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There.
The bed no longer mocks me.
It’s not much, but it’s a start.
My eleven o’clock is a woman getting a Latin quote on her ribs. I’m careful about every line, but my thoughts stay on Leighton. The frustration in her brow. The hurt in her eyes. The words inked onto her side.
I finish the quote. Turn off the gun. “Done.”
The woman jumps to her feet and stares at her new ink in the mirror. Her eyes go wide with wonder.
I see this expression a few times a day, but it never gets old.
This is where I belong. I’m lucky to have that. “Sit down.” The demand in my voice covers my irritation.
The woman perks. Her brown eyes fix on mine. Her soft lips press into a smile. “Ryan, this is amazing.”
“It was all your idea.”
She shakes her head. “You designed it.”
Yeah, I added the rain drops. The umbrella. The clouds. But it was all her. Talking to her. Seeing what made her eyes light up or her lips curl into a smile.
I found what was in her soul.
Not what was in mine.
Even so, I accept her praise. “Thanks.”
“No. Thank you. It’s amazing.”
She squirms as I clean her up.
“You’re done.”
She jumps to her feet and throws her arms around me.
I step backward. Shift my weight into my heel. I never get used to this either.
“Thank you so much.” She squeezes me tightly.
“My pleasure.”
She releases me. Grabs her hoodie from the chair, slides it on, zips it until it’s covering her taped on tube top.
I lead her to the counter. Give her my usual aftercare routine. Ring her up myself.
It’s easy enough, but it’s not the same without Leighton.
There’s something missing from my goodbye.
There’s just something missing.
The thought of not seeing her at work every day steals my oxygen. It’s what’s best for her. It’s inevitable. But it’s fucking terrible.
The thought of not seeing her, period?
My stomach churns.
