Hearts in Darkness Collection by Laura Kaye

Chapter Nineteen

The new year hadn’t made Caden a new man, but at least he was eating more and showering regularly and basically fucking functioning. Thanks to Joe. And twice-a-week sessions the past three weeks with Dr. Ward. And the wonders of modern pharmaceuticals.

Most of the time, it felt like he was making a slow climb up a steep mountain carrying a big-ass rock on his back, but at least he was climbing. That was a victory in and of itself. And he was working on giving himself some credit. Baby steps, man, that’s what he was all about these days.

Sitting on the bed in Joe’s guest room, Caden dragged the cardboard box full of unopened mail in front of him. Joe had brought it over from Caden’s house after his shift the evening before. Now that Caden was rocking out all this basic functioning, it was time for him to try to take care of a few other key parts of his life. Like paying his mortgage. And keeping the damn electricity current so his place would have heat. Last thing he needed was to come home from this little sojourn at Chez Flaherty to find his pipes burst and his basement flooded.

He sorted through the box. Bill, bill, bill. Junk, junk, junk. Magazine, magazine. An invitation to the wedding of one of the guys at the station. More bills, some of them stamped Second Notice. Tons of fucking junk. A Christmas card.

He did a double take at the return address.

A Christmas card from Makenna.

He stared at it for a long moment. He’d walked out on her…and she’d sent him a Christmas card?

His gut clenched. He flipped the envelope over. Stared at the sealed flap. And finally ripped through it.

The card actually made him smile—and he couldn’t remember when he’d last done that. It had a picture of a miserable blond-haired boy wearing a pink bunny costume and read, He looks like a deranged Easter bunny!

From The Christmas Story movie. A freaking classic.

Leave it to Makenna.

As fast as he’d managed that smile, it slid back off his face. They could’ve watched that together, sharing stupid humor movies like they always had. More than that, they could’ve celebrated Christmas together. Their first. If Caden hadn’t fallen the fuck apart.

How much more of his present and his future was he going to let his past destroy?

Fuck.

He heaved a deep breath. Eyes on the prize, Grayson. Getting better. Getting whole. Rebuilding his life. And making right all the things he’d done wrong.

Hesitating just one more moment, he opened the card. There was no printed text on the inside, just Makenna’s looping handwriting.

Dear Caden,

I just wanted you to know that I’m thinking of you. And if you need me, I’m here for you. I can’t say I understand what happened between us, only that I’m willing to listen. I don’t deserve more than you, because there is nothing more than you for me.

I still love…that elevator.

Merry Christmas,

Makenna

Caden read it over and over until he had the words memorized. He could still hear her voice saying I love that elevator that very first night they’d met. After hours of being trapped in the elevator and the most incredible sex of his life, she’d invited him to stay the night with her. When they’d settled into each other’s arms, she’d blurted out, I love… And then she’d covered herself by adding that elevator. Caden had thought it was cute. It had given him hope that maybe she was feeling him with the same crazy intensity that he’d been feeling her. And in the days and weeks that followed, that had seemed to be true.

Until, somewhere along the way, he’d stopped trusting himself, the situation, his happiness, and maybe even her. He knocked his numb-ass skull back against the headboard. In that moment, he wouldn’t have been surprised if a cartoon lightbulb suddenly appeared over his head. He’d stopped trusting her…not to abandon him. And so he’d done the leaving.

He’d made his own worst fears come true.

Brilliant fucking job.

Blowing out a long breath, he rubbed his fingers over what she’d written. There is nothing more than you for me. Could she really believe that? And could he get himself to a place where he did, too?

He picked up the envelope and found the postmark—she’d sent the card on December twentieth. Almost four weeks ago. He knew it was expecting too much to hope she might wait for him, to wait for him to be better. Not just for her, but for both of them. Especially when she had no way of knowing that he was trying to find his way back to himself, so he might earn a chance to come back to her.

He looked at what she’d written again. Once, twice, he swallowed around a lump that had lodged in his throat, and then he whispered, “Aw, Red. I still love that elevator, too.”

* * *

The next week, Caden moved home and started back to work. He’d been off for almost six weeks and he was starting to go stir crazy sitting around Joe’s house. It was time to get a life. His.

Truth be told, he was fucking nervous about walking back into the firehouse again. No doubt the rumors were flying about what had happened to him, especially given how bad a shape he’d been in those last few days on the job. And if the guys didn’t have an idea of what might’ve been going on with him before, they’d probably get the gist just by looking at him—while he’d gained twelve pounds back so far, he was still down twenty from where he’d been at the beginning of December.

A shadow of his former self, maybe, but no longer a ghost.

Never again.

But his nerves would have to fucking suck it. Because he needed the work—not just for the money, but because he needed to help people. Right now, he was all about playing to his strengths, and doing his job had always been one. That much he could definitely give himself credit for.

