His grin is as wide as mine.
He’s been so stressed out since all of this went down. The cloud of suspicion hovered over us for weeks—a dead body inside a gasoline house fire was not a good look. If they had found either of us culpable in the fire, we would have been facing manslaughter charges. Logan admitted that until the investigation closed, Piper had enough power to destroy us.
“Celebrate with burritos later?” he asks.
I cup the back of his neck and squeeze three times. “You know my order.”
He inhales as if he can finally breathe again, then nods and returns to his work, still smiling.
He’s free of her. The years of her hovering over him are over. She remained dormant while he stayed single, building up the narrative in her mind that he was still hung up on her, too distraught from grieving her loss—his unhappiness was enough to keep her pacified. Until I started capturing his attention. When she saw the email from the Gallatin County clerk regarding our marriage license—that was when she made herself known.
The only thing left is dealing with my insurance company. Now that the investigation is closing, we’ll be able to wrap that up too. Logan and I have already decided to not rebuild what was lost. Almost everything was destroyed with either fire, smoke, or water. Much of Dad’s art had already been brought to the shop. Logan took pictures of everything when he made the tarot cards, so we have the records. We were able to salvage a few photos, sketchbooks, and small pieces of artwork that had been kept in lock boxes in the attic. After hearing his words in my head that day, I realized I don’t need his things to feel close to him.
Fire is cleansing. It’s time to move on, and now we finally can.
I return to my station and inhale. It’s over. After holding my breath for so long, I forgot what it felt like to fully fill my lungswith air. I wipe down my worktable and wrap it in cellophane in preparation for my next appointment, taking a minute to look around the shop and relish the normalcy of it all. The beautifully mundane familiarity.
Thor’s quietly piecing together stencils on the other side of our shared wall as Logan finishes up with his client and ushers him to the front desk, like he’s done a thousand times before. I’m finally able to take in the sounds and sights of this shop, the details around me, without my fear or intrusive thoughts interrupting me.
Across the aisle, Anna sits quietly in Casper’s chair, her arm propped up as he tattoos an intricate lotus flower. She’s motionless except for a small twitch when he wipes down after a pass of ink.
Casper tries to draw conversation out of her, but oftentimes it’s an exchange of nods before he’s left to work in silence. He’s a social guy, makes friends everywhere he goes, but no matter how friendly he is, she’s the one he can’t quite get to open up. He seems to have learned to interpret her silences, but he’s also not giving up either; he doesn’t know how. Anna is Logan’s dream client—all tattoo and no conversation—but something tells me Casper wouldn’t let anyone else touch her.
I continue prepping for my client, tearing the blue shop towels from the roll, then stacking them in a pile and folding them just right. My tray is wiped down and organized with tools, the little ink cups in a neat row like soldiers. Everything is in its place.
I reach for my tablet, eager to show my client what I’ve designed for them, but realize I’ve left it in Logan’s office. I must have forgotten it when I took the phone call. I swear half my shit ends up in there now—sweatshirts, lip balm, hair ties, and every half-eaten snack that goes missing.
I slip out of my tattoo bay and hurry back to his office, finding it right where I left it. I pluck it off his desk and turn to leave, but Logan has my exit blocked. He quietly shuts the door behind him with a soft snick, staring at me like I’m his prey.
The quiet intensity in his gaze is a welcome one, because it’s no longer wrought with stress or fear, like he’s trying to memorize my face in case he never sees me again. This time, it’s filled with a sense of permanence. It’s home.
He doesn’t say anything, simply steps into my space, claims my jaw, and kisses me. I melt into him, into the way he feels like home and security, trailing my fingers up his chest, then fist his shirt, needing to hold on to this moment. The moment we finally were set free to live again.
He pulls back slightly, our eyes locking, appreciating each other more than ever before. Grateful for this.
“It’s finally over,” I whisper.
He nods. “And this is where we begin.” We didn’t rely on fate for our survival, we relied on each other—choseeach other.
We exit his office, into a world that looks the same but feels brand new. One we walked through fire for, a future we built from the ashes. We’re not walking away from the wreckage unscathed, but we’re walking away. Our love transformed into something permanent, dark, and born in the flames—forged of ink and alchemy.
THE WEDDING
A single jagged-ass half-charred tree sits alone, centered in an over-grown green lot where a house once stood. Like it grew out of a crevice in the sidewalk and kept growing stronger just to spite the concrete. Kind of like the couple who are getting married in front of it—well, getting marriedagain. Logan promised Kelly a wedding, so here we are. In front of us, a beautiful couple and a fucked-up tree casting creepy shadows with its deformed limbs. Behind us, long tables filled with greenery and candles that I can only describe as an ethereal woodland Pinterest-fueled hellscape. Edison bulbs sway in the light breeze above us in the empty lot of land, where we sit on wooden benches while oohing and ahhing over the wedding vows.
The vows are short, intense, and . . . weirdly hot? After listening to Logan and Kelly declare their love for each other, I kinda get it. I think. Not the whole happily-ever-after part, but the person part. Finding someone who can see the worst in you and not blink.
There can’t be more than fifty people in attendance. One of whom is my plus-one—Anna. She sits beside me, petite, and sharp around the edges in a way that warns others to never corner her. Fortunately for me, I love a good adrenaline rush, and there’s nothing more gratifying than being in the presence of a wild animal knowing they could attack at any moment. She has soft-pink hair, the color of cotton candy, and sits beside me like she’s just as sweet.
This is the first time I’ve seen her in a sundress, which is deeply cruel. When she comes in to get tattooed, she’s hiding behind ripped jeans and loose shirts. But tonight, she’s got that pink dress, strappy shoes, andmyink. There’s something satisfying about the fact that no one else has ever tattooed her flesh. If I do my job right, no one else ever will either.
Tilting my head toward Anna, I whisper, “Do you see the way they look at each other?”
Her lip twitches, it’s not a smile, but I’ll take it. She gives a subtle nod.
“Do you think they’ll start fucking before they finish their vows? Right in front of Nana Teller and the plates of bacon-wrapped dates?”
She rolls her lips together, trying not to laugh, and it makes me feel like I won something. She doesn’t hand her smiles out freely, you’ve got to earn them. Strangely, I enjoy earning them, like a safe for me to crack.
