MidnightInk-epub

by MI

  Always, in the past, Declan had felt as though he could tell Sophie anything, confide secrets he wouldn’t dream of mentioning to anyone else. The idea that maybe things had changed, that he couldn’t do that now, disappointed him almost as much as the sight of her super-short hair—and that he still could not believe.

  Her hair had been fucking gorgeous long—soft, thick, goddess-quality, honey-gold waves. She knew how much he’d always loved it, so she couldn’t possibly be surprised by his reaction. He had vivid memories of just how it had felt to have those silky strands wrapped around his fist—far more vivid than they should be for being a good five years old, and even despite the fact that he’d jerked off to her image in his mind more times over the years than he cared to count.

  For all that she’d complained about New Orleans heat and threatened to cut her hair short at least ten times every summer, he’d never imagined she’d actually go through with it. She’d liked it too much when he tugged on it—especially when he was bending her over and taking her from behind or if she was on her knees sucking him off. Or…any time really. Any time at all.

  “Whatever.” He sighed as he shook off the memories. What did it matter if she cut her hair—or if she shaved her head or dyed her eyelashes green, for that matter? He wasn’t going to be around for more than a few days to see it anyhow. Nowadays, his home was almost three thousand miles away, and that suited him just fine. But, still, while he was here…

  Was it selfish that he wanted her all to himself for awhile—no business, no awkwardness, no more inexplicable changes—just the two of them the way they’d always been? Too bad if it was, because that was exactly what he did want.

  He couldn’t have that now, but at least he could get away from Sassy and her disapproving glances. “C’mon in back,” he said as he grabbed hold of Sophie’s hand. “We can talk about what you want while I clean up—that way maybe everyone will be happy.”

  Declan guided Sophie back to the station he was using. She perched uneasily on the edge of the padded tattoo chair and watched while he cleaned up. The process was so ingrained he could have done it in his sleep. Slip the used needles into the sharps container, toss out the cups of leftover ink, strip the sleeves from his clip-cords, unwrap his machines, prep the tips, tubes and grips he’d used for the autoclave and spray every possible surface with disinfectant. Twice.

  “So, how’ve you been?” he asked finally when it seemed the silence was going to last all evening.

  Sophie’s wistful smile disappeared. “Oh, you know…” She shrugged helplessly, a small frown creasing her brow. “Pretty good, I guess? Better every day?”

  “Okay, well, that’s good.” She didn’t sound too sure about that, however, and Declan found himself frowning as well. She didn’t seem quite as happy to see him as he was to see her either. Out of all the unexpected changes he’d encountered since he’d been back in New Orleans, that hurt more than all of the others combined.

  Had he done something to annoy her? It seemed unlikely. Unless he was misremembering, things between them hadn’t ended badly. They hadn’t actually ended at all. Not really. They’d both simply…moved on. He’d seen a chance to advance his career, and he’d taken it. At the time, he’d thought Sophie had been happy for him. He certainly hadn’t planned on losing touch with her, but he’d been busy, preoccupied, and their friendship was just one of the many things he’d failed to keep up with. To be fair, she hadn’t kept in touch with him, either.

  “I really like your drawings,” he said with a nod toward the sketches Sassy had given him. “That is your work, isn’t it?”

  Sophie’s eyes lit up at that. She nodded. “I hoped you’d like them. I wasn’t sure what I wanted at first. But once I knew you were going to be here, I just thought… Well, I guess it seemed like something that would fit in with…with what I’ve seen of your work.”

  “Yeah, it really does.” Then the impact of what she’d said hit him. “You’ve been following my work?” Well, that was more like it.

  “Oh, you know.” Another blush hit Sophie’s cheeks. She bit her lip. “Maybe. A little.”

  “Huh.” Declan thought about that. He liked the idea that she’d been keeping up with what he was doing, but how, exactly, had she been doing that? Unless… “Whoa. Wait, wait, wait. You actually watch my show? Jeez, Sophie, I thought you had better taste than that. Hell, I don’t even watch my show.”

  “I wouldn’t say I watch it. But, you know, I’ve seen it a little. Maybe once or twice.”

