Chapter 16
The Confession
Katelyn
Every muscle in her body screamed at her to jerk away. Her pride, which Kian had severely wounded back at his shop, begged her to shrug off his touch, turn and walk away. She would have, in that moment, had she not chanced a glance at Kian’s eyes and seen the wounded pain shimmering in those dark black depths.
“I don’t know anything at all,” she whispered. She wasn’t even sure what she meant. She was just being painfully honest. “I don’t know what’s happening between us. The answer should be nothing, but you’re right. I haven’t been able to stop thinking of you. I shouldn’t have come to your shop today, but I couldn’t help myself. I wanted to.”
Kian’s fingers slowly curled away from her arm. He released her and though she’d half wanted to pull away, she felt oddly bereft when the heat of his palm left her skin.
“Trust me when I say that you don’t need to get a tattoo.”
“How do you know?” She asked, feeling a little miffed. She raised her head and squared her shoulders, her old go to gesture of stubbornness, without even really realizing she was doing it.
“I just know. Give it some time. If you still truly want it, come back and see me. I’ll get you in whenever you want. You don’t have to wait like everyone else.”
“So that’s it? You’re just going to send me on my way?”
“No. I was wondering if you wanted to get a drink.”
“A drink?” She hesitated, horrible, irrational hope blooming in the pit of her stomach. “I… it’s just after one in the afternoon.”
“So what? I know lots of people who have a beer with their lunch. Or in the afternoon. Isn’t that what happy hour is about?”
“I think happy hour generally starts around four or five.”
He shrugged, maddeningly, as though he cared about nothing in the world. His eyes shuttered once more, the emotion she’d seen, or that he’d let her see, slowly vanishing. “Who cares what time it is? I don’t have anywhere to be. You were my last appointment of the day, although I didn’t know it was you. If I’m not tattooing, I might as well get a drink.”
“Do you do that often?”
“What? Have a drink here and there or come home plastered and pass out on the sidewalk?”
Katelyn felt the rush of heat rising to her cheeks again. She hated that her face gave away exactly what she felt. “Fine. I’ll have a drink with you. Only because I spent an hour in traffic trying to get down here for one and now I’ve come away empty handed because you’ve decided that, in your infinite wisdom, I don’t really need something to remember my cat by.”
“She hasn’t died yet.”
“What?”
“Your cat. Most people get pet memorial tattoos after they lose their pet. Not before.”
“Maybe I wanted it before. I love Missy. She’s changed my life.”
Kian frowned. “Just think on it. I promise you that if you still want it in a month or any time after that, I’ll do it for you.” His stare was unnerving. His gaze was hot on her face, assessing her features, as though he wanted her to confess that the appointment hadn’t been about the tattoo at all.
We both know it wasn’t.
“Should I drive then?” she finally asked when she found her voice.
“No. There’s a pub a few blocks down if you want to go there. It’s alright. I’ve been there a few times.”
“I guess that’s fine then.”
Kian nodded like they’d just decided something monumental. He turned and led the way. Ironically enough, he walked in the direction she was already headed. She’d parked a few blocks away, probably right in front of the pub without even noticing.
Sure enough, she spotted her car right before she spotted the pub. She was hyper-aware, the entire few blocks they walked, of Kian beside her. She swore she could feel the heat radiating from his arm, though he was a good two feet away and walked slightly ahead. They said nothing at all and the only thing that saved the silence from being oppressive was the fact that she concentrated on what was going on around them, the people passing by them- the cars rushing down the road, cars pulling in and out of parking spots.
They reached the pub, a small, on descript place painted black. The patio in front was almost twice the size of the actual building.
“Do you want to sit outside?” Kian glanced over at the almost empty patio. A few couples sat at the tables. One rowdy group of guys who barely looked old enough to drink hooted and yelled about something from the corner.
“We can go inside if you want. It’s hot out.” It was true. Katelyn was already sticky in all the wrong places from the unbearable sun overhead. She hadn’t put on any sunblock and figured an hour or so on the patio might fry her to a crisp.
“Whatever you think is best.”
She frowned as Kian turned and walked up to the front door. She followed quietly. It was strange that he seemed to be making every effort to be conciliatory and even humorous after how abrasive he’d been at his shop.
They found a table in a darkened corner, which wasn’t hard considering the entire pub was almost pitch black, especially after being out in the bright sun. Katelyn wondered if it was always that dark or if her eyes would adjust naturally after a few moments.
The place was basically empty. There were only ten or so odd tables of all different sizes. A large bar took up most of the small space. There were at least fifteen chairs perched in front. Behind were the normal beer taps and stacks of glasses as well as buckets of cut up lemons and limes. The walls were filled up with sports memorabilia, jerseys and the like. On the far wall a huge TV played a soccer game.
A minute after they sat down, a young red haired woman with ample breasts, a short white t-shirt that showed off a flat midriff and a plaid skirt hiked up about as far as it could go without actually showing off any of her bottom, came over to take their drink order.
Katelyn floundered for something to drink. She hated beer and the place wasn’t that kind that served wine. She hadn’t come for a soda either. She finally just picked something off the menu, something pale, and hoped it would taste like water.
