She’s still all I think about, but the projects have kept me from camping out in her driveway. Malec assured me he put extra patrols out in her area. Thea and Jesse were kind enough to give me enough details to know that she was in one piece when I couldn’t have eyes on her.
I feel like I’m barely holding all of my pieces together. She’s finally close, but it doesn’t matter. She’ll never forgive me for the past.
Now, I have to live with it.
I rock back and forth in my first housewarming gift from Lochlan and Jo, staring out at the sheets of rain coming down. There are at least five buckets inside catching drips already, and I suspect I’ll find more holes in the roof by morning. I’m almost positive there are bullet holes in the siding, too.
A slow sigh escapes me right before headlights sweep across my driveway, and two vehicles pull up the overgrown grassy lane. The landscape is entirely in disarray, but I wasn’t expecting visitors. No one even knows I’m here besides Lochlan.
His bronco pulls toward the porch, blinding me momentarily with his headlights as I stand to greet him, but he only flashes and makes a U-turn. Once he flips around, I can see the other car clearly, and my feet start moving on their own.
Liv’s Jaguar comes to a stop, and I’m at her door before she cuts the engine. “What’s wrong? What happened?” I ask in a panic, flinging her door open, barely giving her room to get out.
“Nothing, I’m fine.” She swipes her already soaked hair away from her face. It’s dripping down her shoulders onto her–my shirt. It’s molded to her body, and her legs are completely bare. Her shoes are… Mud-caked slippers.
“You’re okay?” She doesn’t look like a woman who is okay.
She doesn’t respond, but a shiver rolls over her, and I usher her to the porch anyway.
“What’s going on?” I finish swiping the hair out of her face that’s stuck to her skin, but she’s still just looking at me.
“You’re freaking me out.” I hold her face between my hands, searching her enigmatic eyes. “Did something happen, baby?” I coax her softly, and her damp lashes flutter.
“I want to see the rest,” she admits, trembling slightly.
“The rest of what?”
“Your tattoos.”
“You came here at night in a rain storm because–”
“Yes,” she cuts me off, gripping my hands where they rest on either side of her head. “I need to see all of them.”
She’s serious. In fact, I don’t think she’s ever been more serious about anything, and whatever her reasoning is, it is obviously extremely paramount.
“Let me get you inside to get dry and warm.” She lets me take her in, but that’s as far as we get.
“How many times did you look at the photograph of us? The one I saw at the bunkhouse.”
“Liv…”
“How many times?”
“I don’t know. A million. Maybe more.”
Her breath catches. “Every day?”
“Every hour if I could.”
She’s so closed off, I still can’t tell if my response is good or bad. I don’t know if it’s what she wanted to hear or not.
“And the tattoos… Why did you get the tattoos?”
“Prison is dark and ugly… I was struggling to find reasons to live. You were already a part of me on the inside, but I needed to be able to see it on the outside, to keep moving forward.”
“I didn’t know you were allowed to get tattoos in prison.”
“You’re not.” A small smirk tilts my lips. “I did most of them myself in my cell. The more difficult ones, I let someone else do once I got out.”