  “You sure about that?” he teased. “You do know lying’s still a sin, right? A bad girl like you oughta be more careful. I always figured your chances of getting into heaven were slim enough.”

  “And whose fault was that? As I recall, most of the sinning I did was the result of you talking me into things.”

  Sophie’s chuckle was rough and throaty, just like it had always been, and Declan’s body reacted to it the same way it always had. Like there was nothing in the world sexier than that laugh. Maybe there wasn’t. Certainly he hadn’t found anything that compared with it.

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “Yeah, I’m sure. Anyway, don’t go getting a swelled head. It’s not like I make a habit of it. It’s just, you know, if there’s nothing better on and I’m flipping through channels…sure, I might stop and watch a few minutes.”

  “I call bullshit.”Declan crossed his arms and leaned his hip against the counter. He couldn’t keep from gloating. “’Fess up, Sophie. You watch the whole damn episode, don’t you? Every. Single. Week.”

  “I only watch to see what you’re gonna do next. I mean, holy shit, Declan, how do you get away with being such a jackass all the time? How is it no one’s hauled off and punched you yet?”

  “Oh, believe me, I’ve had more than a few close calls.”

  “Can’t say I’m surprised to hear that.”

  “You do know it’s mostly an act though, right? The audience expects it by now, so I have to keep it up. But I’m not really like that. At least not most of the time.”

  Sophie’s expression softened. She met his worried gaze and smiled reassuringly. “I know.”

  “Good.” Declan breathed out a sigh, feeling more relieved than he wanted to admit. “Meanwhile, however, I gotta say it again. I am loving the idea that you’re such a big fan. You probably collect the merchandise and everything.”

  “Oh, please. In your dreams.”

  “Uh-huh and speaking of dreams, I bet you even sleep in one of the cast T-shirts. Is it one with my face on the front?”

  “Pfft. As if.” For the first time since she got there, Sophie looked relaxed. “Not that it’s any of your business anymore, but my choice in sleepwear is the same as it’s always been.”

  Which was to say she wore nothing at all. “I remember. One of my all-time favorite outfits.” One he had every intention of seeing again soon. Tonight would be a good time. Maybe after dinner…or, hell, before dinner if he could manage it.

  His mind made up, Declan straightened away from the counter. He grabbed the rolling stool he used for tattooing and pushed it over to the chair where she sat, positioning himself close enough so that he bracketed her legs with his own. “Okay, so, enough small talk. Tell me about this tattoo. What’s the idea? I gotta say I’m a little surprised. I never would have figured you for the kind of woman who’d want an entire chest piece.”

  The smile disappeared from Sophie’s face. “Yeah, well, me neither. But what can you do? Things change, right?” She shrugged and looked away from him. “I’m not sure what you want me to tell you. I don’t know what the idea is either really. But that’s not to say I haven’t thought about doing something like this. I’ve been thinking about it for awhile, actually. It just wasn’t urgent, you know? And, up until recently, I had enough to deal with. I sure didn’t feel the need to take on anything more—especially not something that would require needles and weeks of healing. Been there, done that.
You know?”

  “Weeks,” Declan scoffed. “What d’you mean weeks? This is me we’re talking about. My tattoos are the shit—everyone knows that. They’re legendary, the gold standard for healing. As long as you take care of it, it shouldn’t take more than a week. Ten days max.”

  “Whatever.” Sophie rolled her eyes. “I can see you’re still as humble as ever. But, that wasn’t really the point I was making. It was the flyer that convinced me. You know, the whole new beginnings thing? I figured maybe that was what I needed. I’m hoping this’ll make me feel better about myself. Pretty, you know? So that when I look in the mirror I won’t just see the scars or end up thinking about what I’ve lost. I’ll see me, covered in flowers, wrapped up in a beautiful piece of art. And maybe that’ll remind me to be grateful for what I still have. That I’m still here, I’m still alive; that life is good and…shit, I don’t know. I hate it when I start sounding like a fucking greeting card. That’s probably not even what you’re asking about, is it?”

