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“Yes,” he says. “Exactly.”
We rock and sway. I grab his hands. He presses them to my legs and covers them with his. “We’re safe.”
“You paid him to take off when he normally wouldn’t because you thought we’d get murdered on the ground.”
“He wouldn’t have taken off if he thought it was too dangerous. He goes down with us, remember?”
“I see how you avoided the part about us getting murdered. And as for the pilot, people do crazy things for money.”
“Money does him no good if he’s dead. He goes down if we go down,” he repeats. “Let’s talk and get your mind off the flight.”
“I’mnot talking about what we need to talk about while fearing for my life.”
“All right then. We have four hours in the air. Let’s start with something simpler.”
“Define simpler,” I say cautiously, and the weather seems to answer, the plane leveling out, nice and steady.
“You wanted to know about my tattoos. Let’s talk about my tattoos.” He releases me and starts rolling up his sleeves, displaying his incredibly intricate ink as he does. It distracts me. It has my attention, right up until the moment that the plane jerks again. I jump and Eric grabs my legs again. “I got you.”
He has me. He does. I know that, but for how long? How long until this man is gone? How long until he breaks my heart? Because he will and yet when I’m with him I can’t seem to care. Except now. Reliving six years ago has cut me open, and I’m still bleeding, and as much as I hate to associate with this word—fragile.
“I got you,” he says again, his eyes warm. I’m warmtoo now. “I know I haven’t done the best of showing you that, but I’m going to be better.”
“I don’t know what to say to that,” I whisper.
“Say you believe me. Say you trust me.”
“Sayyoutrustme,” I demand. “You didn’t trust me when Isaac of all people lied about me.”
“I told you. This thing between us is unfamiliar territory. I’m used to trusting people and not getting burned. Right or wrong, and it was wrong, a shield is my sword.”
I breathe out a shaky breath. “I know that. I do. And I’m not without guilt. I should have told you everything a long time ago.”
“I didn’t make you feel like I’d believe you. Grayson always says you get what you give and I did.” He holds out his arm, displaying his powerful forearm and colorful ink. “Ask me anything, Harper.”
My gaze rockets to his and for a moment, I study that handsome, rugged face, looking for the meaning behind his offer and what I find is vulnerability. These tattoos are more than ink to him. They’re his life. They’re his secrets. They’re a look into his soul. He’s offering me a window into that world and trusting me not to abuse it.
My attention immediately settles on his left arm, on the rows of numbers banding its width, and stacking on top of each other, some with images and others without. I run my fingers over a row of nothing but numbers. “This one,” I say, looking at him again. “What does this one mean?”
“It says, ‘everyone has a price.’”
My lips tighten. “You mean me.”
“Everyone, Harper, not just you, but the truth is, that you, at least in part, inspired that tattoo.”
My gut clenches, throat tightens. He still thinks that I stayed at Kingston for power and money. “You think it was about money.”
“No. I know why you stayed, and you’ve paid a price and that price was years of your life.”
“To protect my father’s creation, his empire.” Emotions tighten my throat. “His memory.”
“I told you,” he replies softly. “I know why you stayed and I get it. I stayed for a long time, too. I wanted to be a Kingston, but the price for me became too high.”
“Was there a price you paid for leaving?”
“You. I left you behind, but no matter how many regrets I have about that now, that was how it was supposed to happen. I didn’t know me like I do now. I wasn’t the man I am now.”
I think of my miscarriage, and how that baby wasn’t meant to be, but I wanted it to be. I wanted it badly. I swallow hard and look at another tattoo, a grim reaper with numbers next to it. “This one,” I say, before it hits me that this could be about his mother, but it’s too late. I’ve committed to the question, and he’s told me to ask anything. “What does it mean?” I ask, meeting his stare.
