by Sophia Henry
Mama braces herself, placing a hand on the desk when her knees seem to give out. “Emily, your father didn’t do that. He would never do that. I promise you.”
“I saw it, Mama.” The tears I’ve been trying to hold back rush across my cheeks.
Instead of backing up when she rushes toward me, I take a step forward—opening myself to the truth. There’s nothing she can do to hurt me any more than she already has.
“I don’t know what you saw, but it wasn’t about you. It couldn’t have been.” Her embrace is fierce. With my face buried in her neck, inhaling the nostalgic scent of Chanel No5. Our bodies shake together in silence. Mama’s hands slide across my back in a soothing, circular motion that brings me back to my childhood. “Whatever you saw that day wasn’t what you thought it was, Emily. Your father loves you too much for that. I love you too much for that.”
She pulls away slightly to look at me. Hurt and sadness fill her eyes. “I never knew why you hated us so much, but now I see. All these years, you thought that we paid someone to keep quiet about assaulting you.”
Tears slide down her cheeks again, taking streaks of mascara with it. Her entire body shakes as she sobs. I’ve never seen my mother this upset.
Hearing her say it out loud, it seems unbelievable, because, at the time, my parents were my heroes—the strong, successful couple I’d looked up to my entire life. I thought I knew what I witnessed—but now I’m not so sure.
Ever since Zayne put the doubt in my head, my mind has been waffling wondering if I can trust my memories. Now, with Mama saying the same thing—I honestly don’t know. I don’t remember my father saying what the check was for, so technically, I could have misunderstood the situation because of where my mind was at the time.
“I’m sorry, Mama. I’m sorry I never said anything, never talked to you about it. But—” I let the thought hang in the air as I catch my breath. “But I was a child—a child trying to deal with horrific trauma.”
Mama grabs my hands. “I know, Sugar. I know.”
My soul feels lighter now that the secret I’ve held in my heart for years is out in the open. As Kandy reminded me during my first week in Philadelphia, communication is the key to solving problems. I may not know the entire truth, but I’m confident confronting the issue was the right decision. I want to believe that my parents didn’t know—and the conversation I overheard was for something completely different.
I want to believe that, I really do.
But the truth is, even though my gut tells me her reaction is real, I still don’t know if I can trust that Mama is telling the truth. Not after years of seeing how they’ll do whatever they can to manipulate people and situations.
Forgiveness isn’t a light switch you can turn on and off. It’s a step in the healing journey.
“Can we talk about this with your father? Can we get to the bottom of it?”
I nod, but can’t find my voice. How am I going to look at my parents and tell them how one of their former employees sexually assaulted me right here, in their house, with them in another room?
Having Zayne by my side would give me the strength I need, but he hasn’t contacted me at all. When I turned on my phone after two days, there was nothing for him. But dealing with the newest trauma of being abandoned and ghosted by him will have to wait until I have this one figured out.
My capacity for sharing is at its max, but the hardest part—telling Mama what happened—is over. I’m too emotionally and mentally drained to keep talking about it. There’s no reason to continue the uncomfortable chaos I created because there’s nothing we can do without talking to Daddy. He’s the only one who can take a look back at his financial records and find out who the employee was and why Daddy dismissed him with a check and a warning.
“I found a rad place to get married,” I say, wiping my runny nose with the back of my hand. “A place you and Daddy would love.”
It’s an abrupt subject change, but it’s been years since I had an actual conversation with Mama, so small talk is hard to come by between us.
She reaches around and plucks a Kleenex from the box on the desk, offering it to me.
“Thanks.” I smile at her before wiping my nose properly.
“Are you planning a wedding?” she asks tentatively, eyes rapidly searching my face for some kind of hint. She’s tiptoeing around me in a way I’ve never experienced. It’s a surreal position to be in, but so is having a civil conversation.
