Tattooed Hearts (22 page)

“Eighteen,” he finished.

“Impressionab
le.
More so
than I care to admit.
I needed to come into my own.”

“And you’re there now?”

“Yes,” she answered
without any hesitation.

A thick silence fell
between them. He glanced at the clock; twenty minutes had passed. “I have to
get going.”

“Forrest.”

“C
laire,” he said in his best by-the-book voice.

“Have a great day,” she
said in a cheery voice then disconnected the call.

Less than fifteen minutes
later, Forrest pulled his Jeep by the barn. Years of rain, sleet, and baking
summer sun had taken its toll o
n the shed. He spotted
a few stubborn patches of sun-bleached red paint clinging to the wooden sides
and made a mental note to repaint it in the summer. Once inside, he hung his
coat on the hook by the door and walked up the wooden ladder leading to the ha
yloft. He piled straw bales held tight by orange twine onto
one another,
then
threw some over his
shoulder to the lower level, the thumping noise caused the horses to stir.

“Time for breakfast,” he
said, jumping off the ladder’s bottom step.

The horses hun
g their heads over their doors, ears perked, eagerly
watching as he cut the twine off the straw bales. While they ate, Forrest moved
about and inspected the rest of the area, making mental notes of what needed
retouching. He thought of the day he found Cla
ire
kissing that stupid plum. It had taken all the strength an angst-driven
eighteen–year-old boy could muster not to kiss her then. All because he had
promised Jason he wouldn’t make a play for her until she was at least
seventeen. For some unknown reason
that had been the
magical age they felt she’d be mature enough for a
serious
relationship. Boys were idiots. Why the hell he’d ever
agreed to that was still a mystery.

Maybe it was because he
saw how much Jason genuinely cared for Claire. Not the
I’m aware you have tits
kind of way,
more of
you’re
a fucking pain in the ass to have around, but if I had to have a sister, it’d
be you
way
. Out of respect for his
friend he had honored Jason’s wish. That decision cost him Claire’s first kiss,
making Tyler the lu
cky recipient.
The fucking bastard.
Of course it irked him,
always had and probably would continue to do so for the rest of his life, not
that he was jealous of Tyler or anything.

Yeah he was, just a tiny
itty-little bit.

Tyler knew that too and
loved rubb
ing it in his face.

By the time he stepped out of the barn, Forrest was covered
in dust and hay. As he tossed his coat inside the Jeep, his father’s Labs came
bounding through the freshly fallen snow, big chunk of flakes fell onto their
fur. They jumped,
tongues hanging out of their
mouths, wet paws landing on his thighs. Laughing, he dug in his pocket and
handed each of the dogs a cranberry oven-baked treat.

“Keeping Mom
company
?”

The dogs licked his hand.
He scratched their chins and the tops of their he
ads.
Once they seemed content with the amount of affection, he walked the couple of
yards to the house with his father’s four-legged friends by his side. He
glanced around, snow covered land stretched before him. The trees stood still,
a dust of powder on
their bare limbs. With the
exception of birds chirping warnings, everything was calm and quiet.

As he got closer to the
house, the black S-class Mercedes sedan came into view, and the familiar
clutching seized his gut, as it did every time he thought of his mother and
Charles. Only a month since finding out Luc hadn’t been his father, he was
about to
come face to face with his so-called father.
Ignoring the sick feeling inside, Forrest pushed the door open, bringing in a
blast of the cold air from outside with him.

Absolute stillness and
quiet greeted him.

For a brief moment, he
thought about walking
out, but he trekked down the
hall to the kitchen. With each closing step, his heartbeat quickened. Faint
sound of Miles David
Blue in Green
drifted from his father’s
study. He paused. White knuckles gripped the handle and turned it. Other than
the music,
a dark empty room greeted him. His brain
rattled inside his head, memories of his late father came splashing so fast
that his heart rate went haywire. He pulled the door closed so fast, it almost
slammed. Realizing he was shaking, he stood still for a beat
, swallowed the emptiness residing in his hollow gut, and
continued down the hall to the kitchen.

