Bent not Broken (119 page)

She freezes at my touch. Looking back over her shoulder at me, she takes a step backwards into me, and I start circling her back with the sponge. Pulling her hair over her shoulder, I work the sponge over her shoulders, down her arms, and to her lower back. I want so badly to drop the sponge and use my hands lathered in body wash to cover every centimeter of her tanned flesh.

As I stand up, our mouths are inches apart, and even with the hot water, I can feel her hot breath against my lips. She presses her hands against my chest and, this time, I tense under her touch. I want so badly to wrap my arms around her and take her right here, but I stand still. Closing my eyes, my head drops back into the stream of hot water.

“About last night, I’m sorry. I would never have gone as far if I had…”

She cuts me off, pressing her index finger against my lips to shush me. “I should have told you before I let it get as far as it did.” Her voice trails off and she looks past me, her eyes heavy.

“I just wanted to feel your lips on my lips and your hands on my body before you knew what happened to me. Before you decided I was too damaged to touch.” I flinch at her comment. “I’m so fucked up. One minute, I want you to touch me, and the next, I can’t handle being touched.” Her hands move down my chest, to my stomach, and back up. With a small step forward, she’s pressed up against me. Both of us are standing under the water, eyes locked on each other. I want to make a move so badly, but the promises I made to myself last night are flashing through my mind.
Let her go. Let her go. Let her go.

“I’ve been working through this with my therapist.” She pauses, staring at my chest. Her hands move down as she wraps her arms around my waist and presses the side of her face to my chest. Without hesitation, my arms instantly wrap around her in return. Standing for minutes in this embrace, I don’t want to ruin the moment, but I know we are running late. I pull back from her, reaching for the handle to shut the shower off.

She steps out of the shower and grabs two bath towels. Tossing one at me, she smiles a sweet genuine smile while she wraps herself in the other towel. I love seeing her like this: happy, confident, and beautiful.

“Like what you see?” she asks with a little giggle. I realize I’ve been staring at her.

“Always. You’re beautiful.” Her cheeks blush at my compliment. “You’re stunning, Jess.” She looks back at me and bursts out laughing.

“What are you laughing at?”

“Are you going to stand there and drip dry with that towel slung over your shoulder and toss compliments at me all day, or are you going to dry off?” She laughs.

“Shit.” I grab the towel off my shoulder and wrap it around my waist. Walking past her, I give her ass a hard smack through the towel she’s wrapped in. I grab my clothes and head to the bedroom to change. She’s still in fits of giggles as I close the door behind me.

****

Once again, she is looking at me like I have two heads.

“Why can’t we just take your car?”

“Because we’re young and wild and free, and we only live once. Hop your sweet ass onto the bike, or we’re going to be late.”

“Whatever, Wiz.” She rolls her eyes and mumbles at my reference to being wild and young and free, but she hops onto the back of my bike and gets settled in. She pulls an elastic band off her wrist and pulls her hair into a big messy ponytail, and puts her small Ray-Ban aviator glasses on. There is nothing sexier than she is at this moment.

“Ready,” she says as she stuffs a tube of Chapstick into the front pocket of her cut-off jean shorts that she borrowed from Lindsay.

“Let’s do this,” I say, getting on the bike and starting it up. Selfishly, I know I should just drive my car, but I love the way she feels pressed up against me, her thighs bracing me. I know that this will be the last time I will have her on the back of my bike, so I’m going to enjoy every minute of it.

She wraps her arms around me and presses her cheek to my back, and her fingers press against my stomach as she holds onto me and we wind through the streets. Pulling into the parking lot of a small brick building, I park my bike and cut the engine.

“Where are we?” she asks, looking around while sliding off the seat.

“Told you. It’s a surprise,” I say, grabbing her hand. She laces her fingers with mine, and I pull her toward me. Walking up to the small building, she sidles up next to me, unsure of what we’re doing. The building has no signage except for a neon sign in the front window that flashes “open.”

Opening the front door, I motion for her to enter first. She puts her sunglasses on top of her head, and eyes me tentatively.

“Joey!” I announce and look around for my friend.

“What is this place?” she whispers. The front reception area has a leather couch and loveseat, but is non-telling of where we’re really at.

