We stepped into Wildwood Ink, a hole-in-the-wall, but there wasn’t much to choose from out here.
The air inside the tattoo parlor smelled like ink and antiseptic. She glanced around curiously, a nervous energy buzzing off her, and I was forced to focus on anything other than her body when her shirt rose on her back as she leaned over to look at the fresh designs on the wall.
Her jean shorts fit snugly at her hips, while her oversized tee was tied at the waist. She glanced back at me, tossing a small smile over her shoulder, which was almost worse. It was so sweet, and my thoughts were so filthy.
Shestarted talking to someone at the front desk, and I mumbled something to John, the artist who would be doing her tattoo. Before I knew it, he had already led us to the back of the room.
There was something about the way he appeared—too suddenly, too quietly—that made the hair on the back of my neck stand up. But a giggle from Mackenzie pulled my gaze away.
She sat on the cushioned table, her fingers tapping restlessly against her knee to hide her anxiety. But I could see past her act. Her leg bounced nervously, and she started to overanalyze the situation, biting the inside of her cheek.
“You sure about this?” I asked quietly, keeping my voice low even though the buzz of the tattoo gun and the music from the front drowned us out. “We can leave. Just let me know.”
She was humming to the music; it sounded like something she would listen to. Heavy guitars, deep screaming. It was calming to her.
She looked up at me and nodded, “I want this.”
I believed her. But I also knew that there was another reason why she was doing this. It was the same reason she was having these nightmares. Mackenzie had many secrets. There was always more beneath the surface with her. I didn’t fault her for keeping them from me. I wanted to tell her she didn’t have to carry it alone, even if she hated me for knowing.
That journal of hers, I didn’t read it. Not really. But she left it on her bunk a lot over the years, and I’d seen enough of her sketches to know they weren’t just doodles. They were confessions, stories. Scratched out figures, frayed lines, harsh shading.
There was one page I couldn’t forget. A man’s silhouette, towering over a petite figure. She hadn’t drawn his face. She’d just darkened it in, pitch black, like even remembering him was something she couldn’t let herself do.
It didn’t take much to connect the dots.
I knew something had happened, something withher dad. She never said it outright, but she didn’t have to. I remembered the way her voice flatlined when his name came up once.
And then it all clicked when Jackson said I didn’t know who she was or where she came from. The boundaries, the fear, the way she sometimes looked at me like she wanted to be close. Something was always holding her back.
It pissed me off that Jackson knew, and I didn’t. I wanted to tell her that she could trust me, but that wasn’t what she needed.
Because even if she couldn’t say it, I already knew. I had seen it in her eyes in the truck. She wasn’t afraid of me. She wasn’t even afraid of me finding out about her past. She was scared I wouldleaveher.
I hope she knew that I wasn’t going anywhere.
She turned in her chair, her back to me, revealing the pale, knotted scar on her neck. I had glimpsed it before, while swimming, changing, or running together at camp, but I really saw it for the first time today. She always hid it from me, but today, she wasn’t.
There was trauma linked to that scar, a pain she was trying to escape. When I kissed it last night, I wanted her to know how I felt about her. I didn’t know how to say it out loud.
“Is this what you want?” John whispered, his voice low and chilling, making me jump. He was a towering figure, covered in tattoos that twisted like dark veins across his arms, a septum piercing glinting ominously in the dim light.
I moved to stand in front of her, trying to shield her from him, while remaining within his line of sight in case something went wrong. Leaning against the cold wall with my arms crossed, I forced myself to appear casual, though my entire body felt lit up. The moment the needle pierced her skin, she didn’t flinch. She didn’t even wince. I was trembling more than she was, my nerves fraying at the edges.
She just gazed at me. Her piercing eyes locked onto mine for an agonizing hour. She didn’t break eye contact untilthe tattoo was finally finished. Then, slowly, she sat up, brushing a strand of hair from her face as if emerging from darkness.
God, she wasfuckingbeautiful.
“Well?” She asked, spinning around, holding the mirror up. “What do you think?”
I stepped forward, reaching out instinctively. My fingers hovered just above the freshly inked stars. I wanted to touch her. So fucking bad. But I knew I couldn’t because of a possible infection. She flinched slightly as my fingers lingered over her skin, tracing the stars in the air.
“It’s perfect.”
I glanced at her. Her eyes were full of tears, and I felt an overwhelming connection to her. Her feelings, her scar, and justher.
“My turn,” I murmured, gently removing my shirt.
“Wait, what?” She asked, her voice trembling with surprise.