He pushed the door open.
His mother and Charles sat facing each other, fresh brewed coffee on the table,
hands laced together. Bile rose in
Forrest’s
throat.

“Forrest,” she said,
quickly coming to her feet.

“Why is there music in
Dad's office?”

“I was in there earlier,”
his mother explained.

He purposely kept his gaze
on his mother. Her eyes were a bit puffy, like she’d been crying. Any other
day, he might have
tried to get to the root of her
tears, but today he didn’t give a fuck. “Were you two fucking while Dad was
alive?”

“Forrest!” his mother
bellowed.

Charles came to his feet
and stared at him. “Don’t be an asshole. There’s nothing going on between your
mot
her and me.”

Forrest snorted.

“You stayed away for a
month,” Charles continued, disgust filling his voice. “Did you ever think she
needed you to mourn with her?”

“I’d tell you to fuck off
but being you’re my father and all.”

His mother grabbed the
sleeve o
f his sweater. “Stop,” she said firmly.

Forrest pulled away as if
her touch burned. “However, since this is not your house, I can tell you to get
the fuck out.”

“Since you’re my son, I’m
going to tell you to get off your fucking high horse,” Charles spat b
ack.

The two men’s gazes
clashed. Forrest's jaw rooted. Burning rage hissed through his body like
deathly poison, screeching a demanded release in the form of violence. He
shoved his fingers through his hair, turned on his heels and walked out of the
house
, ignoring his mother’s call after him.

Thirty minutes later, the
snow now falling more quickly, Forrest steered the Jeep onto Main Street in
Edgartown half in a daze. The opposite direction of his office, the last place
he should be. A ball of anger sat o
n his chest,
waiting to take over. Since he couldn’t punch someone, he needed another form
of release for all the shit boiling inside him.

Sex.

With
Claire.

He was about to make a
left on Bay Road where he knew she’d be, when he caught sight of the smal
l figure crossing the street. Puffy long black coat, face
hidden behind the hood, a cup, of what he assumed was coffee in her hands. He
didn’t need to see her face
,
the sudden stir in his pants was a clear
indication he’d found the reason he’d driven to to
wn.

Pulling the Jeep to a
nearby space, he parked, slammed the door and bolted across the street.
“Claire,” he called after her.

She stopped dead in her
tracks and turned to him, smiling. Her face makeup free and so fucking
beautiful it made his chest
ache.

“Hey,” she said, “coffee?”

He pushed the hoodie off
her head, cupped her face and kissed her with all the pent-up frustration
buried inside him. She opened for him, pressing closer, harder, kissing him
with everything she had, and obliterating every
thought.
The worries of the day evaporated like a summer shower onto a hot car. When he
finally broke their connection, they staggered back, gasping for air.

“No complaints, Doc, but
to what do I owe this honor?”

“Blame it on a case of
insanity. It’s going
around.” Drunk on endorphins, he
captured her hand. “We’re going to my house.”

Chapter Eighteen

“Having a broken heart is like having broken ribs. On the
outside you look fine, but every breath hurts.”

Anonymous

“Kiss me again,” Claire
said, sittin
g in the Jeep.

Forrest pushed up his
glasses, and answered without a glimpse in her direction. “Later.”

“
Wait a second.” Her hand pressed on his
arm as the Jeep ignition revved to life.

Beneath the thick wool
sweater, the muscles in his shoulders tensed.
Fingers
still gripping the key, he glanced at her. She almost gasped at the swirls of
emotion–anger, grief, sadness. Flames of hell danced in his dark eyes, very
similar to the night she willingly gave herself to be used as a cushion. As
good as that momen
t had been
,
the cheap feeling the
morning after was not high on her list.

“Kiss me again,” she said
again and curled her fingers around the cup of coffee.

“What is this about,
Claire?” he asked, voice strained.

She cleared her throat. “I
want to see someth
ing.”

Through those sexy
glasses, he gave her a long, steely look, then took the cup from her death grip
and placed it in the cup holder. “Come closer.”

The thickness of his voice
caused a shiver to run through her. Not the
oh man
it’s
freezing
type. Nope.
The good kind.
The one that made her
want to straddle him and take every inch of his length deep, deep inside.

