Tattooed Hearts (23 page)

Wha
t eighteen-year-old wouldn’t?

As for staying away, it
was easier to relate to what was real rather than to what might be possible.

While their backgrounds
were poles apart, in a strange way, she empathized with Charles. Like her, he
was flawed. The only ch
ild of wealthy parents, he
grew up with the world as his oyster. While giving, he was never apologetic for
what he had. Nor did he ever hand everything over to Jason. At one time, their
father-son relationship had been strained, to Claire’s
relief,
they’d
managed to patch things up.
 

A complete opposite to her
relationship with the only man she ever considered a father figure. In her
twenty-eight years, he’d never stopped being the father she never had, from
removing the training wheels on her bike, to acc
ompanying
her to every father and daughter dance at school. When her mother purchased the
used Cabriolet for her, it was Charles who’d checked the tire thread and air
pressure before she drove off with her friends. Even now, he attended her
concerts whenev
er he could, and was always available
for business advice. Other than her mother, he’d been her hero, her keeper, the
one who gave her cuddles and kept her safe.

Her gut clenched. While
her own father had bailed, Charles had stepped in and filled the role,
requesting nothing back from her. Exhaling, she entered
the house. She found him sitting in the family room, on the phone with a folder
open in front of him. Upon noticing her, he ended the call.

“You look a little
beaten,” he observed.

“I just saw Forres
t.”

He let out a long, deep
breath. “I hope your encounter wasn’t nearly as bad as mine.”

“Maybe
worse.”

“For that I’m sorry.” He
examined her for a beat. “He hurt you.”

Emotionally he had ripped
her apart. “Nothing I can’t handle.” She fell into the seat
like a weightless sack and stared out the window. The gloom
of the wintry day crept into her, seeping into her pores and traveling to her
heart. More tears, no surprise there. She sniffed them back. “I want to be mad
at you.”

“Then be mad. It’s natural
to
want to protect the man you love.”

Up to a month ago, she’d
probably avoid any topic of Forrest and her feelings. Today, she didn’t have
the strength nor did she want to. Through blurred eyes, she turned to face
Charles. “Why did you wait so long to tell h
im?”

“I didn’t tell him.” He
ran a hand through his close-cropped hair. “Neither did I expect him to
overhear my conversation with Marjorie. For thirty-one years, I watched on the
sidelines. It got tiring.”

“Why now?” Jason had asked
the same question that
night but Charles had never
answered.

“Long
story.
Nothing to get
into now.
But to summarize, I ran out of what ifs.”

She understood that.
Wasn’t she in the same situation with Forrest now? “You should at least explain
everything to him.”

“If
he'll
listen.”

“He’s hurt.”

“I know. But he’s acting
like an ass.”

In spite of the melancholy
mood that hung over like a black cloud, she chuckled. “I agree.”

He stood up and shoved his
hands in his pockets. “I have a few contracts to look over that Blake sent
over to me.”

“It’s okay. I’m going to
wallow in my misery. How are things with Jason? I know he was upset at Luc’s
repass.”

“I told Jason everything.
While he’s not happy, we are okay.” Walking over to the sofa, he placed a kiss
on her head. “As for your r
elationship with Forrest,
give him time. He gave you ten years to figure out what you wanted.
Dinner later?”

She looked outside. The
snow showed no indication of stopping. “Everything will be closed.”

“Then let’s do an early
lunch. Give me a few hours.”

Sh
e listened to Charles’ footsteps until they faded as silent tears fell
down her cheeks. She continued to watch the snow, like an empty jar on a shelf,
still holding her form, but without anything left inside.

Her phone dinged
.
R
eaching
in her pocket, she r
ead the notification someone had raised the bid on Forrest.
Fight or flight
,
Jason’s words replayed in her head. Claire exhaled, placed
the phone next to her and ignored the message. She could continue to engage in
the battle, but what was the point? It wa
s a hopeless
battle. All the tenacity she had worked up to fight had been depleted.

Within seconds, her phone
vibrated again. Picking it up, she read Lily’s text.

Check out the hottest couple on the island.
Luv U.

She skimmed over the
caption.

Claire Peters shacking up with
her boyfriend in Martha’s Vineyard.
Doctor-farmer.
A sexy combination.
The man is H-O-T,
y’all
. See for yourself!