“No.” I shake my head quickly and toss the tissue into a garbage can near the door. “But I met someone smart and kind. He’s the only reason I’m here. He said my heart would never heal if I didn’t face my past. And some crazy stuff about vulnerability and forgiveness.” I lift my eyes to Mama. Though, she’s not crying anymore, her eyes are still glassy, and there’s a crooked smile on her lips. “You might even approve of him.” I throw out to lighten the mood.
Mama takes my face in her hands. “He brought you back to me. I like him already.”
I throw my arms around her, crumbling onto her chest, and sobbing like a child overwhelmed that she left it there. She didn’t follow up with questions about what Zayne does for a living, or how much money he makes, or what family he’s from. Those are the things she considers most important. Zayne is the kind of man guy that my parents would’ve loved for Liz or Maddie to have chosen. Gorgeous, rich, kind, smart, athletic, spiritual, thoughtful—I could list his amazing traits forever. It’s ironic that my sisters, who have always followed my parents’ rules, both chose people they didn’t approve of, while the black sheep of the family chose their “ideal” man.
Being wrapped in her embrace after so many “motherless” years makes my heart full. Though I’m still filled with shame and embarrassment, confronting Mama and telling her the secret I’ve kept locked away for so long makes me feel lighter—like a weight was lifted. Even the muscles in my neck and back loosen up. Maybe some of the physical problems that I chalk up as inconveniencies of the job were manifestations of stress and internal pain.
Today was the first step in a long, painful healing process, but I know I made the right decision. My relationship with my parents has suffered for years—for which I take complete responsibility. I’ll never agree with everything they do and how they live their life, but if it’s true that they really didn’t know about the assault, at least there won’t be that underlying hatred I’ve had for them.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Zayne
I haven’t gotten more than three hours of sleep since I left Detroit. All I can think of is how badly I fucked up with Emily.
And I deserve it. In fact, I never even deserved to have her. I was a fucking asshole from the beginning. But for some reason, she put up with me. She snapped back, stood up for herself, and still gave me a chance.
Like an ‘80’s hair band, I didn’t know what I had until it was gone.
Hopefully, Emily’s been busy with clients all day, and that’s why she hasn’t answered my text from earlier.
It can’t be because I snuck out of our hotel room with my tail between my legs in the middle of the night, leaving her alone in an unfamiliar city. Can’t be because I didn’t return any of her calls or texts until this morning.
I made a mistake—a huge mistake. I allowed fear to dictate my life—again. But Emily is like no one I’ve ever met before, and I can’t let her go. How many times do I have to fuck up my life before I figure out how to let go and move forward?
I pull back the blanket, jump out of bed, and slip into yesterday’s jeans which are lying in a lump on the floor next to my bed. As I search for a shirt, I grab my phone and text Louis. Emily won’t answer my texts, but she’ll answer his, and that’s the only chance I have to find out where she is right now. I don’t know where she lives and—no matter how genuine the sentiment behind it—showing up at her home unannounced is super creepy.
I run my hands through my hair and take a deep breath.
This entire
month has been about facing fears and enjoying life through the highs and the lows. I want to experience it all—and I want to do it with Emily. Time to practice what I preach. She may not want to fuck with me after how I treated her. If that’s the case, then that’s the first low I’ll have to deal with and learn how to get back up again.
“Vicious!” I yell, tossing a handful of pebbles at the front door for Krasivo Custom Tattoos. The intel from Louis was that she was still at work, finishing up client she scheduled for a late tattoo. “EmVee! Get your ass out here!”
After throwing three rounds, I’m beginning to wonder if she’s even inside—or anyone for that matter.
Suddenly, Stan opens the door violently. Though a shadow cloaks most of his face, I can see the annoyance in his eyes. “What the fuck, Zayne? You gonna break my fucking window.”
“I need to see Emily.”
“Then open door and walk in shop.”
“This is more dramatic,” I say, rearing my arm back for my next throw.
