“Hey.” Dax’s voice is soft, cutting through my thoughts. The buzzing stops. “You’re crying.”
I blink my eyes open, and his blue ones are watching me in the mirror, not with pity but with understanding.
“We can stop,” he says. “No shame in that. We can finish it another day.”
“No.” My voice is stronger than I expected. I swipe at my tears with the back of my free hand. “No. It’s okay. I need to do this.”
He holds my gaze for a moment longer, then gives a short, decisive nod. The buzzing starts up again. I close my eyes and focus on the feeling—the transformation.
The pain is a payment. Each line of ink is a brick in the wall I’m building around my heart, a foundation for the woman I want to be.
A woman who doesn’t flinch. A woman who rises.
When it’s over, the buzzing ceases, leaving a ringing silence. Dax wipes my skin with a cool, wet cloth, and I look down.
The phoenix is there, its head proud, its wings sweeping across my wrist, covering the scar with its fiery plumage. It’s beautiful. It’s mine.
My hand trembles slightly as I pull out my phone and snap a picture. I send it to Stella. My best friend who last month moved to London to start afresh.She’s the only one from my old life who truly understood me. She’s the only one who would understand my tattoo.
Dax smooths a thin layer of ointment over the new tattoo. “It’s gorgeous,” he says, his voice genuine. “A real symbol of hope.” He hands me a tissue.
My phone buzzes. A message from Stella.It’s so pretty! You did it!
I look from the phone to my arm, to the vibrant, permanent mark on my skin. The stinging has faded to a dull, warm throb. I touch the edge of the phoenix’s wing with my fingertip.
This is it. The new start. The line in the sand. I take a deep breath, the first one that doesn’t feel weighted down by ghosts.
I will be okay.
CHAPTER ONE
Amber
I’m backin that cramped, dimly lit apartment. It stinks of stale beer. Luke is yelling, his face a distorted mask of rage, but the sound is muffled, like I’m underwater.
I’m trying to shield my stomach, trying to shield Maisie, but my arms are lead weights. He raises a hand, and his shadow on the wall looks like a blade.
I gasp, sitting bolt upright, the sheets tangling around my legs like a trap. The room is pitch black, save for the faint, digital glow of the alarm clock.
3:00 a.m.
I press a hand to my chest, willing my breathing to steady. Just a dream. Only a memory playing on a loop.
I drag in air, letting the silence of the house settle over me. It smells like lavender detergent and the pine wood cleaner Norah likes. It smells safe.
I’m in Fox Hollow. Luke is hundreds of miles away.
Turning my head, I reach out in the dark until my fingers brush soft, curly hair. Maisie.
She’s sprawled diagonally across the mattress, one leg thrown over my duvet, her mouth slightly open. She looks so peaceful, so unlike the terrified toddler she used to be.
I trace the line of her jaw with my thumb, careful not to wake her. In sleep, there is no fear in her, no flinching at sudden movements.
I have failed her so many times. I stayed too long. I let the wrong men into our lives. I put my own need to be loved above her need to be safe.
But looking at her now, at the steady rise and fall of her chest, I make the promise again. This time will be different. I’m building a life here where she doesn’t have to be brave. She just has to be a kid.
Carefully, I slide out from under the covers, padding barefoot across the hardwood floor. My throat feels like sandpaper, scrubbed raw by the nightmare. I need water.
