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“Can I call you later?” I say to her back, clinging to the hope this isn’t the end of our conversation. Of us.
She still won’t look at me and she’s halfway out the door. “When I’m ready, I’ll be in touch.”
There’s a finality in her words that makes my heart sink. When the door shuts behind her, the quiet of the condo feels oppressive. A stark contrast to the laughter and closeness we shared last night and this morning.
Fuck. Fucking fuck. I punch my fist against the wall. The excitement I once felt about Project SoHo feels overshadowed by the potential cost to my personal life. The possibility of losing Jordan this way, of hurting her so deeply, was something I didn't see coming.
Clutching my phone, waiting for Jordan to call, I don’t move for hours. A loneliness more profound than I could ever imagine permeates my body with each passing minute. Tormented, I replay our conversation—every word and every expression of hurt on Jordan’s face—over and over.
I’ve always been able to navigate the complexities of my professional life with confidence, but I’m a fucking loser when it comes to navigating the complexities of love.
That’s the truth.
With a heavy heart, knowing I won't sleep a wink, I resign myself to the truth.
She’s gone.
Chapter twenty-two
Jordan
One Week Later
I’ve had something of an epiphany.
After feeling stuck with my mermaid designs for the past couple of years, I decided to change my attitude and remember why the sea Sirens inspired me in the first place. I’m pretty sure Peter’s approach to his work rubbed off on me a bit. His eco-friendly designs are why he’s successful, but he tackles each project with a sense of wonder and delight.
He leans into his gift.
I’ve been doing the same.
This morning, I completed a full leg sleeve—one of the most intricate and vibrant works I’ve ever created. My client, Emmie Lopez, is the guitar player for an up-and-coming band, Candy Crushed. I’m honestly not sure how she’s able to afford a fifty-thousand-dollar tattoo, but who am I to judge.
Anyway, I’m thrilled with the outcome. The mermaid’s eyes are a mesmerizing shade of deep ocean blue and convey the mysteries of the sea. Her hair, flowing and alive with shades of aquamarine and seafoam green, cascades down Emmie’s thigh like a waterfall, blending seamlessly into the waves and currents forming the backdrop of the scene.
The scales on her tail are a kaleidoscope of ocean hues – turquoise, cerulean, and lavender – shimmering as if touched by the sun’s rays filtering through the water. The sense of movement in her tail, with each scale meticulously shaded, gives the impression of a delicate swaying motion.
Surrounding the mermaid, the underwater world comes to life on Emmie’s skin. Corals in vibrant oranges, pinks, and purples create a sense of depth and texture. I’ve painstakingly etched each detail and the result is a realistic portrayal of a thriving ocean floor.
As I worked on this particular tattoo, I remembered why mermaids inspired me in the first place. Every stroke of my needle and every blend of color is an expression of the passion I still hold for my craft. It’s my finest piece. Everyone in the shop applauded when they saw the end result, which was humbling.
More importantly, Emmie is over the moon.
Though I’m filled with a sense of accomplishment, the adrenaline of a job well done is wearing off.
“Girl, I know you’re not sitting here staring into space.” Merc joins me in the breakroom where I’m doing just that.
It’s hard not to rathole on the argument Peter and I had. His words echo painfully in my mind. The dishonesty hurts even worse. “He’s been sending me texts, Merc. Apologizing, saying how much he misses me, how sorry he is. But I… I don’t know what to do.”
“Do you want to forgive him?” Merc frowns with concern.
I trace the rim of my tea mug. “I don’t know. I wish I wasn’t in love with him. It makes things complicated. We’re not the same kids we were in Vegas—we've veered into commitment territory, and I don’t know if I can trust him, let alone forgive him.”
“Hmmm.” Merc leans back, considering his words carefully. “Forgiveness isn’t about forgetting, Jordan. It’s about deciding whether the love you have is stronger than the pain he caused—and whether he’s worth the effort in the end.”
“Isn’t that the fucking truth.” I rest my cheek on my palm. “There’s also the London thing. He’s possibly moving there for years and he didn’t think it was important information to tell me. I don’t want to build a long-term relationship with someone who picks and chooses what he discloses about his life. Like I did to Cameron. Holy shit. I'm a monster. Is this karma biting me in the ass?”
Merc taps his long fingers on the table. “Well, that’s dramatic AF because you can’t compare the two. Cameron wasn’t some safe little simp who you did wrong. He didn’t support you or this shop. Plus, you didn't love each other enough to make it work.”
