“No,” she whispers.
She's wrong. I don’t just see my Callie anymore—I see a survivor. A woman who waited for a savior, and when none came, she did the only thing she could do. She saved herself.
But she doesn’t have to do things alone anymore. I want to be her soft place to land, a place she can breathe without feeling like she might suffocate from the sheer effort it takes to be alive. I want to be everything for her that she is for me without even realizing it.
Callie is the foundation I want to build my life around, but she needs someone to show her that it’s safe to love, even if taking that risk feels a whole lot like drowning.
I swipe my thumbs under her eyes and remove the evidence of her tears. “I want to take you somewhere. Do you trust me?”
She slides her palm along my beard, gazing at me tenderly. “More than I’ve ever trusted anyone.”
My heart spasms. I bring my lips to hers in a whisper of a kiss. Callie’s trust isn’t easily earned, but I’ll do whatever it takes to hold onto it.
I pat her ass and give it a squeeze for good measure. I love every part of this woman, but this ass was made for my hands. “Go get dressed and meet me at the truck in ten minutes.”
She starts down the hallway, freezes, and turns back. “What should I wear?”
“Dress comfy.”
She nods once and disappears into her bedroom. While Callie’s getting ready, I head out to the truck and exchange a few texts with my buddy, Noah. He reassures me that my plan is solid, and he’ll be ready for us in an hour. In the meantime, I contemplate moving all of Callie’s things into my bedroom the next time she’s at work. I don’t want her sleeping across the hall anymore.
An hour later, we pull up in front of Lunar Ink with a few minutes to spare. I walk around the truck to the passenger side and hold open the door for Callie. “Are you ready?”
Her eyes narrow on me. “For what?”
“You’ll see.”
She reluctantly slides her hand into mine, and I take the opportunity to weave our fingers together. The entire street is dark, save for the bright lights emanating from the tattoo parlor.
Callie’s brow furrows. “You’re getting a new tattoo?”
“No. You are. If you want. I know you’re self-conscious about your scars, but you don’t have to be. I want you to see yourself the way I see you.”
“How is that?” she asks airily.
“Like a work of art.”
Her eyes glisten in the glow of the shop lights. “Jax…”
Fuck. She hates the idea. What the hell was I thinking? “If you want to turn around and go home now, I’ll understand.”
“No. I just… don’t know what to say.” She pops onto her toes and kisses my cheek. “Will you hold my hand?”
“Whatever you need, Callie baby.”
I lead her inside and make a quick introduction. Noah shows us to a seating area with a large black leather couch and two matching armchairs. Callie and I sit side by side as Noah takes the seat across from us with his tablet propped on his lap.
“He knows about your scars. I needed to make sure he could tattoo over them. I hope that’s ok.”
Callie nods and slips her trembling hand beneath mine. “It’s fine.”
I’ll ignore the use of my least favorite word on the planet, just this once, because I know she’s nervous.
“I’m going to ask you some questions so we can get started on the design,” he says. “If you’re uncomfortable at any point, just let me know, and we can stop.”
“Ok,” she replies.
The consultation takes roughly thirty minutes. Noah asks her where she wants the tattoo, and she shows him the largest pink scar along her abdomen extending below her left breast and across her ribs. He applies some numbing cream to give it time to activate and Noah excuses himself to work on the design.