First, there was no
shacking up. Second, they’d been in Wood Holes.
A forty-five minute ferry ride from the Vineyard.
But hey, the tabloids
were always right. Claire scrolled to the picture, her arm tangled in
Forrest’s, body leaning into his. Their faces were pictures of pure bliss. To
think that was less than twenty-four hours ago. Her heart splintered into tiny
pieces
.

Her phone chirped. Not
wanting to talk, she let it go to voice mail, until it started again. Wiping
her face, she read James’ name and answered the call.

“Your voice is sad,” he
remarked right away.

“It’s nothing.”

“Darling, I worry about
you on that isl
and of yours.”

She sniffed and smiled
back the tears. “I’m fine.” She could feel James wanting to push, but he
wouldn’t. Their business relationship worked because there was trust.

“A little birdie told me
you’re throwing a concert on Friday.”

“That little
birdie would be me.” She had sent him and Ava a text to
let them know after speaking with Tyler. “It’s nothing big. I’m doing a friend
a favor.”

“Well, it’s already
trending on Twitter, so it’s big.”

“Ava’s doing?”

“Nope.
I’m calling to see if we
needed t
o do some damage control since the whole
world will be attending.”

Claire chuckled. “Vapor is
not a big place. It’s big for the island but not huge. Can’t hold more than
one-hundred people and believe me, Jason and Adam are not afraid to pull their
Alpha c
ards.”

“What about that boyfriend
of yours?”

She groaned. “You know I
don’t have a boyfriend.”

“Tall,
dark, with smoldering eyes in a black leather coat.
Not your boyfriend?”

She sat straighter. “Not
boyfriend. For once the gossips are not accurate.”

James
laughed. “Don’t tell me you were reading the tabloids.”

As a matter of fact, she
hadn’t. Unless someone brought something to her attention, Claire tended to
avoid all the tabloids. She’d witnessed what they’d done to Jason and Adam.
James knew that and of
ten teased her about it as he
was doing now.

“Let’s see…” His voice
trailed. She could envision him scrolling through the tweets. “According to the
last tweet that was just posted two seconds ago, you and
McDreamy
are more popular than Jared Leto and
Lupit
a.”

“Forrest and I are not
dating.”

“Neither are Jared and
Lupita. At least that’s what my sources tell me. But it doesn’t mean they’re
not hot together
or
have crazy chemistry.”

Unable to conjure an
argument over how hot she and Forrest looked together or
their chemistry, she sighed. “We were in Wood Holes having dinner. Not a
date at all.”

“Too bad,” he said, his
voice filled with regret. “You looked pretty happy.”

She had been.
Unlike the heaviness now weighing her
down.

“But your voice is very
morose. S
omething happen
ed
?”

“Long
story.”

“Okay. I won’t ask. But as
your manager, I strongly advise that you peruse social media more often. From
what I am looking at, it’s totally love. I hope the two of you do work out. So
hang in there.”

Funny, everyone was te
lling her to hang in there. Except the one person she
wanted to hear those words from the most.

“Anyhow,” James continued,
“I wanted to let you know to expect some media coverage on Friday. Even if they
don’t get in Vapor, they’ll be outside. So…”

“I know.
Watch what I do or who I leave with.”

“You said it.” He
chuckled. “But do have fun.”

The morning passed by in a
blur. Her mood ricocheted between low and lower until Charles insisted they go
out for lunch. The snow had tapered some, but was still falling
at a steady pace. Vapor was closed, but
Sharky
, a diner based on the movie
Jaws
, was open. A tuna fish sandwich it was
going to be.

She stepped out of the car
and froze. Across the street, Forrest stood with Kerry, the woman he’d dated
briefly last fall. H
e smiled, opened the passenger
door to the Jeep for her, and Claire’s heart flopped.

As he walked over to the
driver side, he looked up suddenly and cast a look from Charles to her and held
it. Then he removed his glasses, blurring the image in front of
him—her. Then he entered the Jeep and drove off.

Claire stood still, her
stomach nauseous. Her lungs hurt to breathe.

“Ready?” Charles asked
with a hand on her shoulder.

She nodded, unable to
speak or move. Nothing left to feel. Emotionally bankrupt, sorro
w and misery consumed her. Small crystal beads trailed down
her cheeks. She let them fall, not raising a hand to stop them.

“Let’s go back to the
house, Claire. You can cry as much as you want.”

There was more where that
came from, enough to cry for hours.

And what
then?

Then she’d drink another
glass of water and start all over again.

