back. He’s here. We had a call earlier, so you got lucky. Otherwise you woulda had to track him down at home.”
As they made their way deeper into the big building, nervousness suddenly flooded through Caden’s veins. The last time he and David Talbot had seen each other, Caden had been a wreck in every sense of the word. If anyone in Caden’s life had seen him at his lowest, at his worst, at his most vulnerable, it was Talbot. Caden was so unprepared for the possibility of ever meeting this man—this man who represented such a positive force in Caden’s life—that he wasn’t sure what he was going to say.
Bob led them into the firehouse’s dining room where eight men were sitting around the table talking and laughing, empty plates sitting in front of them. “Everyone,” Bob said, “this is Caden Grayson. He’s E.M.S. over in Arlington County, Virginia.” A round of greetings rose up, and Caden gave a wave. “He came to see you, Dave.”
Caden’s gaze did a fast scan around the table, but he couldn’t immediately identify Talbot. And then the man at the far end of the table turned to look at him, and Caden was suddenly sucked fourteen years into the past. When a man with a friendly face and a calming voice had put a traumatized fourteen-year-old kid at ease and saved his life.
“Me, huh?” Talbot said, rising and coming over to Caden. He extended a hand. “Dave Talbot. What can I do for you?”
Caden returned the shake, the oddest sense of déjà vu washing over him. “Well, Mr. Talbot, it’s about what you’ve already done for me. Fourteen years ago, you were the first on the scene of a single-vehicle accident. And you saved my life.”
What Caden needed to say was profoundly obvious, and he didn’t even feel awkward about saying it in front of the other men who were all blatantly curious about what was going on.
“I know a long time has passed, but I need to say thank you. And I need to tell you that what you did for me that day made me want to help people, too. It’s why I went E.M.S. I know we don’t always get to know what happens to someone after we transport them to the hospital, so we don’t get to know the impact we might’ve had. I wanted you to know that yours was huge. And I appreciate the hell out of it every day.” Bone-deep satisfaction spread through Caden at getting to pay respect to this man after all this time.
You could’ve heard a pin drop in that room.
Dave was visibly moved by Caden’s words. The older man studied Caden’s face then looked at the scar that jagged along the side of his head. “Well, I’ll be damned,” Dave said, his voice strained. “Overturned station wagon?” he said, almost as if thinking out loud.
“Yeah,” Caden said, a lump lodging in his throat.
“I remember you,” Dave said, clasping Caden’s arm. “It’s a real ple
asure to see you, son.” He shook his head and cleared his throat, emotion plain on his face. “This is a helluva thing right now. Damn.”
“I remember that call,” another of the men said, coming around the table to join them. “Some of them stick with you, especially when there are kids involved, and that was one for me.” The man extended a hand. “Frank Roberts. I was real sorry for what you went through.”
“Frank,” Caden said, returning the shake. “Thank you. That means a lot.”
“I was on that one, too, said a white-haired man sitting at the table. Damn impressed that you’re in this line of work after that accident. A lot of people wouldn’t be able to do that. Wallace Hart, by the way,” he said, giving a little wave.
Caden nodded, just about as gobsmacked as he could be that these men were not only still here but actually remembered him, too. Remembered what had happened. His father had never been willing to discuss the accident. Hell, his father had barely talked to Caden beyond that which was strictly required for basic life logistics, so to find people after all this time who’d been there, who knew what’d happened, who’d known Caden then. Dave was right. That was a helluva thing.
“You have time to sit?” Dave asked. “I could grab you a cup of coffee. And we have pie.”
A little overcome by their reaction to him, Caden nodded. “Does anyone say no to pie?”
“Not if they’re in their right fucking mind,” Frank said to a round of laughter.
Some of the men cleared out, leaving Caden, Dave, Frank, and Wallace at the table. The other three men all had a good twenty or more years on Caden, which maybe explained why they talked to and looked at him in almost a fatherly way. They asked about the aftermath of the accident, about what he’d done after school, about his training and station, and about his personal life—whether he had a family of his own.
“Not yet,” Caden said, finishing the last bite of his apple pie. “Truth be told, I had someone, but I messed it up. I’ve struggled with PTSD and anxiety ever since the accident, and I let it get the best of me. I’ve been working on how to make it right. How to make myself right. I guess that’s what led me here.” It felt right to be honest with them. And, frankly, he was in the middle of a more meaningful conversation about his life than any he’d ever had with his own old man.