He steps outside. “You throw any more rocks over here, and I take you to the alley and gut you.”
I open my hand, letting the pebbles slip through my fingers. I’m fairly certain he’s joking, but death by angry Russian tattooer isn’t how I want to go down. Wiping my palms on the front of my jeans, I slip inside the door that Stan’s still holding open. I swear he growls as I walk by, but that could be my fear manifesting itself in strange sounds.
I’ve never been inside Krasivo Custom Tattoo before. It’s surprisingly bright and modern. I expected someone like Stan to have a dark, creepy place. I don’t know why—though I’ve seen him, I’d never met him before this moment.
Which is also why entering his shop—Emily’s place of work—now seems like a bad decision. This isn’t the place to talk about personal issues, and I know that better than anyone. Hell, I’m the hypocritical asshole who slammed Emily for being unprofessional.
Surprisingly, Emily is the one on the table when I walk in—and she’s in her underwear. Stan sits down in the chair next to her, staring at me with lips in a grim line as he pulls on a pair of gloves. Then he leans over and gets back to work on her hip. He’s on the Cookie Monster side.
“’Sup, Zayne?” she says, as nonchalant as if I’m just a dude that walked in the shop. “Trying to jump my waitlist by coming in late night?”
It hurts because I’m not used to monotone from her, I’m used to bright and bubbly, but it’s her way of making sure I understand she’s keeping me at a distance.
“I’d be honored if you gave me my first tattoo, but I’m willing to wait my turn. You’re worth it.”
She swallows hard. Stan lifts his eyes to her, then shifts to me. There’s absolutely no expression on his face, but I know he’s concerned. I wonder how much she’s told him.
“Didn’t realize you were a virgin,” she says. “How has Louis not gotten his talons into you yet?”
Since she’s engaging me and not screaming for me to leave the shop, I roll up a chair next to the table and sit. I can’ help but scan her legs
“He’s tried, but there was nothing I ever wanted enough.” I gaze at all the ink covering her, knowing that I’m ready to change that—change everything—for her. “Until now.”
“You need break?” Stan asks. She nods. He sets his machine on his tray and rips his gloves off, throwing them in the trash as he passes.
If this doesn’t go well, someone’s going to find my body in a shallow grave tomorrow.
“You’ve gotta help me, Em.” I plead, hoping she understands how much I need her. I can do it myself, but I don’t want to. I want her in my life.
“Help you with what?” she asks. Her voice holds a hint of hardness, but her eyes give me hope. “I thought you couldn’t be around me because I remind you of yourself.”
“You do.”
Tears fill her eyes. When she looks up to the ceiling, I can’t tell if she completely over me, or trying to hold back her tears. “Then what are you doing here?”
“Because I realized that you remind me of myself now—not then. And, not to sound like an arrogant asshole or anything, but I like who I am now.”
She sits up straight. I reach out and take her hands, resting them on her lap, which seems super sexy since she doesn’t have any pants on. But I’m trying to keep focused.
“When Louis told me I had to go on tour with you, I was pissed,” I admit, squeezing her hand while gazing into her eyes. “But being with you—watching how you work, how you act, how you see the world—it turned my entire world upside down—you turned my world upside down—in the best way.”
She laughs. “Yeah, that’s exactly what you were thinking at first.”
“I’m trying to apologize for being a judgmental asshole here. Just let me do it.”
She pulls her hand from mine and pretends to zip her lips shut. I grab her hand before she throws away the key, “I need you to be able to open your mouth.”
She squeezes her thighs together. Which makes my dick twitch. “I’m gonna need those to open, too.”
“Zayne!” Emily chides me with wide eyes. “There’s gonna be a fucking wet spot on the freaking paper when I get up.” She slaps the table underneath her.
She may be embarrassed by it, but it makes me so fucking excited I can hardly contain myself. I close my eyes and regain control.
