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TWENTY-FIVE
OAKLEY
"Do you want anything to drink? I'm sure I have some food if you're hungry. Are you warm enou—"
"I'm perfect. Calm down and come sit with me," Ava urges, cutting off my nervous rambling.
My hands shake and my heart pounds a million miles a minute. Quite the opposite of Ava's calm demeanour. She looks so relaxed from where she sits cross-legged on my worn couch.
Calm down? Right, I can do this. I choke out a nervous chuckle and swallow past the lump in my throat.
"Right. Okay." I move towards her and almost trip over my own feet. Avoiding eye contact, I grab the back of my hoodie and yank it over my head.
"What are you doing?" she shrieks, eyes wide. "When I said you weren't getting me into bed, I was serious!"
"Relax, sweetheart. If I wanted to get you in bed, I'd do a lot better than this," I tease, watching the blush spread across her cheeks. She hasn't taken her eyes off my now-naked chest since the minute I took my hoodie off. I contemplate teasing her about it, but I think I'll save that for later.
"Do you ever get tired of teasing me?" she mumbles. I sit down on the carpet in front of her and shrug off her question. She already knows the answer to that.
Her fingers start to trace the tattoo on my upper back, making me flinch.
It's the tattoo I got for my dad. And until now, the only people who knew the meaning behind the intricate designs were Mom and Gracie. I never thought I'd want anyone else to know.
I remember being so pumped the day Mom took me to the tattoo parlour. It was my sixteenth birthday and after three years of nagging every day for her to let me get the damn thing, she finally did.
The tattoo artist and I had spent hours redrawing the design until I decided it was good enough. I'll never forget Mom's face when I showed her. Her eyes welled up the second they landed on the paper.
The tattoo is a scene of sorts—a memory. It is set in the middle of winter, with piles of fluffy, white snow and tall, bare trees sitting along the banks of a frozen lake. A young boy dressed in full hockey gear is winding up his hockey stick, ready to shoot the puck into the nearby net. Hutton is written across the back of the boy's jersey, above the number eleven. My dad's lucky number.
Yet the most meaningful part of the tattoo is the cross hidden between the trees and behind the snowbank. It's hidden because written on the cross is the date my father passed away.
"I got it for my dad. The tattoo," I tell her.
Ava draws in a sharp breath and leans her chin on my shoulder.
"It's beautiful."
Her fingers haven't stopped their gentle movements across my skin. I lean back into her touch, finally letting her give me the comfort I need.
"Tell me about him," she whispers, her tone gentle.
"His name was Jamie," I manage to blurt out, but Ava gently squeezes my shoulder and cuts me off.
"Is," she murmurs. I turn my head slightly so I can meet her gaze, confused. "His name is Jamie. He never left. Not really," Ava explains. It is a simple statement, yet the words make my head spin.
I'm suddenly aware of how fast and hard my heart is thumping against my ribcage as I stare into her eyes. I'm overwhelmed with the urge to be closer to her. She never fails to amaze me with how she always knows exactly what I need to hear her say.
It’s now that I know the words are there on the tip of my tongue.
I love you.
It shouldn't be hard to let them slip past my lips. I need to let Ava know how deeply I genuinely care for her and tell her how she makes me feel. I need to let them speak as my promise never to leave her. But I don't say them. Instead, I nod my head and turn to face her.
"He was my hero," I pause, taking a deep breath before continuing, "he was a contractor for a small construction company. His job came in handy when it came to working around the house, too. My mom would make him tear down almost every wall in the house just to paint the new ones every ugly colour you can think of. She always felt like the house needed a change, but I never heard him complain. Not once."
Ava chuckles and leans forward, letting her arms hang down on both sides of my neck. "It sounds like he loved her a lot."
I let myself smile at her comment. "Even from a young age I could feel the love radiating off of them. Once he was gone, though, that's when I realized how much they loved each other. He was her whole world, and she was his." My eyes burn, but I swallow back the tears and speak again.