  Declan didn’t answer. His head felt as though it were on the verge of coming apart. His thoughts were in turmoil. He could barely hear himself think above the riotous rush of blood in his veins.

  Sophie frowned. “Well? Am I wrong? C’mon, say something, damn it. Don’t just sit there.”

  Scars? Still alive? Weeks of healing? Declan cleared his throat. “Sophie…what the fuck are you talking about? Why do you have scars?”

  “Why do I have…?” Sophie’s eyes grew wide. “Because of the cancer, Declan. Why do you think?”

  “Cancer!”

  “Breast cancer, yeah. In both breasts, ’cause, you know, I’m just so special that way. I had to have surgery. And…and chemo.” She gestured at her head. “What the fuck are you talking about? I know you noticed!”

  “I noticed your hair—yeah. You mean, that’s why…”

  “Exactly.”

  “Fuck.”

  She peered more closely at him. “How is this coming as a surprise to you? I mentioned it in the notes I sent along with the pictures. I assumed you got them. I even explained it on the phone. I thought… Jeez, didn’t anyone tell you?”

  “No.” Declan shook his head, still unable to process the information. Maybe he should have known. Maybe he should have figured. Cancer survivors, amputees, that’s mostly what they had on the scheduled for tomorrow, wasn’t it? It was the night of the big fundraiser, after all.

  And her hair—damn it, that should have been a dead giveaway. Dead. Holy shit. She could have been dead. His stomach heaved at the thought. No wonder it hadn’t occurred to him. He probably hadn’t wanted it to. Because, now that he knew…

  He shoved the stool backward and got up quickly, unable to sit still any longer, not while every cell in his brain was demanding action, was insisting that he run. Now. Go. Get out of here.

  “Declan?”

  Go, goddamn it!

  “Are you all right?” Sophie bit her lip and stared worriedly at him and that was probably the last straw. Declan couldn’t handle the thought that she was worried about him. “I’m really sorry. I thought you knew.”

  “Just sit tight,” he told her, although it was a miracle, at this point, that the words falling from his mouth made any sense at all. “I just gotta…I gotta… Fuck. I need a minute, okay? I’ll be right back.”

  “Wait!”

  It felt as though every eye in the room had been turned in his direction as he stumbled blindly from the room, knocking into things as he went. Voices followed him down the hall.

  “Declan?”

  “Hey! Where are you…”

  “What the fuck, man?”

  “Ross! Get your ass back here!”

  He ignored them all. He could not do this here. Would not do this here. No way.

  So what if he’d spent the last five years in a fishbowl? It had been his choice. He’d put his whole life on display, and he’d been fine with it. He’d exposed his flaws and his faults and his failings to the entire world, let them all watch from the comfort of their living rooms, week after week, as he fucked up and fell down again and again and again, but this? No way. Not happening. This was different. This was huge. And some things just fucking needed to stay private.

  Chapter Four

  Light spilled into the alley as the shop’s back door was edged opened. Declan stayed right where he was, huddled on the curb at the base of the brick wall. Right next to the dumpster, next to the trash, where he felt like he belonged. He didn’t even bother to look and see who had followed him outside. Whoever it was, he didn’t want to talk to them.

  Measured footsteps closed the small distance between them and stopped right in front of him. “Are you on a break or something?”

  Sassy. Perfect. “Could you please just go away?”

  “I brought you that coffee you said you wanted.”

  Declan tilted his head back to meet her gaze. “That’s great. Thanks. Really. You’re a fucking rock star. But I kinda want to be alone right now. So, if you don’t mind, why don’t you just turn around and take it back inside with you?”

  “You do know you’ve still got a client waiting on you, right?”

  “No shit.” Sophie. Crap. Declan squeezed his eyes shut, his stomach still turning somersaults. I could have lost her. She could have died.

  “I gotta say, I don’t know exactly what’s going on here with you two, but this behavior has to be some new kind of low, even for you.”

  “Even for me?” Declan felt his temper spike. “Wow. You really don’t like me, do you?” He didn’t care either way. Not really. Another week and he’d be back on the coast, and he’d never have to see her again anyway. But it did kind of surprise him when anyone didn’t like him. Women especially.

