I squeal, whirling to see who’s behind me and find Roman and Aaron standing a few yards away.
I press my hand to my chest, willing my racing heart to slow. “Don’t scare me like that!”
Roman lifts both hands, “I didn’t mean to scare you. I just want to talk.”
I frown and flick a glance toward Aaron who’s standing a few steps behind Roman. He gives me a sheepish look and shrugs. “I’m just here for moral support.”
My scowl deepens. “For me or for him?” I thought they hated each other.
Roman answers. “He’s here for you. We’re patching up some of our shit. Henderson can be an okay dude when he wants to be. But I asked him to come with me because I wanted him to be here for you.”
He did? “Why?”
Roman takes a tentative step forward. “Because I want to talk and I know you trust him. That you’re comfortable with him around.”
“I’m fine with Dominique too, and he’s your friend. Why not ask him?”
He shakes his head. “Because I didn’t want to gang up on you. Dominique’s my friend. He’s yours too, but I didn’t want you to think he’d be on my side over yours or that you wouldn’t have anyone in your corner. Henderson and I have our history, but when it comes to you and me, he’s always going to pick you first. He’s in your corner. He’s your friend. I want you to feel safe talking to me.”
Oh. That’s ... thoughtful of him.
He runs his hands over his face and I catch sight of the twin bandages over the top of both his hands.
“What happened to your hands?” I ask, worry clenching my stomach. Is he hurt? Did something happen?
Roman lifts his gaze, his dark brown eyes meeting mine. “That’s actually what I came here to show you.”
Aaron looks nervous behind him, shifting from one foot to the other.
“Ummm…okay.” I wait for him to elaborate but he doesn’t. His lips are pressed into a tight line, his eyes downcast. He peels back the bandages and underneath I see that he’s sporting new ink. I gasp. “You tattooed your hands?”
He nods but doesn’t say anything as he removes the second bandage, shoving both in his back pocket. I swallow hard as I take in the new pieces he’s added, fighting the urge to get a closer look. They’re beautiful. On his left, he has an anchor surrounded in a sea of crashing waves that covers the entire top of his hand. The detail looks amazing and before I can talk myself out of it, I step toward him, curious about the design.
“Do you want to see them?” he asks, holding perfectly still, almost like he’s afraid to breathe. I realize how close I’ve gotten to him and my own heart races, but I fight through the wave of apprehension and nod.
He holds his hand out and with shaking fingers I trace the design on his left hand before jerking away and putting a foot of distance between us. Hurt flashes in his eyes before he masks it.
I inhale a lungful of air.It’s just Roman.I remind myself. I force my gaze back to his hands, allowing myself time to take in the dark ink and see the stark differences between his hands and those of my attacker. Seconds pass and when my heart settles I move closer to him once again.
“Why an anchor?” I’m whispering and have no idea why.
“Because when you’re adrift, when you can’t find your way to shore, I want to be the one who steadies you.”
My heart seizes in my chest. “You got this for me?” I ask, dumbfounded.
His smile is hopeful.
“I don’t understand,” I say. “This is permanent, Roman. You didn’t have—”
He cuts me off. “I did, Allie. I need you to see how important you are to me. How much you matter and how incredibly sorry I am. I just… I want a second chance. To do everything the right way. To treat you like you deserve to be treated.”
A tear rolls down my cheek and I hastily wipe it away. Forcing down the sudden knot in my throat I ask, “And what is this one? Is it an orchid… or maybe a daffodil?” I examine his right hand. This one is smaller though still covers most of his hand.
Roman shakes his head. “No. Not an orchid or a daffodil.”
“What is it then?”
“It’s a vanilla planifolia.” At my confused expression he adds, “Mexican vanilla.”
