Then Dean's fingers are brushing my shoulder.
And his chest is against my back.
And his words are in my ears.
"Everything okay, sunshine?"
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chloe
It's such a funny question.
Is everything okay?
I spent the better part of a year coming to terms with the possibility of dying. Hell, after two weeks of chemo, it didn't seem like such a bad option. Certainly better than another round of the treatment that killed me from the outside. At least, if cancer took my life, I wouldn't go out feeling like I was dying. At least, not until the very end.
But things turned around. The tumor shrunk. The double mastectomy was successful. The disease didn't spread past my chest wall (pretty much a death sentence).
I was glad to be done with injecting poison into my veins and struggling through surgical recovery and waiting around in dull hospital rooms.
But I didn't know how to be alive anymore. I didn't know how to face my future. I had no idea what to do with the world of possibilities that opened up in front of me.
For so long, my only choice was what to watch on TV, which frozen dinner to eat, spending my energy on drawing or meeting Gia for coffee.
All of a sudden, I could do anything.
It paralyzed me for a while. I was stiff and awkward amongst the healthy. But I figured it out, bit by bit. I went to aikido. I swam laps at the gym. I took figure drawing classes and got new tattoos and begged artists to consider training me.
And then Dean came back into my life and he opened up everything.
My world, my body, my heart.
I thought I was okay with this possibility.
With him sticking by my side no matter what.
I thought I needed that.
No, I do.
But I can't do it to him.
I can't be the weight around his neck.
I know what it feels like, watching someone you love die. Wanting, more than anything, to save them, but knowing there's nothing you can do.
He can't save me.
But I can save him.
I have to.
"Chlo'." He rubs my upper arms with a soft, sweet touch. "Your dad okay?" He sells the words, but it's clear he doesn't believe me.
"Yeah. He's fine." I bite my lips. How the hell do I get out of this? We have an appointment in an hour and a half. We have work all week. I'm supposed to sit by his side and watch him all… all year.
But then this apprenticeship was never going to work out.
Not with the two of us desperate to tear each other's clothes off every three seconds.
And not if…
If I'm out of time, it's not as if I'll be able to learn to be a tattoo artist anyway.
"But I… Uh…" I can't tell him the truth. He won't take it. I need to convince him I want him gone. That it's because I don't love him. Not because I do.
Gently, he turns me around.
His hand goes to my chin. He tilts my head toward him. Until I'm looking up at him.
And he's looking down at me.
My eyes dart around the room. I look everywhere else. Anywhere else. The string lights. The framed art. The open office door. The windows looking out on the dirty Venice street. The beach beyond that.
The blue sky mocking me with its endless brightness.
"What's wrong?" His voice is soft. Loving.
"I was just thinking."
"About?" He cups my cheek with his palm. Catches a tear with his thumb. "You're crying."
"No." I shake my head, but it does nothing to stem the tears catching on my lashes. Fuck this. I can't cry in front of him. That's giving it away.
And, well, this isn't going to be like it was with my mom. I'm going to find the strength to convince him I can handle this. To convince him I'm okay.
I suck my breath through my teeth, but that doesn't help.
When I blink, tears catch on my lashes. Then they're everywhere.
The room goes blurry.
"I'm sorry." I rest my forehead against his chest. Dig my fingers into the soft fabric of his shirt.
"Hey." He wraps his arms around me.
One presses into my lower back.
The other curls into my hair.
"You're gonna be okay, sunshine. I promise."
I shake my head.
"Yeah. Maybe not for as long as either one of us would like, but you will be okay."
Fuck. He knows.
Of course, he knows.
Why else would I be bawling in the middle of the shop?
I…
I can't let him follow me down this road.
If I only do one thing, it will be this.
"Come on. I'll drive you back to my place. You can take the rest of the week off. Get your head on straight."
"But—"
"You're right. I'll cancel the rest of today's appointments."
"No, Dean." I try to push myself away from him, but I can't. He feels too good. "Stop. Listen."
He runs his fingers through my hair.
I look up at him. Finally.
There's hurt in his expression but just barely. Mostly, he looks confident. Sure. Like he's ready to do anything to make this better for me.
Maybe he is.
God, I hope he is.
"It's not that. It's probably nothing," I say. "Probably a cyst."
"You don't have to convince me of shit."
That's where he's wrong. I do.
And I have to sell the hell out of it.
"I'm fine. The follow-up is just a precaution."
His eyes bore into mine. They pick me apart. Demand every thought in my head.
"That isn't what I want to talk about."
"You don't want to talk about how your can—"
"Don't say it here. Please." I wrap my fingers around his wrists. "The thing is…"
He stares back, patient and caring.
"I think… No, I know… No… Forget the qualifiers. I'm breaking up with you."
Chapter Thirty-Five
Dean
I blink twice.
