He turns to me, our lips only an inch apart, before he says, “Ihaven’t always made choices that have led me in the right direction.”
I trace the edge of the tattoo with my eyes, the symbolism clicking into place in a way that feels steady and sure.
“I love it,” I say softly.
His mouth lifts at one corner. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” I nod. “It suits you.”
Holly clears her throat behind us. “All right, you two. I’ll wrap this up and give you aftercare instructions.”
Milo smiles as he stands, giving his forearm back to Holly.
The compass ink is still red around the edges, unfinished and tender.
I reflect on Milo’s words. All of them.
The compass. The girl.
When I stopped loving myself, letting everyone else choose for me still had consequences. My life has become a reflection of that.
I reach for my new tattoo, my fingers grazing the swollen skin, and smile to myself.
This inked blue butterfly can’t grant me wishes, but it’s a reminder that I don’t have to carry the expectations of everyone else on my shoulders. I can choose differently. I can change the direction I’m going.
But before I go back to Dusty Hollow and wreak havoc, I’m going to enjoy something Sophie said.
The fun side.
45
SADIE
Why dothe clink of tokens and the cheerful chaos of arcade sounds—the beeps, the buzzes, and the overenthusiastic victory jingles—make me feel like a kid again? Like life can be measured in turns and tickets, and the only real problem is whether I’ve got enough coins left to keep the balls rolling or the screen glowing.
I shake the cup of tokens in my hand, the plastic warm in my palm. “Ready?”
Milo grins at me. “I haven’t played these kinds of games in a long time.”
“I’m going to beat you.” I smirk.
He chuckles. “At what exactly? You already know my tickets are yours.”
“IbetI can beat you.” I say the magic word, knowing Milo can’t resist.
He steps closer. “Which game?”
I glance around the arcade, taking in all the neon lights and the printed carpet that only belongs in a place like this. I used to go to the arcade with a couple college friends before I moved back to Dusty Hollow. I was the fifth wheel, and I’d find myself spending all my tokens playing Skee-Ball. I can hit the one hundred-point circle with ease, but Milo doesn’t know that.
My ears search for the familiar sound of the wooden ball rolling up the ramp as my eyes scan the large room, and when I spot it, I look at Milo, point toward Skee-Ball and say innocently, “I’ve always wanted to try that game.”
“Skee-Ball?” he questions.
I shoot him my most angelic expression. “Unless you’re too scared . . .”
He grabs my hand and tugs me along, and I internally pump my fist in anticipation. While Milo makes bet to lose, I fully intend to win the bets I make.
When we are standing in front of the game, he turns to me. “What’s the bet?”