Chapter Nineteen

“Sometimes the heart needs time to accept what the mind already
knows.”

Rosa Peters

Slowly Claire’s breathing
hollowed itself and a small intense pain
shot
straight to the top of her head. Emptiness, a maelstrom of turmoil filled her.
Dried tears hardened on her cheeks. She didn’t care to brush them away, let
them stain her face
.
M
aybe
they could toughen her
heart in the process. Time fast forwarded int
o night.
She lost track of the hours, or how long she cried. Not that it mattered. She
wasn’t numb, in fact, quite the opposite. A plethora of emotions came crashing
in.

She should go to
Forrest
now. But the storm
had them
stuck in their respective
corners
. Or maybe he was with Kerry. Bile bubbled in
her stomach.

Broken and grieving, he
came to her during his time of need. She turned him away, because she wanted
love.

Selfish.

Pragmatic
, her conscience argued, caught in a web
of denial.

Selfish–with
a
capital S or maybe all seven letters in caps...for
emphasis.
Her distorted view slowly came into focus. The last ten
years had been about Claire Yasō Peters, a wildflower–not intentionally seeded
or planted. When Forrest needed oblivion and sought her for
shelter from the hurricane that stormed his life, she
should have been his haven.

Wasn’t that part of loving
someone?

But you want more, remember?
her
well-advised inner voice
astutely pointed out.

She wanted love. Forrest
offered sex.

Strong sexual desire
versus that deep romantic attachment, the line between the two tended to
smudge. One was the jangle down the neck when eyes locked across a crowded
room, the feel that awakened the heart. The other consisted of warm smiles that
spread
across the face just by thinking about the
other person.
The entrapment of the
heart.

Both had downfalls.

One came with the removal
of the perfect mask, exposing a not-so-perfect personality. Along with all the
flaws, arguments
came
acceptance and an under
standing that moods and minds might vary. Most of all, an
unconditional care for one another with an expiration date of infinity.
The other–sex.
Great sex, intense
physical contact, late night calls, flirtatious texts, and nothing meaningful.
The heart sto
od no chance of being affected or
trampled.

But what was love without
lust? Could one truly exist without the other?

She craved both. Call her
greedy, but she wanted all the
crushy
feelings,
all the potential, along with the happiness and the growing old p
art. But most importantly, she wanted Forrest to
reciprocate her sentiments.

She’d bailed when the
going got tough.
To react that way at eighteen was understandable, but she
hadn’t been eighteen for the last ten years.

A runner.
For a while, distance was a
ll
that mattered. Distance from the island, from Forrest. She kept on running,
widening the gap as much as she could, and never stopped to think… maybe he
still loved her. For years, whenever her heart tried to force a confrontation,
force her to look at t
he truth, she purposely shut it
down, concealed all the things she longed for. Instead she kept her eyes glued
to the GPS display
,
tracking achievement after achievement
while the world passed in a blur of red and white lights.

And now…she chose to
follow
her heart.

But had her decision come
a decade too late? Forrest was so consumed with grief that needed to be dealt
with first. She wondered if he had any room for her, even if it were just lust.

It’s impossible
, said pride.

It’s risky
, said experience.

It’
s pointless
, said reason.

Give it a try
, whispered the heart.

She had taken her foot off
the gas pedal and realized a future without Forrest, regardless of all of her
achievements, was no future at all. For as long as her memory served, he’d been
a part of
her. He seeped into her skin and rested in
her bones. No time spent apart could take that feeling away. Picking up her
phone, she clicked on the auction link. Three additional bids had popped up for
Forrest. She was officially in a bidding war with a bunc
h of women vying for a date with the doctor.

Claire scanned the names
.
N
one said Kerry, but then
again, all the names were made up. Oh well, fight or flight, right? She keyed
in five thousand dollars, making her once again the highest bidder.

Flopping on
the bed, she reached for her phone and sent Minka a text.

How are you feeling?

Minka’s response came
quick.

Nauseous.
Appointment has been postponed to tomorrow.
You?
Saw the pic.

A smile touched Claire’s
lips. She answered.

Night of pic was fun. My bid is now at 5 thousand. I better win.

No point in pointing out
she was officially fighting this war alone. Not that Forrest had given her any
hope. If anything he’d been pretty firm on his
friend
stance. Well…not really. He flirted. He
kissed her naked
shoulder. He told her he jacked off
to her for Pete’s sake. Friends didn’t share that kind of information. Well,
technically she had opened that Pandora’s Box. Forrest just went along.