It does nothing to change the situation.
Chloe is still standing in front of me, tears streaking her dark eyes, lips curled into a frown.
She's still curling into herself.
She's still about to break.
"I should go." She takes a step backward. "I'll call later. We can work out what I'm doing with the apprenticeship. I should probably be somewhere else anyway."
"I want you here."
"No. I… I can't be here." Her gaze meets mine for a second. She stares into me, offering something, an apology or an explanation, I'm not sure.
Then she turns and her gaze settles on her combat boot.
Her left foot is still bare.
"Oh. I should… I should get that. Then go." She slides her hands into her front pockets. Slowly, she turns back to the office.
I stare into her eyes, but she refuses to meet my gaze.
To say anything.
To offer a fucking clue.
"Why are you running away from this?" It's far too insightful, but that's what she does to me. She wakes up this other part of me. Fuck, I love that part of me.
"It's doesn't matter. I'm breaking up with you."
I reach for a response, but nothing comes.
This doesn't make any sense.
It's fucking bizarre.
There's no way she's okay. Not with the way she was crying. But her voice is calm and even. Like she's talking about the weather or her schedule or her favorite tea.
Not like she's weighing life and death.
She moves around me on her way to the office. Her movements are soft. Quiet. Emma's emo album drowns it out. I'm not usually a fan of this whiny chordspam, but, fuck, right now, the angst feels just right.
Chloe steps out of the office with her backpack around her shoulders. "I'm sorry."
"Then stay."
Then she walks out of the shop and out of my life.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chloe
It's a dozen blocks to Dean's place. And there's my old Japanese sedan. Black, of course. With black leather seats, of course. And a black steering wheel cover, of course.
I slide inside, put on my favorite grunge album, hold it together for long enough to drive to my place.
Every step feels like a million miles. Climbing up the stairs takes everything I have.
But it's worth it for the quiet solitude of my room.
The soft embrace of my grey sheets.
This is the bed where Dean and I…
He's all over this room. In the old movie posters—the ones we watched together. In the tattoo mock-ups hanging on the walls. In the framed art from high school.
The smell of the sheets.
The mirror.
And the girl staring back at me in the reflection, asking me why the fuck I'm running from the person I need more than anything.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Dean
The afternoon is a blur of ink, skin, shitty music, quiet conversations. I fail to bring my usual banter. I distract my clients okay, but it's dull as doorknobs shit. Weather. Sports. Celebrity and shop gossip.
I cancel my gym session with Walker.
Jog around the beach instead.
Fail to find clarity.
It's not in my shower, on the couch where I fucked Chloe last night, on any cop show on TV, in a takeout Thai feast.
My bedroom is a mess of memories and feelings.
The feel of her fingertips against my skin.
That short black hair in my hands.
That strawberry shampoo.
She's the only thing in my head.
I find my cell. Shoot her a text.
Dean: You get home okay?
It takes an eternity for her to reply back. But she does.
Chloe: Yeah, thanks. I'll get in touch in a few days to talk about my apprenticeship. Until then, I want to be alone. I really appreciate the opportunity. You're a great teacher. I know you don't believe it, but you're a great guy. Good luck with everything.
It's as courteous as can be.
Like she's already over breaking my heart and walking away.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Dean
"Where's your better half?" Emma takes a long sip of her coffee. Her dark eyes fix on mine.
It's weird. She's nothing like Brendon, but the two of them have the same stare. The I don't know what you're doing, but I know it's wrong. I wish I could fix it, but, honestly, you're hopeless.
"Taking a few days off." The words feel funny on my tongue. I'm no stranger to lying. But doing it with a straightforward response? It's weird.
It's been twenty-four hours since Chloe walked out that door and it still doesn't feel real.
This is a bad dream.
Or maybe our whole relationship was a dream.
I was some better version of myself. She was exactly what I needed.
That kind of thing doesn't happen in reality.
Badasses in combat boots don't fall for assholes who threw them away.
"Why?" Emma's red nails tap the counter. She leans back on her stool. Places one hand on her lap. The other flat against the plastic. "What did you do?"
"All right, all right. I confess. I got carried away last night. Baby I want to split you in half was supposed to be a figure of speech, but one thing led to another."
"Uh-huh. Right."
She's seeing through my bullshit.
Time to deflect. "What's the deal with you and Hunter?"
Her cheeks flush immediately. "Who?"
"The guy you were fawning over yesterday."
She plays dumb.
"Who’s been your brother’s friend most of your life?"
"What about him?"
"He was looking at you the way a dog looks at a bone."
“Can you blame him?” She motions to her tight tank top.
I chuckle. “It was more than that.”
“He’s a man. I have boobs. I understand how it works.”
Her tits are nice, but that isn’t why he was staring. “He was staring like he’s into you.”
