Page 2
Chapter One
Eight Months Later
Moe lets out a heavy sigh, his golden brown eyes filled with concern as he studies me for a moment and I can see the indecision tearing him apart. He doesn’t mean to smother me – none of them do – but I know they have a hard time letting me out of their sight after everything that’s happened. I love that they care and Lord knows I’ve needed their support a lot in the past year but it’s time they all start backing off a little.
“Are you sure about this, Darlin’?”
I nod, offering him what I hope is a confident smile. “Yeah, I’m sure, Moe.”
He narrows his eyes, watching me closely for any sign of hesitance but he won’t find it. I’m absolutely sure about my decision and he doesn’t have to like it because it’s what I need. More than that, it’s time I really start living my life again. Sighing, he runs a calloused hand over his short, dark hair as he shakes his head.
“All right, then. I guess I can’t really stop you, can I?”
A mischievous grin stretches across my face and I shake my head, barely holding back a giggle. Moe grew up with my mom and they’ve been friends for decades so when she started having children, it was only natural Moe became an honorary uncle to my brothers and I. He’s never been all that good at denying us anything our hearts desired, though. Daddy is always giving him a hard time about the fact that we have him wrapped around our fingers.
“Maybe Tucker can go with you,” he adds and I wrinkle my nose and shake my head. I don’t want to bring my big brother along. I’m twenty-six years old, for God’s sake. I think I can handle going downtown by myself. Moe squares his shoulders, straightening to his full height and I feel dwarfed by the sheer size of him. He’s well over six feet and built like a Mac truck with muscles upon muscles. Most people find him intimidating but I can still picture him with a pink feather boa around his neck as he pretended to sip from a plastic teacup my grandma had given me for my fourth birthday. Like I said, a total softie.
“How many times do I have to tell y’all I’m fine?” I huff, crossing my arms over my chest and he purses his lips for a moment before sighing again.
“Is he still calling you?”
“For, like the hundredth time, no. He stopped calling as soon as I filed the report with Detective Nelson. I haven’t heard from him in eight months.”
He rubs a hand along his jaw and my heart aches in my chest. In moments like this, it’s so easy to see the pain I’ve caused all of them and the stress I added to their lives. The weight of my actions never leaves me alone for long and it’s the exact reason why it’s so hard to move on. And I know he’s still worried about me going alone. It’s only about five miles away but to him, it might as well be a hundred.
“Just remember to keep your phone on you.”
I fight the urge to roll my eyes. “I’m not some fragile little girl. I can take care of myself.”
His eyes grow dark and I know, for certain, I don’t want to know what he’s remembering. I’ve worked really hard over the past year to move past all that but it’s still annoying how quickly my thoughts can turn to things I’d rather forget.
“I’ll keep it with me, I promise,” I whisper and my words seem to ease his worry. He lets out a breath and his shoulders drop as he nods, holding a ripped piece of notebook paper out in front of him. I take it.
“The address is on there. He’s expecting you.”
I unfold the piece of paper and see an address there and a name — Phoenix West, Moe’s nephew. After tucking the paper into my back pocket, I throw my arms around Moe’s neck, pulling him into a hug. He grunts and wraps a beefy arm around my waist.
“Thank you.”
He nods. “Just be careful, okay?”
“I will. I promise.”
“Love you, darlin’,” he says, releasing me and I blow him a kiss as I turn away from him and slip into my beat up old car, firing it up. Moe watches me back out of my parking space and waves to me before going back into the bar as I pull out onto the street.
I’m thankful he didn’t try to force me to take someone with me because this feels like something I really need to do myself and I don’t know if I’d be able to go through with it if I had one of my brothers or anyone else with me. They’ve always been protective of me but with everything that happened, all the pain and heartache I was forced to endure, they’ve become even more so. At least a couple times a week, one of them will stop by “just to chat” but I know they’re checking up on me. I can’t even say I blame them, though. I’ve never told anyone everything that happened to me so all they have to go on is whatever it is they’ve dreamed up in their imagination and I’m not sure which is worse.
Maybe I should just tell them the truth – spell everything out for them – but what if it’s worse than anything they were imagining. What if my admission breaks something inside them like it has me? I couldn’t bear it. So I keep all these secrets, all this pain, locked up deep inside so we all can move on with our lives. It’s the one thing I want more than anything. When I first left, I was just trying to get to the next day because anything more was too daunting. Now, I feel like I’m stuck in place and I just want to move forward. I don’t want to waste my life anymore.
I pull to a stop along the curb in front of a black stucco building in the heart of Baton Rouge and my stomach rolls as I suck in a breath. It’s not that I’m scared to do this. In fact, it’s hard to remember the last time I was this excited. A year has passed and I’m stronger than ever before. I’ve fought through hell and made it out the other side in tact. I want — no, I need this, and more than that, I deserve it. Glancing up, the sign hanging above the shop catches my attention and I smile.
From the Ashes Tattoos.
It’s incredibly fitting.
Climbing out of the car, I take a deep breath and approach the front door, hyper aware of everything around me. The warm breeze which urges me to take a deep breath, the crunch of my shoes against the pavement, the cold metal of the door handle – all of it fills my senses, reminding me that I’m alive when not so long ago, I wondered if I would ever feel this way again. Today is not just about getting a tattoo. It’s about celebrating the fact that I’m still here – that even though I’m different now than I was when I first met him, he couldn’t destroy me no matter what he did to me.
I pull open the door and step inside as a little bell over my head jingles, announcing my entrance.
