Page 75 of Fight from the Heart

“You have no idea.” My breathless whisper surrounds us. The sound of the shower drowns out my fear or so I think. Jacob stills behind me.

“What are you frightened of?”

“You’ll break my heart.” I can’t look at him, but I need to be honest about this one thing.

“I know I’ve hurt you, and I’m sorry for that. You’re it for me, Lilac. Let me make it up to you.”

Jacob kisses my shoulder. Then moves back to my neck.

“There’s never going to be anyone else as real, as true to me, as good for me as you.” His hand comes to the opposite side of my neck, massaging the juncture between it and my shoulder while his mouth continues to suck at my skin. He’s so good at what he does, and within seconds, I’m melting under the steam of the shower and the heat of his touch.

“Why are you in here?” he questions.

“I just couldn’t sleep,” I admit.

Because I have something to tell you.

“You’re tense. You okay, angel?” He works at my neck a little longer and then reaches for the shampoo bottle. Without asking, he washes my hair, shampooing it with gentle fingertips. My eyes close as my head lobs under his scalp massage.

“You like that?”

I purr in response, and he chuckles.

“Turn,” he commands, and I spin to rinse my hair. His scent surrounds me. Cloves. Inhaling, I open my eyes to find Jacob looking at my lips. His curls into a crooked smile, and mine follow. Glancing down, I reach for his arm, running a finger over the intricate ink.

“What do these mean?”

“Most are symbols representing warriors, fighters, or survival.”

My eyes drop to the word on his wrist, recalling the tattoo I’m most familiar with. Nevermore.

“My father would grab my arms hard. Hard enough to leave marks. Bruising fingertips. This art covers any impression he ever made.” While the bruises would have healed, the emotional wounds run deep within Jacob.

“And what about this?” My fingertips trace over the words on his pec. Change your destiny.

It might be simple and obvious. He didn’t want to be like his father, but I sense something deeper to the words.

“Cliché for an author, right? But the words just stuck with me. I made it my motto when I got my first contract. I was changing my destiny.”

“Meaning your stories would be your life?”

“Something like that. It’s more a reminder that I’ll be who I want to be. I won’t be him.” Hope blooms in my chest as it’s the first time I’ve heard Jacob accept that he doesn’t have to be like his father. In fact, he’s nothing like him. He won’t lay a finger on a child. He won’t disown his child for making his own choices.

I spin Jacob and run a finger over his lower back, along another set of inked words.

I am not what happened to me. I choose to be something more.

“And here?” I question, keeping my voice low and soft, hoping the tenderness of my touch tells him he can trust me with these things.

“It’s the first place my father kicked me. It’s the shape of a boot heel, and the words are to remind me that I will not be what happened. I will not become them. I choose to be something greater.” His voice is pained as he explains the meaning. I bent to kiss the permanent scar. Jacob flinches, and I place a hand on his hip to steady him.

His upper left shoulder has another small mark. It looks like a sunburst, but on closer inspection, I see it’s a puckered scar. I run a finger over it, and Jacob shudders. He volunteers an answer before I ask.

“Dad burned me with a cigar. It was an accident,” he mocks. “It wasn’t deep, but it marked my skin.”

I tip up on my toes and press a lingering kiss on the spot. My eyes close, trying not to imagine the horror of a father harming his child.

Finally, I’m drawn to a larger set of words on his right side, under his arm, but closer to his hip bone.