“No. He’s just babysitting me while Brendon is away.”
“That your kink?”
“Haha.” She makes a show of rolling her eyes.
“Please. Your brother is dirty as fuck. You think I’ll buy you as vanilla?”
“What did you do to Chloe?”
“What did you do to Hunter?”
“I told him to drop the babysitter bullshit.”
“Even though you kinda like it?”
“I do not.”
I nod.
She shakes her head. But it’s there in her dark eyes. She’s into it. She’s into him.
“You like a big, strong man looking out for you.”
“What? Cause I have daddy issues? Get some original material.”
“He’s hot.”
“So are you.”
“Thanks for noticing.”
She shoots me a get real look.
She takes none of my shit.
It’s one of the things I like about her.
Only…
Fuck does it make me think of Chloe.
Of her bad ass smile and the hurt in her dark eyes.
It’s easier teasing my friend than thinking about how I’m losing the woman I love. “You gonna fuck him or what?”
“You gonna fix this shit with Chloe?"
"You want to fuck him."
"There's a difference between finding a man attractive—"
"No. You want to tear his clothes off and ride him all night."
She tries and fails to play aloof.
Her teeth sink into her lip.
Her blush spreads down her neck.
Her chest heaves with her inhale.
It should thrill me, backing Em into a corner, getting her to spill.
But it doesn't.
It's empty. Same as my ten o'clock and my noon. And, fuck, the odds are bad that my one thirty will be any better.
"Just keep it to yourself." She presses her palms together. "Okay?"
No. Agreeing means this conversation is over. Which means I have no place to deflect. No armor. Nothing to stop her questions from piercing my gut. "I dunno. Seems like Brendon would want to know."
"You wouldn't narc and we both know it."
I wouldn't, but I can still bluff. "Try me."
"Sure." She stares me down. "Why is Chloe taking a few days off?"
"She has some shit to deal with."
"Which is…"
"None of your business."
"Why are you flinching when I say her name?"
"No idea what you're talking about."
"You do realize I was here yesterday when she stomped out the door crying?"
I shrug like I can barely recall yesterday afternoon.
"What the hell did you to do her, Dean?"
"Nothing."
"Well, fix it. I like her."
"I like her too."
"SO FIX IT."
"It's not fixable." The room hums with the sound of the air-conditioning. It competes with the chill, acoustic music flowing from the speakers. I'm not sure who picked this. Only that it's all wrong. Calm, peaceful vibes are the opposite of what I need.
My head is a storm. I need angry. Angsty. Miserable.
Emma slides off her stool. She moves around the counter and places herself next to me. "What happened?"
I shrug like it doesn't matter.
"Drop the chill act, Dean. It's obviously bullshit. What happened?"
"She ended shit."
"Why?"
"She didn't say."
"No way."
I nod. "Way." My voice cracks. Thinking about this is agony. But it's not like it's going anywhere. If Chloe is gone, if that's what she wants…
Nobody changes Chloe's mind. Not about anything.
Emma places her palms on the counter. Uses them to hoist herself onto it. "She really didn't say?"
"Yeah."
She taps her toes together. "But you…" She nudges me with her shoulder. "You must know why. What you did."
Why? "Maybe."
"Your eyes lit up. You know."
"Maybe."
"Well…"
I say nothing.
The door rings and Ryan steps into the shop. He holds his hand over his eyes, blocking the glare of the fluorescent lights.
Which is overkill, because he's bathed in sunlight.
Like an angel in all black.
Fuck, the sight of black jeans is a knife in my heart. That's all it takes. Black jeans.
There's no way I'm going to survive the next week.
Or the next month.
Or year.
"What did you do to him?" Ryan shoots Emma a curious look.
"Chloe ended things," she said.
"Fucking snitch." I pull out my cell. Open my address book. Scroll to Brendon. "Two can play that game."
"You think I'm scared you'll tell my brother I have a crush on a guy? And I don’t… I don’t even like him." Emma folds her arms, holding strong.
But the fear in her dark eyes gives her away.
"Yeah." I nod. Go to press dial.
She lunges for my phone.
I hold it over my head, but Emma is tall and she's wearing wedges. It's within reach.
I step backward.
Ryan moves between us. "Somebody explain."
"Emma has a crush on—" Damn, I can’t rat her out. It’s too low. "A client. He's coming in next week."
She flips me off.
Ryan looks to me with a get real expression. "You think I'm concerned about Emma's sex life?"
"If I was considering sleeping with a client, you'd crucify me," I say.
He rolls his eyes. Turns to Emma. "What happened with Chloe?"
"Yesterday, she came out here to answer a call. Then when Dean came out, she started crying. Really crying. And she stomped out of here. Dean looked miserable. And not even miserable for Dean. Straight-up heartbroken. He's been a shell of himself all day." Her eyes fill with concern.
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