And, I won’t derail her life.
Not even when I would move mountains to have her in mine.
Chapter Thirteen
Liv
My mother always spoke of nirvana when I was growing up. An unattainable goal perceived as otherworldly, complete peace.
I thought she was crazy then, but once I became an adult, seeking nirvana didn’t seem so bizarre. Life has a way of beating you down. Why not strive for utter happiness?
Wrapped in a nest of blankets in the center of my bed is as close to this feeling as I’ve found so far. Those first few minutes after waking up from a deep and restful sleep without any aches from tossing or turning, and before you realize your bladder is full.
Lulling in and out of consciousness, remembering those scattered bits of your dream…
A sigh escapes my chest as I stretch, and then my body goes taut once my foot hits a wall.
I have a queen-size bed, and I sleep in the middle of the room…
It’s still dark, and I peek over the blanket in front of my face, but it is obvious that this is not my room. I’m not in my bed.
My body lurches into a seated position as my eyes scan the room. Except it’s hardly a room. It looks like a loft. I can see the railing that oversees another space below.
My vision finally adjusts to the dim light, and I notice the body sleeping beside me. Thankfully, on the floor.
Hayes is on a thin blanket with a single pillow that looks like it’s from a couch, not a bed.
I’m in Jensen’s bed.I grip the blankets under my chin, inhaling his scent on them before I can stop myself.
I need to find my phone. My keys. I need to get out of here, but I can’t move. I can’t stop staring at him asleep on the floor.
He’s wearing a t-shirt, and his arms are folded loosely over his stomach. I can faintly see the tattoos that are scattered across his skin.
While he was working on his motorcycle, I examined each one, looking as closely as I could from the safety of my camp chair.
Most of them are palm-sized and black and white. They’re similar styles but aren’t meshed together like a sleeve would be.
There’s a code of numbers below his wrist on the top of his hand that I haven’t been able to crack.
Claw marks down the inside of his forearm.
A snake.
A dagger.
A compass.
There’s a tattoo that peeks out from the collar of his shirt, but I can’t tell what it is, and I can only imagine what else he’s hiding.
He didn’t have any tattoos when we were teens. He neverhad the money.
A gentle smile tilts my lips. We were so young and naive about the world back then, always dreaming of making it big and getting out of the trailer park.
The corners of my lips fall. We got out of the trailer park, but at what cost?
“I have an alarm set. Go back to sleep,” he mumbles sleepily from his makeshift cot.
“How did I get in here?”
