More Than Lies (More Than #1)(86)

“Yes.” I do, but to permanently ink me without me seeing the design is crazy. That’s messed up. No one in their right mind would let anyone do that to them. He’s lost his damn mind. “No way!”

“Come on.”

“I’m not opposed to another tattoo. I’d love one, in fact.” Cosmo was spot on. They are addicting. Once you get past the week of non-stop itching, you forget about any misery associated with getting a tattoo and you want another. “But I want to see it first.”

He looks at me like I just burst his bubble.

Sooorry. Too bad, buddy.

He huffs air out through his nose.

“At least let me put the transfer on, then you can look and decide. Will that work?”

“Yeah.” I’m excited. “So we’re doing this now?”

“After you.” He holds his arm out, silently telling me to walk toward his table. I do so with a little pep in my step.

After he cleans my skin and dries it, Shawn applies the transfer. When he finishes, he pulls the paper off and quickly balls it up before I can see. Shawn looks at me. His eyes tell me he’s nervous. He shouldn’t be. I know the design will be beautiful. All of his work is amazing. I have no doubts that I’ll love it, but there was no way I could go through with it without seeing it first.

“Can I look?”

“I guess.” Is he sweating? Shawn Braden? Okay, today just became bizarre. I hop up and swing my legs to the ground so I can stand. Taking a step toward the mirror, I raise my arm.

Shawn placed the soon-to-be tattoo on the underside of my left bicep.

What I see in the mirror has confusion and tears springing to my eyes. It’s the rose. The purple one. The transfer displays one single rose not quite in full bloom, with a stem and a ribbon. The ribbon says, ‘Beautiful’, in pretty scripted font. The reason I don’t understand is because I’ve never told anyone what the ribbon attached to my annual birthday rose said. Only the sender and I would know. Right?

“You don’t like it?” His voice is soft. Disappointment is etched in it.

“It’s beautiful. I love it more than the one on my hip . . . but how? How did you know about it?” Did Trent tell him? Did he see the rose without me knowing?

“It’s not obvious?” If it were would I be asking? I shake my head. “I’m the one that sent you the rose every year on your birthday.”

Talk about a revelation.

The tears come harder. Shawn has just revealed he’s thought about me with affection as far back as high school. He thinks I am beautiful. Or he wants me to think I’m beautiful. I’m not sure which. And it was never . . .

“It was never my brother.” The words come out. I don’t mean for them to, but they do. It’s not because I’m sad that the roses weren’t from Trent. Okay, I am a little, but that’s only because he’s gone.

“You thought it was Trent?” His eyebrows pull together. “Shit, I’m sorry, Tara. I didn’t know you thought that. I wouldn’t have . . .” He stops mid-sentence.

“No, don’t. I’m happy to learn who the roses were really from. I just would never have thought you sent them to me.” This isn’t like Shawn at all. At least I don’t think. I’ve known him a very long time. He doesn’t do this type of thing. Why me?

“I know you’re having a hard time with Trent’s death. You can talk about it. You can talk to me about it.” Concern. That, on top of everything . . . it’s all too much. I bow my head, letting the tears fall to the ground.

I haven’t cried in public in weeks. I was doing so good, holding back the tears until I was alone in the shower where they could fall and not be seen. I don’t want to talk about his death. I don’t even want to talk about his life. I certainly can’t verbalize that to people. I sound awful. Who doesn’t want to remember one of the most important, beloved people in their lives that was lost way too soon? I’m that awful person, and I don’t want anyone to know it.

“Come on.” He takes my hand into his and gently tucks me behind him. I follow until we are behind closed doors in his—our—office. I use the space more than he does, but he is the boss.

Shawn twists around, letting his back hit the smooth surface of the closed door. Then he pulls me into his arms where he wraps them around me. I love this. Being in his embrace does something that no other person has ever accomplished. I can relax into him. I can’t do that with anyone else.

“Get it out, Tara. Talk about him. Scream, yell, cry, or even hit something if you need to. Hit me. Just get everything out before it swallows you. I know you’re struggling. I just don’t get why you don’t talk to me, or Mason, or even Matt.”

Because I can’t. It’s that simple, but I don’t say that. I tried explaining all this with Matt weeks ago and he didn’t get it. I only frustrated him and now he’s started to pull away again. I miss my best friend.

I shake my head hoping he takes that as an answer and drops it.

He doesn’t.

“Tell me, Tara. Tell me something.” He pushes. I don’t want to be pushed.

“I’m okay. I’m better than I was when it happened.” I pull in air and blow it back out to calm my emotions. “I love the tattoo, and I want it.”