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“You what? Devon, you can’t!”
He shrugs. “I know, but I did. I can’t go back, Ally. You know how it feels just going grocery store there now.”
“Do you think it will be any different in Eugene?”
“I think so,” he says. “They might recognize us, but they won’t know us. They won’t know any of them, either. They won’t have their own notions about who Mark or Darci were or who we are. I think that will make a difference.”
“You didn’t even ask me.”
He smiles. “Can I be in your space, Ally?”
I shake my head and try to hide my own smile. “Yeah, Devon. You can be in my space. But…what about your parents? And your sister?” I ask. “You’ll miss them.”
“It’s not that long of a drive. Besides, I’d miss things if I stayed, too. I’d miss waking up next to you and making you laugh. I’d miss your smile and the way you taste.” He runs a finger down my cheek and then takes my hand in his. “And wewillsmile again, Ally. Someday, it’ll just be easy—the other stuff, too, whenever you’re ready.”
“But what are you going to do there? What about college and being an architect?”
“I want to do tattoos,” he answers.
“Really!?”
“And I’m going to take care of you every day,” he says. “I’ll fuck you every night. And once summer comes, I’m going to take you to the beach. You’re going to wear a bathing suit, and we’ll go swimming. We can even camp out in the car when we’re done if that’s what you want.”
“That is what I want. I want all of that. I meant what I said before—I can’t picture myself happy without you. I don’t even want to try.”
“Get ready to be happy then, Ally. We’re going to have a lot of good days.”
I sigh and rest my head on the center console while Devon runs his fingers through my hair. And I do feel happy.
I finally made it to the next part. The good part.
Irun across the hot sand and into the surf, letting the cool salt water wash over my bare feet.
“There’s no way I’m getting in that,” I tell Devon. “You’re crazy. The water is fucking freezing.”
We’ve had one of the hottest summers on record here; this is the third straight week of temperatures around ninety degrees. Still, even with the hot July sun bearing down on me, the water here is cold enough to take my breath away.
He still takes my breath away, too. I wonder how he does it. A lot has changed in the almost four years since we moved to Oregon, but that’s one thing that remains a constant.
We both smile easily and often now. I breathe easier. I sleep deeply at night next to his warm body, surrounded by cedar and sandalwood and the scent of our own fabric softener, and don’t wake up frightened by even the slightest of sounds. Our home is always peaceful and adorned with beautiful things we’ve createdtogether—artwork and photographs, souvenirs and other things that matter to us.
We visit Devon’s parents a few times a year, but we don’t leave the house much when we’re in Black Rock. It still doesn’t feel quite right there—it brings back a lot of bad memories that, when I’m here, I’m able to put out of my head. It takes me back to the things I could have done differently, to the questions that were never answered, to the dark place and the scars it left on me.
But the scars made me who I am, whether I wanted them to or not. And I’m happy with who I am now.
I leave flowers on Darci’s grave each time we visit. And every time, I tell her I’m sorry. I’m not angry anymore.
We both finished our apprenticeships last year. We took a chance on us and have been able to ride both our talent and notoriety to success. Admittedly, it made me a bit uncomfortable at first, but I learned to roll with it. With our books always full, our waiting lists long, and our ever-growing following on social media, we decided to open Killer Ink earlier this year. It has become somewhat of a tourist attraction in Eugene. People travel from all over the state and sometimes further to see us.
And we escape to the beach and the mountains as much as our schedules allow. It turns out I am a little outdoorsy.
“Swim with me, Ally,” Devon says from where he wades in nearly waist-deep water.
“No way. I have fresh ink. Maybe next time.”
“The skull is healing nicely,” he says. “It looks amazing. Who’s the artist? They must be really talented.”
I shake my head. “You.”