Minka answered.

You’ll win. Well, time for sleep…again. Hope 2
see
you all tomorrow.
Luv U.

Claire picked up the
remote and turned on the television. While flicking through the channels, she
dialed her mother’s number. One of the things she didn’t like about Chappy was
the separation on days like today from the rest of the
island.

“There you are,” her
mother greeted, “Charles told me he baked you brownies.” Her mother chuckled.

“He
did
.”

“I hope you ate at least
two.”

She glanced at the empty
plate at the nightstand. The brownies hadn’t been that bad. Smiling, she
nodded. “I
ate a few.”

“So you’ve hit a bump with
Forrest.”

“I’m trying to take away
ten years of hurting him.” She let out a deep breath. “I don’t know if that’s
possible.”

“He’s grieving. Sometimes
the heart needs time to accept what the mind already knows.”

She
understood that. “Mom, are you okay there all by yourself
with the storm and all?”

Her mother managed a full
staff, but mostly when the house was occupied. Winter months were quiet on the
Vineyard and Charles had been traveling, which meant she was alone.

“I’m fine.”

For years she tried to
convince her mother to stop working but was always met with a stubborn
I will not live off my daughter.
“Still not going to stop working?” It
didn’t hurt to try once more.

The question was met with
rich laughter. “This is
my home, Claire. I’m happy.
Remember it’s your turn to be happy too. I have to go, love.”

There was a slight pause.
Claire strained her
ear
,
sure she heard a muffled
voice in the background. “Wait, are you…is there someone there with you?”

“As a matter of
fact, yes,” her mother responded. Her voice, cool as a
cucumber.

What the hell! Her mother
was dating and spending the night with someone. She’d been on the island for a
month now, why was this news to her? “Mom,” she started with caution.

“Claire, I have
a life. I date and today my date is stranded here because
of the storm. He wants to formally meet you soon.”

“Formally?”

“I was dancing with him at
the potluck.”

She remembered her mother
dancing with a
handsome
 
man
that night. “Be careful.”

Her mother l
aughed. “Shouldn’t I be telling you that?”

“I’m not spending the
night with a man.”

“Good point. I love you.”

After ending the call, she
grabbed her journal and flipped to the page with the heading Tattooed Hearts
and wrote,
Love is like a dagger. It cuts deep
and brands the heart, marking you forever.
Her phone dinged a message alert. She
glanced at the text from Forrest and gasped.

Not even close to what you thought you saw. I wanted you. After
all this time, it’s still you.

Her heart tripped and came
to a full stop,
then
everything restarted at
once. Excitement wired her body, lungs pumping air, brain waves running amok.
Bouncing off the bed, she slipped into her boots, zipped down the stairs,
grabbed her coat in the process
and made a beeline
for the door.

“Going somewhere?” Charles
asked as they walked past each other.

“Lake
Tashmoo.”
There was no need to say his
name,
everyone knew that was Forrest's
hideaway.

“Weather is bad.” Charles
sat on the sofa and picked up the remo
te.

She grabbed her keys and
zipped up her coat. “I’ll make it.” Walking back to the sofa, she kissed his
cheek. “Thanks for the brownies. I love you.”

He smiled. “Send a text to
let me know you arrived safely.”

Almost one hour later,
Claire gripped the st
eering wheel as the Audi sedan
slid over the thick, fluffy white powder on the ground, crossing a mile every
fifteen minutes through the mini-hurricane of snow and ice. In normal weather,
driving to Forrest’s was a
challenge
.
During a blizzard, it was down
right impossible. Slowing the SUV, she made a right turn
onto Meadow Lane, where two unlit dirt roads sloped side by side and wound
through acres of woodland. The snow hung in the air, and fogged the windshield,
obscuring her vision. She switched her headl
ights
from low beam to fog lamps and crept through the gray murk until she pulled
alongside the orange Jeep.

She knocked on the door.
No response.
Nothing but a gaping
silence.
She knocked again, this time with her fist, matching the
rhythm of her thumping
heart. Nervous twitter bubbled
in her stomach. Then the door opened and brought her face to face with Forrest.
His hair was damp and wavier than normal and looked as if he threw a sweater
and jeans on at the last minute. He followed her gaze to his half-z
ipped jeans, giving her a peek of fine dark hair, and
quickly pulled up the zipper.