“Look, Em. You don’t need me. But I need you. You make me notice the wonderful things in life. You make me appreciate being in the moment. You make me feel alive, but at peace at the same time. You bring me out of my shell, but let me curl back into it if I need to. You know exactly how to handle me.”
She laughs. “The tables have turned. The handler becomes the one handled.”
“Remember when I told you if you keep doing the same shit you’ve always been doing, you’ll get the same results?’” She nods. “I never should have spouted that crap to you. You’re killing it, and you knew it. I’m actually surprised you didn’t punch me.”
“I’m a lover, not a fighter,” she quips with a dry laugh. She drops her head and tucks hair behind her ears.
“I was the one doing the same shit. I was the one stuck in a boring, stagnant, safe routine. I was the one walking through this world like a zombie for ten years—avoiding highs because I didn’t know how I’d handle the lows.”
“Fear keeps people in their box, preventing them from branching out. I’ve been there, Zayne.” She slips a hand into my hair, caressing my head, then sliding it to my cheek. “Leaving my safety zone to go on tour scared the crap out of me. It brought out all of my insecurities to the surface. But pushed me to work harder and be better. I opened up to you because I knew you were looking out for me for my own good, not because you hated me or wanted to sabotage my career. You convinced me to confront my fears instead of hiding them, and it made all the difference.”
“I need your help. If I don’t change, I’m never going to live. I’ll miss everything walking around blind and indifferent as I have been. Don’t let me make the same mistake, Emily. Because I know I will, and I can’t afford to lose you. My heart can’t take it.”
“You’re stuck with me, Z,” she says. “Look.”
I peer over her legs, placing my hand between her thighs to feel how wet she is. I love the gasp that leaves her lips.
“From A to Z?” I joke because it’s the only way to hold back the fucking tears pricking at my eyes.
On the top of her thigh, above Cookie Monster is the “A” from the Ambassador Ink logo. Next to that is a capital “Z” in old English font.
“I’m so grateful Ambassador brought me to you. If we go back to basics and take things day by day, we’ll both learn to heal. If we focus on that, we can get through anything together.” She squints and gives me a half-shy/half-hopeful expression. “Ride or die, Z?”
“I’m all in, Em. Everything I am and everything I have is yours.” I grab her face and press my lips on hers.
Day-by-day.
Right here, right now. It’s all we have. And I there’s no one else I’d rather spend my life with than this sexy, goth Tinkerbell with a beautiful soul.
Epilogue
Emily
“You like the placement?” I ask. Personally, I think the huge phoenix stencil across Zayne’s back looks badass, but I need my client’s approval before I can get started.
“It’s perfect,” he says, sliding stomach-down onto my table. He turns his head toward me, and I plant a quick kiss on his full lips.
“Cool,” I say pulling on my gloves. “Let me get my machine ready, and we’ll get started.”
“Watching you put your machine together is pretty damn sexy,” he says.
“Oh yeah?” I ask. I hold up my machine, running my tongue across my bottom lip as I insert the needle. “You like it when I slide my needle into the tube?”
“You two need to cut the shit. My client is puking over here,” Adam yells from across the room.
I laugh and glance over at him. “I’m pretty sure your client is puking because you didn’t wear fucking deodorant today, not over some sexual innuendo.”
He nods in agreement. “Totally possible. And I had a lot of garlic last night.”
Once I’ve got my machine set up, I dip into the black ink and get started. I’m so honored Zayne wanted to get his first tattoo from me. It made my heart happy when he picked the phoenix I sketched out in Detroit. It had to go on someone amazing that embodied the legend of the phoenix, and Zayne is a perfect candidate. And he’s a fucking trooper for getting a full-color back piece for his first tattoo.
“I hope you know what a sacrifice it is for me to do this piece,” I say solemnly, holding his skin as I outline.
“Really?” Zayne’s eyes widen in surprise.
“Yeah. I mean, I’m not gonna get to ride you tonight. Your back’s gonna be too sore,” I tease.