Tabby didn’t want to think about her sisters and what they might say about her ‘back to a standard colour’ hair. She shrugged, pausing to wipe a little blood off Toby’s skin. She’d never minded blood. Never minded injuries, even broken bones. In another lifetime, maybe she’d become a surgeon. Fixed up hearts or stomachs. Saved lives.
“Tabitha,” Toby said, with a little of the velvety roughness he’d had back at Prism. “Do you wanna talk about what we did?”
For the first time since Prism, she craved a drink. The feeling made her wonder if that was all the urge ever was—the desire to do something that would make her feel different as quickly as possible. It was a lonely thought, and the accompanying rush of sadness pissed her off. “I don’t know. Doyouwant to talk about what we did?”
He huffed a little laugh. “Yeah, maybe.”
“So, talk. We’ve got nothing but time.”
He shook his head. “All the shit I said to you before, andnowyou’re prickly.”
‘Tell you what? Suck, and I’ll think about it.’
Lust bubbled through her, and she scrunched her nose, praying it didn’t show on her face. “That was different.”
“How?”
She shrugged again. Let him walk the tightrope. Take the risk.
“Okay,” Toby said slowly. “Feel free to ignore me if you don’t like the suggestion, but what about a truce?”
“A truce?”
“Yeah, no sniping, no pushing. What about for as long as you’re tattooing me, we talk like we used to?”
A tight black hole opened in her chest. She ignored it. “That would require a time machine, Toby Tennant.”
He watched her for a long moment, his mouth moving wordlessly. Mopsy sighed and turned over on the couch, and the hole opened a little wider. Why was it more straightforward for Toby to push her body to its upper limits and call her a thousand filthy names than it was to let bygones temporarily be bygones?
The answer came in pictures. Jo’s flowers. The back gate where she was supposed to wait for her all those years ago. Her dad’s empty bedroom, his boxes of old maps and sketches meticulously dusted by Nix. Nix crying as she cradled her stomach. Noah smoking silently on the porch. Scott coming in from the office, grey-faced from interviewing Toby’s replacements. Sam slamming the oven door.
It was harder because it was. This was already too cozy with Mopsy and the wind in the trees.It’s harder because things have changed. And so had she, and she had no idea how to make them normal again.
“I’m sorry, Tabs.”
She lifted her needle and looked up, finding Toby’s pale blue eyes burning into hers. “Huh?”
“Sorry for taking off. Sorry I didn’t explain. I thought I was doing the right thing, but I wasn’t. I should have kept in touch, and I’m sorry.”
He didn’t say it like the old Toby would have. There was no blush on his cheeks, and he met her gaze squarely, but she saw her friend waiting for her like he used to on Sundays when they walked the dogs around Brunswick together. The tight black hole in her chest loosened just a little, and she exhaled for the first time in what felt like hours. “Thanks. I appreciate that.”
“Good,” Toby said quietly. “I want you to be honest now. Are you okay with what we did? How I treated you?”
She grinned, returning her needle to her work. “More than okay. It was fucking hot.”
“Cool,” he said, and she could hear the smile in his voice. “It was fucking hot. Y’know, I’ve never been to Prism before.”
Tabby gasped. “Seriously? I thought you were a pro!”
“Thought or hoped?”
She laughed. “I still can’t believe we banged in front of people.”
“Behind a curtain.”
“Still counts.” She glanced up, and they smirked at each other. “So, if we get to be honest, can I ask you anything?”
“Fire away.”