He shouldn’t have been worried.

To a man, they were nothing but happy to have him back. Even better, the day was a marathon of calls, one after the other, but it was smooth sailing all the way. Clocking out at the end of the shift made him feel ten feet tall. It had been just the confidence booster he needed.

And it gave him a little hope, too.

If he could get back on his feet at work, maybe, just maybe, that meant he could make things right in other parts of his life as well. Above all else, he wanted to make things right with Makenna.

Thinking of her made him ache, but less and less with unworthiness, guilt, and fear. No, this ache stemmed from the hollowness caused by their long separation, by her absence from his life. He missed her so bad that his chest often throbbed with it, like he’d left a part of himself in her hands. And he unquestionably had.

He just needed a little more time. A little more time to get himself right. A little more time to make peace with the past. A little more time to become the man that Makenna deserved and Caden wanted to be.

He just needed a little more time.

* * *

Afew nights later, Caden was sitting at his kitchen table writing out bills and suddenly found himself staring at the dragon tattoo on the back of his right hand and arm.

He saw it every day, of course. But for some reason, he hadn’t actually seen it in a very long time. He hadn’t remembered why it was there.

The tattoo had been a declaration and a promise. A declaration to himself that he’d conquered his fears, and a promise to his brother, Sean, that Caden would be strong, that Caden wouldn’t live his life in fear when Sean couldn’t live his at all.

“I forgot to be the dragon, Sean. But I won’t forget again,” he said out loud.

Which gave him an idea.

He placed a call, got lucky making an appointment, and booked it out of the house. Caden made it to Heroic Ink within twenty minutes.

“Glad you called, man,” Heath said, extending his hand. “Been slow as fucking molasses in here all day.”

Caden returned the handshake. “This is win-win then because I really wanted to get in tonight.”

“Well, come on back and let’s rock and roll,” Heath said. “Flying solo?”

“Yeah,” Caden said, the reference to Makenna not making him sad and regretful—for once, but making him even more confident in what he was about to do. Because clearly, he was in need of a new reminder, a new declaration, a new promise. And ink had always been part of his process for coping and healing.

“So tell me what you’re thinking,” Heath said, gesturing to the chair at his station.

“It’s text. I want it on my left forearm, big as you can make it.” As he sat, he handed Heath a sheet of paper he’d written on in the Jeep.

Heath nodded. “Want any embellishments? Flowers? Ribbon? Flourishes. Have any thoughts on font?”

“I’m open. You know what looks good, and I always like what you come up with. Just so the words are bold and the most prominent thing about the piece, I’ll be happy,” Caden said.

“Gimme ten to pull something together,” Heath said, opening up his laptop. It didn’t even take ten minutes. “What about something like this?”

Caden’s gaze ran over the design on the screen. It was different from anything he’d imagined, so naturally it was perfect. “Do it. Just like that.”

The first dig of the needles into his skin was like a balm to his soul. He’d always loved the feeling of getting a tattoo. He liked the pain because it reminded him he was alive. Enduring it always made him feel stronger. And each new piece always left him feeling like he’d donned a new plate in the suit of armor he’d spent a lifetime creating.

This one was no different.

What Heath had designed was intricate, and good-looking lettering took time, so Caden was there a long while. But he was totally fucking content. For once. Even though tattoos on the forearm hurt like a mofo.

About two and a half hours later, Heath said, “All done.”

Caden hadn’t been watching because he wanted to wait for the full effect when the tat was done. Now, he looked.

Solid black cursive words sat at an angle on his forearm in groups of twos, reading from his wrist to his inner elbow:

One Life / One Chance / No Regrets

Open-faced red roses flanked the top and bottom of the words and wrapped around his arm, while red and black flourishes curved out from some of the letters and around the flowers. The center of the bottom rose morphed into a clock with Roman numerals to remind him that time was always ticking—and wasting, if you didn’t play things right. The way Heath had combined the elements looked phenomenal.

Caden might’ve survived that accident fourteen years before, but he’d never really understood why. He’d never really felt he had anything specific to live for. Meeting Makenna had changed all that, even if Caden had been too mired in the past to see it at the time. But now that he was working so hard to get himself healthy again, he saw it with a clarity that was startling.

Caden wanted a chance for a life with Makenna. And though he knew there was a chance she wouldn’t take him back after what he’d done, he at least had to try.

“Fantastic work as always, Heath. Thank you,” Caden said.

“Anytime. I hope it gives you what you need,” Heath said, leaning in to bandage the piece.

“Me too,” Caden said. “Me too.” And though so much remained uncertain, Caden couldn’t help but marvel at how far he’d come these past six weeks. Because, sitting there in that chair with his arm on fire, Caden’s soul felt lighter than it had in longer than he could remember because he’d renewed his commitment to Sean.

And, more importantly, to himself.