“You’ll see.” I smile at her. I know that the nondisclosure is driving her crazy.

“Landon!” Joey announces, rounding the corner from the hallway that leads back to the four stations in the back. Joey walks up to me and shakes my hand. “And who do we have here?” he asks, looking at Jess, which causes her to press herself closer to my side.

“Nice to meet you, I’m Joey,” he says, offering his hand for her to shake. Politely, she reaches out and shakes his hand, but does not remove the death grip she has on mine.

“Jessica,” she replies. “Nice to meet you as well.”

“Well, let’s do this, shall we?” Joey smiles, his voice full of energy and enthusiasm. Leading the way, Joey turns and begins walking down the hallway, and we follow suit. Turning into the large bright room, she gasps when she sees where we are. Her eyes are large, and she squeezes my hand, turning to look at me. Her lips curl into a smile.

“You’re getting another tattoo?” she whispers. Leaning down, I rub my nose into her hair and kiss the top of her head.

“Yes, and I wanted you here with me while I did it.” Her smile is huge and her eyes light up with excitement.

“Have any ink?” Joey asks her.

“I’ve always wanted one, but I’m too afraid,” she admits quietly.

“Nothing to be afraid of, I tell ya. Once you get one, you can’t stop. Just look at our guy here.” Joey smirks. “I’ll be right back. In the meantime, lie down on the table and take off your shirt,” he directs me.

“Pull up a chair, sweetheart.” He barks orders as he leaves the room. I pull back my t-shirt over my head, and my white gold crucifix I’m wearing dangles from my neck. Jess walks over and places her hand over the top of the cross, pressing it against my chest. I wonder what she’s doing, but I don’t ask.

“What are you getting?” she asks quietly.

“A saying that I tell myself every morning,” I whisper back.

Her eyes find mine. “What is the saying?”

“
Vive ut vivas
.”

“What does it mean?” She moves closer, not moving her hand from my chest or from the crucifix.

“Live so that you may live.” There is silence while she takes in the meaning of the saying. I take her hand off of my chest and bring it to my lips, kissing each one of her fingers. I take my time because I know, after today, I won’t see her or touch her again.

“Live so that you may live,” she whispers.

I tug on her hand, pulling her down to me. I place small kisses on the center of her forehead between each word, “
Vive ut vivas
,” as if I’m pushing those words into her subconscious.

“Live so that you may live,” she whispers again. She pulls back from me when Joey comes bounding back into the room, carrying a sheet of transfer paper. I lie still on the table. Joey hands me a small pillow that I tuck under my head with my free hand, still holding Jess’ hand with my other.

“Ready, big guy?” he asks. Sitting down in a chair that is next to the table, she’s right by my side. I give her hand a small squeeze, willing her to calm down. She’s been running her thumb in a fast movement across the top of my hand. My squeeze slows her thumb considerably. Joey preps my chest, shaving the area and cleaning it. She gasps when she looks at Joey press the transfer sheet to my chest.

“Jesus Christ, that’s huge,” she bellows. Joey laughs at her reaction, but doesn’t flinch as he places the paper across my chest. Pressing it on, he removes the paper and hands me a mirror.

“It’s perfect.” The large font follows the curve of the top of my chest, from just under each collarbone. Joey grabs the tattoo gun and begins working. Since it’s black and in a simple English-style font, it won’t take long. Jess watches the needles glide across my skin.

“Does it hurt?” she whispers, squeezing my hand.

“No. I’m used to it. This is my eighth tattoo.” I point to the others that mark my arms and chest.

“So it doesn’t hurt?”

“Not really. Some pinching here and there, and every once in a while, he’ll hit a sensitive spot, but for the most part, it doesn’t hurt; it’s just uncomfortable at times.” Joey continues his work across my chest, not talking while he’s working; he’s focused intently on the job at hand. He’s a legend in this town when it comes to tattoos. He has done every single one of mine. Jess sits, impatiently bobbing her legs up and down, chewing on her bottom lip.

“Hey, Joey,” she asks.

“What’s up, sweetheart?” He stops, looking up at her.

“Got time for one more when you’re done?”

“Really?” I ask her.

“Live so that you may live,” she responds with a smile, and I can’t help but want to jump off this table and pull her into a hug.