  Sassy didn’t answer right away. It was dark and he couldn’t really see her expression all that well, but based on her tone, he’d bet anything she was looking at him right now as though he was something she’d scraped off the bottom of her shoe. Which, come to think of it, would pretty much fit with how he was feeling.

  He sighed again. “Okay, well… Whatever.”

  “Let me put it this way,” Sassy said, finally breaking her silence. “I don’t know you very well, so I can’t say for sure, but on a scale of one to ten, where ten is my Mama and Jesus Christ, and one is Katrina, I’d rate you at about a six.”

  Katrina? Oh, hell no. She did not just say that. Declan clamped his mouth shut, choosing to ride out the inevitable wave of pain in silence. “Your scale’s fucked up,” he finally told her. “But you’re right on one count. You don’t know me at all.”

  “Which is why that six is provisional. For all I know, you could have a really good reason for being out here right now. Like maybe you got hit with a killer migraine or something. But it could also mean that you just don’t give a shit about the fact that you’re making that poor girl in there feel even worse now than you did when you were goin’ on about her hair.”

  “Don’t talk about her like that,” Declan snapped. “You don’t know the first thing about Sophie.” Poor girl? Fuck that. Sophie would hate being pitied. One more reason he knew he’d made the right decision to come out here and hide. Pity, frustration, terror, disgust, he was caught in a storm of every ugly emotion he could name; and they kept piling up. Grief, denial, self loathing, despair, and a rage so deep he might never be over it. He didn’t want Sophie reading any of that in his eyes and thinking it was for her. It wasn’t.

  He hated that this had happened to her—of course he did. But it was just one more example of how endlessly shitty life could be. The random unfairness of it all caught him by surprise, just like it always did, bringing a hurt that burned clear down to his soul.

  He didn’t pity Sophie. No, the only one he pitied in this scenario was himself. Because he hadn’t known. Because she hadn’t immediately turned to him when she’d gotten the bad news. Did it make him a selfish prick that his first thought was for himself? Maybe so. But it fucking killed him
to think that he hadn’t even rated a phone call.

  How could she not have known that he’d want to be there for her? How could she not have realized what it would have done to him if he’d learned after the fact that he’d lost her?

  “She should have told me she had cancer, damn it.”

  “Jesus, Declan, it’s not about you!”

  “Do you think I don’t know that?” But maybe it should have been. At least a little. “We were friends, okay? We were more than friends. How come that didn’t mean anything to her?”

  “Maybe she didn’t tell you because there was nothing you could have done. Maybe she didn’t want to worry you.”

  “That’s bullshit. Fuck that.”

  “Why? Why should she have told you? You weren’t a couple, were you?”

  Declan sighed. No. They hadn’t been a couple. “It’s complicated, all right? When we met…we weren’t looking to settle down. I wasn’t in a good place, and neither of us was ready to close the books on other relationships. So, no, we weren’t a couple. We didn’t make commitments or promises—hell, we didn’t even keep in touch when I moved away.” And what a mistake that had turned out to be. “But we were still friends, and she could have died! She could have died, damn it, and I wouldn’t even have known.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  It had never even occurred to him that she wouldn’t always be okay, that she wouldn’t always be there. And, always, in the back of his head somewhere… “I guess I always thought that someday… Well, you know. ”

  “So why don’t you go back inside and tell her that? Maybe she had a good reason for not contacting you. At the very least, you can still give her the nice tattoo she came here for.”

  “Ha.” Declan laughed mirthlessly. “Yeah, I don’t think so. That’s not gonna happen. You’re gonna have to find someone else for that.”

  “Is that a joke? I mean, it better be, because that’s just not acceptable.”

  Declan met her gaze coolly. “It’s not a joke. And you can glare at me all day long if you want to, but don’t think for a minute that you’re gonna change my mind. I can’t, all right? There’s a reason doctors don’t operate on the people they care about. It’s because they can’t be trusted when their feelings are involved. This is exactly the same.”