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“Hold still,” Mom said. “How does this thing work?”
“I think you have to unscrew one of the ends.”
I looked up while she unscrewed it, clenching my teeth against the pain and wondering when I’d turned into such a weakling. This wasn’t that bad. Why hadn’t I been able to do it myself?
“What are you doing?”
Dad’s voice.
Great.
I glanced at the doorway. His big frame almost didn’t fit and he was watching us with a look bordering on horror.
“I’m taking out Zachary’s nipple piercing,” Mom said, as if it were the most normal thing in the world.
She finished unscrewing the ball and I tried not to wince.
“I can’t look.” Dad averted his eyes.
“What do you mean, you can’t look?” Mom asked, adjusting her glasses again. “It’s just a piercing.”
Dad kept his gaze away from my image in the mirror. “Why did you do that to yourself?”
“I was stupid. And maybe a little drunk.”
“You’d have to be.” He tried to look again but couldn’t seem to make himself do it. “I don’t know why that thing is making me feel like puking.”
“You big baby,” Mom said. “You’re as bad as Zachary. He couldn’t even take it out himself.”
“Don’t blame him.” He shook his head. “That’s a hell no.”
Despite the way my nipple throbbed from Mom unscrewing the ball on one side, that made me laugh. Paul Haven was a big, tough guy. The fact that he couldn’t look either was hilarious.
And a little bit vindicating.
“Hold still,” Mom said.
“Sorry, Dad’s distracting me. I can’t—ow!” The dull throb became a searing streak of fire across the left side of my chest as she slid it out.
“See? Just like taking off a bandage.” She held up the piercing.
I hunched over, gingerly cupping a hand over my mutilated nipple. “Ow! That was not like taking off a bandage!”
“Best done quick.” She screwed the ball back on and held it out to me. “Make sure you keep it clean until it heals.”
I took the piercing and stuffed it in my pocket. She patted my cheek while Dad shuddered and walked out.
Blowing out a long breath, I moved my hand and looked. It was still an angry red, but at least now it could just heal closed. I still didn’t know what I’d been thinking. Yeah, drunk, and that mostly explained it. But why did I always jump at the first chance to cause trouble, even when it was only trouble for myself?
That wasn’t the kind of man Marigold needed.
And the truth of that hurt a hell of a lot more than the piercing.
Last night I hadn’t been drinking because Marigold was mad at me. I’d been drinking because I finally understood something. I wasn’t good enough for her.
I’d admitted that to myself before, but I’d been thinking about all the time I’d wasted ignoring her. How I’d treated her. That was just external—the dumb decisions I’d made. But I could fix that. I could stop being stupid.
This was different. This was the realization that maybe I wasn’t right for her after all.