She scooted in her seat to
be as close as possible until the only thing separating them was the gearshift.
Somewhere along the way, his glasses
were removed and
placed on the dashboard. He leaned in, his focus intense and unnerving. With
one hand on the back of her neck, he drew her face to his until their noses
touched and their lips were centimeters apart. Their breaths mingled. Her heart
flutte
red inside her chest. And then he was kissing
her again, his mouth firm and hungry. Claire’s senses spun as his tongue
slipped in, licking over hers. She gasped at the sensation, and his tongue
delved deeper.

She fell into his kiss.
Nothing but tongue, tee
th, and desperation.
Lust stirred in the pit
of her stomach. She moaned, arched closer only to have her hip crashed against
the gearshift. Desperate, she dug her fingers into his sweater. But that wasn’t
enough. She wanted that connection where the only th
ing
that separated them was absolutely nothing.

Realization dawned. This
burning desire from Forrest had nothing to do with what they once had or what
might be. That magic when they
’d
been connected body and soul. She
wanted it–desperately so.

He was seeking shelter
from his chaotic world. Her heart said to let him use her once more. But the
voice of reason, the annoying know-it-all said,
Hang on. This is crazy. You want more.

 
Slowly, she released her grip and
withdrew to her own corner. “I can
’t have sex with
you, not today.”

He said nothing. Claire
held her breath, waiting, wishing he wasn’t going to shut her out. Then he
retreated and rested his head against the leather trimmed headrest. A heavy
silence settled over them. This time there was
nothing
comfortable about it.

“I can’t be a
substitute." Even as she said the words, her heart bled for him. This man
sitting next to her, she cared for him so much.

“You’re not. If I wanted
someone else, I’d go to that person.”

Of course he had options,
w
hy would she think he didn’t?
Silly girl.
Look at him. Women loved
him, young and old. He was flat-out sexy, even with the caveman attitude.
Still, her stomach dropped over the thought of being anything but a physical
asylum for him.

“Something upset you.
What happened?”

His jaw ticked.

“You’re only here with me
because of whatever happened at the farm.
Talk to me.”

“I don’t want to talk
about it.”

She peered at him. “I
can’t be a cushion again, Forrest. I played that role for you before.”

He went rigid, as if he
was consumed with too much to share with anyone, especially her.
“Understood.”

But she felt all of his
anguish and sorrow so deeply that her heart twisted into a knot of pain. She
palmed the side of his face. “Did you see Charles? M
y
mom said he’s due back on the island either today or tomorrow.”

He stiffened under her
touch. “Drop it, Claire,” he said in a low voice, filled with warning.

“You’re not talking to
Jason. He’s your best friend. Your brother,” she added in a whisper.

Her
words stewed in the silence that simmered between them.

“You’re grieving.”

He said nothing.

“We often assign blame for
a loss in an effort...”

“Cut the psychological
bullshit. I don’t need it.”

They sat knee-deep in
silence. Tension rolled off of him in w
aves, a
strange thing to see because he’d always been the calm one among the guys. Not
that he was a pushover, but definitely the peacemaker, the rational one. But
with all the logic and common sense, Forrest always held the people he loved to
a high stand
ard. His views had always been black or
white with no gray area. Don’t lie. Don’t cheat. Don’t leave.

She left him.

Tragedy struck and he lost
Luc.

His mother cheated and
lied.

She understood his anger
and ached for him. “I love you.”

He studied her face f
or a beat. “You want love.”

Her heart pounded with
futility against its cage. “Yes,” she said faintly.

A muscle in his jaw
ticked. “That’s something I can’t give you.”

Six simple words, but they
brought tears to her eyes. Pain erupted from every place on
her body and slammed into her heart. Claire’s hand fell
from his face to her lap.

“You had it from me once,”
he continued, voice low and measured. “You threw it away. You gave up on us.”

“I never stopped loving
you.”

“Then why did you stay
away for so long
?”

Like boxers they circled
around each other. The kid gloves were off, confrontation time. They’d trade
slur for slur, insult for insult, and dig for dig. She knew she should stay
quiet and wait for the storm to abate, but she couldn’t help sparring with
him. “I told you.” 