“I think I can squeeze you in, sweetheart,” Joey responds, looking at me, then chuckling as he puts the finishing touches on my chest.

Chapter 40

Jess

Looking at my inner wrist, which is wrapped with a thin piece of gauze, I catch him looking out the corner of his eye at me.

“You said it wouldn’t hurt,” I growl at him.

He bursts out laughing. “I don’t have a tattoo on my inner wrist. I didn’t know it was one of the most painful places to put a tattoo.” He can hardly speak, he’s laughing so hard. “I can’t believe you cried.” His roars of laughter just keep coming. Shaking my head, I narrow my eyes at him, trying not to laugh along with him. I can’t believe I cried either, but it hurt, bad. Fortunately, the single word I put on my inner wrist in a delicate script took Joey all of ten minutes from start to finish.

“So are you going to tell me what it means?” he asks, shaking off his fits of laughter, trying to be serious with me.

“Maybe,” I say, still pissed at him for making fun of me. When he raises his eyebrow at me, I roll my eyes at him. “Fine, it says
Infragilis.”

“Yeah, I got that much. But what does it mean?” he asks.

“Google it,” I respond, my mood lightening a bit, but giving him a hard time.

“Even though I don’t know what it means, I like what you chose,” he says, trying to lighten my mood some more. “It looks nice.”

“I do too. Joey made a great recommendation with the white ink.” I smile at him. We left the tattoo shop and drove to a little burger shop here on the beach. Ordering dinner, we eat at a small table on the patio, overlooking the beautiful green water.

“Let’s walk,” he says, his tone somber. Kicking at the sand as we walk the beach, he reaches for my hand, and I reluctantly take it, lacing my fingers through his. We walk for a bit, not saying anything, but just enjoying the comfort of each other’s company. Tugging at my arm, he sits down in the sand and gently guides me down next to him. It’s late afternoon and there is a light breeze. It’s warm and comfortable, and the sand is warm underneath us. The sun is slowly descending out above the water, and there is no one else on this stretch of beach.

We sit side by side, watching the small waves lap at the shoreline. “You need to call him,” he says, not looking at me, but staring straight ahead out at the water. I turn my entire body to face him and lay my legs over his.

“Call who?” I ask.

“Gabe,” he sighs. I feel his hand inadvertently clench. Turning his head, he looks at me. For the first time today, there is no happiness in those beautiful blue eyes. His face is devoid of any emotion, and I see the muscles in his neck clench when he swallows. I don’t say anything as I study his gorgeous tan face.

“What are you afraid of?” he asks me quietly, running his finger over the bandage on the inside of my wrist. Looking back to me, he waits for his answer.

My throat tightens as I form the words. “Everything. I’m afraid of everything. I’m afraid to feel again. Being numb is easy.” Now I’m the one looking out over the water. His grip on my hand tightens.

“Look at me.” I turn back to meet those perfect blue eyes. Where they are normally full of life, they are full of sadness and hurt. His day-old stubble sits perfectly along his chiseled jaw line and around his chin and mouth. “Never be afraid to feel. It’s the only way to really live. If you don’t feel, there is no way you can love, heal, or forgive. You’ll never move forward or get past this. You have to forgive, Jess.”

“What if I’m not ready to forgive?”

“How do you know you’re not?”

“Because I’m angry.”

“You have every right to be angry, baby girl, but you have to let the hate and anger go. If you can’t forgive, it will eat you alive. Trust me.” Those words hit me like a ton of bricks. He continues to run his fingers over the gauze taped onto my wrist as we sit in silence.

“I can’t call him. He hates me. I hope he hates me as much as I hate myself right now for pushing him away, for not talking to him—for running away. I don’t deserve him or his love. I never did.” I struggle with the words as tears spill from my eyes.

“I don’t know Gabe, but I know there is no way he hates you. There is no hating you; it’s impossible.” His voice breaks. A small smile crosses my lips with those sweet words, but his face is still, sad.

“Why did you get in the shower with me today?” he asks.

My heart sinks as he asks me this. I shrug before answering, “I needed you.”

“You don’t need me, Jess. You need Gabe. I’ve been a convenient substitute. Are you going to call him?” he asks again. This time, his tone is more demanding.