“Tell me again.”

“My mind kept telling me
to give up.” She struggled to shift her gaze but her eyes were locked on his.
“But my heart won’t let me.” 

“I can’t give you my
heart, Claire,” he said after a full minute of silence.
“Sex yes,
but nothing else.”

“Understood,” she repeated
his word.

“Do you?” His stunning,
gray-blue eyes conveyed a despairing chill his face couldn’t hide. It made her
heartsick. Crushed with sorrow, she looked away.

For a beat, there was
absolute stillness. All n
oises muted. The air was so
brittle between them, it could snap. And if it didn’t, she just might. “I can
even do lust, but you see…” she said with a shaky smile. “Even if sex is all
you can give me, I’d want all of you.
Your skin against mine in your bed
instead of
your sofa.
Whatever you give me, Forrest, I want
all of it.”

“You left and never looked
back. I’ve been here.” His cold fury burned with dangerous intensity. “For
years I waited, pining for you and I was lucky if I got a smile.” His words
spat o
ut with the ferocity and rapidity of machine
gun fire. “I didn’t exist. Now you’ve decided you want me to love you and I’m
supposed to accept everything.”

“I never stopped loving
you.” Her voice shook, tears threatened to flow. “I’ve already explained.”

“Y
ou thought I hated you. You needed to accomplish more, to come into your
own.”

There was silence.

All that
was true.
But coming from him, it made her sound selfish as if she’d
never taken his feelings into consideration. In a way, he was right, but it had
been a form of pragmatism–a practical approach to
problems and her heart.

 
“I didn’t think you wanted me.”

“That’s bullshit."
His gaze locked on hers.
“You never looked hard enough to find out. Instead you kept on going. You’re a
runner.” His voice was
brutal, accusing.

She remained as still as a
cadaver and just as pallid, unblinking against his onslaught.

“I’m right here, Claire.
I’ve always been right here. You want my fucking heart now after ten years and
I’m supposed to hand it over.” He turned his
attention
to the storm outside. The shutters had come down. His emotion walled off behind
a mask. “I can’t give you that.”

She winced. His words
packed a powerful punch.
Carefully
spoken, without drama, but with an air of finality.
No matter how hard she r
ailed against them, nothing would change. Nothing would
ever be the same. They’d hit their mark.

“You’re the person who
broke me,” he continued, voice low and rough. “For the rest of my life, you
will always be the one who hurt me the most.”

“I’ve apologiz
ed. You have to find it in your heart to let go.”

“I can’t do that.”

Claire took refuge in the
silence.

What was there to say?

Platitudes wouldn’t cut it
right now. Whatever that was left between them was shattered into glassy
shards. A great sob escaped h
er throat. To fight away
her tears no matter how hard they wanted to show, she buried her face in
shaking hands for a second and gathered whatever strength she had left. She had
fought and lost.

Catching the door handle,
she pushed it open, let out a small
sniff and kept
her head lowered.
“Goodbye, Forrest.”

“Goodbye, Claire,” he said
in a bleak voice, stripped of any emotion.

The Jeep sped off just as
she reached the sidewalk. The snow hurled tiny pellets of pain at her cheeks as
red-hot tears ran down her
face, rubbing salt into
her open wounds. Dread crept over the icy chill air, numbing her brain.

She walked in a daze, her
footsteps moved soundlessly on the street. She turned on Bay Road and came to a
screeching stop. Charles’ black sedan parked in the d
riveway
came into focus. He’d been traveling since the big fiasco at the repass,
visiting here and there to check on Marjorie. Until today, their paths had not
crossed.

For a minute, she pondered
how to approach him and examined her feelings for the man wh
o’d raised her like his own. Caught between her love for
Forrest, and the reason for all of his anguish, the anger and betrayal she
hoped for failed to ignite. Instead an ache settled in her chest for father and
son. She loved them both. On different scale
, but the
emotion was equally strong.

Charles wasn’t perfect,
but who was?

Certainly
not her.
For ten years, she used the words practical, realistic, to
stay away from Forrest. Running away that night had been a realistic reaction,
so she told herself.