They sat quietly, the silence strange between them. Why did I agree to this? Katelyn folded her hands on the table top neatly and stared down at them until their drinks came. She took a tentative sip of her beer, which came in far too large a glass, and found, to her surprise, that it was actually palatable.
“So,” Kian started after he took a long pull of his own beer. “Did you ever get that dog?”
“What?” She looked up at him and blinked in surprise.
“I told you to get a dog.”
“My cat wouldn’t like that and it’s too much responsibility. Besides, why would I need a dog when I have a Pitbull for a neighbor?” Katelyn watched Kian’s reaction carefully. She was surprised to see a wounded glint pass over his dark eyes, as though she’d cut him somehow. “I’m sorry,” she stammered. “That was meant to be a joke.”
Kian blinked and the shimmer was gone. “I realize that.” He picked up his beer and took another long sip, draining half the glass. He set it down with a dull thump onto the dark wood tabletop. “It’s funny, how people view you because of the way you look. Now that I look a certain way, I think people are naturally afraid. It was different, when I wore a uniform. A lot of people hated me too, feared me even. I know city cops aren’t popular, but it was different.”
Katelyn’s mouth fell open. She was aware she was gaping at him and quickly pressed her lips together. “I… I didn’t realize you were a cop.” Her hand closed around her beer because she didn’t know what else to do with it. She took another sip, glad she had something to wet her dry mouth.
“Yes. But that was a long time ago.”
“How long? I mean, if you don’t mind me asking.”
“What if I did?” His smoldering black gaze burned into her, insistent, demanding, seeking an answer she didn’t have in her to give. She froze, afraid to move though her hand rested on her beer and the cold glass was freezing her palm. Her heart pounded out a wild, irregular beat.
“You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to,” she whispered. “But it wasn’t me who invited me out for a beer.”
“So you thought I’d come here, explain to you why I said what I did, why I asked you to leave the other night? You think that I have something to hide, some dark secret that you can unravel, pull out of me. You think you can pick at wounds that haven’t yet healed and in doing so, pull out the festering pain and give them a chance to heal?” His voice was accusatory and strange.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Katelyn managed a level voice. “If you just want this to be a beer, why did you come after me?”
Kian’s eyes locked onto her face. He stared hard at her, until a shiver crawled up her spine, up into her neck. He spoke so calmly, so matter of fact, that his words were all the more horrible for it. “My wife and my son were killed in a car accident four years ago. I was driving. I survived. Had a couple cuts, that was it. The other guy was at fault, but it was still me, if you catch my drift. I couldn’t be a cop after that. I couldn’t be much of anything at all. I sold the house. Got rid of everything I owned. Lit out of Tampa and came to Miami for a fresh start. Drawing was always a passion. I had ink in spots that were easily covered up. I never needed someone to teach me. I got a kit and taught myself. Practiced on fruit and those willing to sacrifice a piece of their skin for a free tattoo. Fortunately what I was doing was better than most of the shit artists in this city. I got good really fast. Opened my own shop, hired some people. And here I am.”
“Here you are,” Katelyn said softly. Not soft enough for Kian not to hear. He let out a cold chuckle, lifted his beer to his lips and slammed the rest back. His pint glass hit the table so hard that it rattled. “I’m so… sorry,” she stammered, aware that it was not enough. No words would ever be enough to erase his pain. Her heart ached so fiercely it stole her breath.
“I don’t ever talk about that shit. Ever. You’re the first person I’ve told.” His throat moved up and down wildly as he tried to compose himself. It was only the sorrow burning in his eyes that told her he was at all affected. His face remained, for the most part, impassive. “And what about you? What shit life brought you here to this city? I already know about your douche bag of an ex-husband. I’ll bet your story didn’t start with him.”
“No,” she admitted carefully. Her eyes fell to her hands, which rested on the tabletop. “I grew up in London. My mom raised my sister and I, she was a year older. She was a single mom. She did the best she could, I guess. She was always bouncing around from one guy to the next. I guess she craved what we couldn’t give her. Some kind of fulfillment. Love that a child never quite makes up for not having. Anyway, I worked hard, did some correspondence classes and that, so I could graduate early and move out at the same time my sister did. We found this tiny flat and she was working so we could afford it. I actually was able to get student loans to take this online interior design course. I was working as a waitress during the day and doing the course at night. I made it through. I was really good at it so it took me only half the amount of time it usually takes people. I was doing pretty good for myself, getting my name out there, starting to have regular clients and regular work and then, I met John and- yah. You already know how that ended up. I followed him over here, to Chicago. It didn’t take me long to realize the guy I fell in love with wasn’t who I married.” Her stomach knotted and she was glad to be done with the bitter words.
They were both silent for a long while and luckily their waitress brought Kian another pint, without him having to ask, to break up the long pause.
“So, we’re both fucked up. We both came here to escape a past that couldn’t be escaped or forgotten.”
“I might have been trying to get away from John, but I knew I’d never forget. That wasn’t the point of leaving.”
“No? Why not go back to London then?”
Katelyn hedged. “I don’t know,” she finally admitted. “I suppose I like the weather here. I already had my Green Card. Moving would have just been a lot of work. I thought that I had a better chance of being able to support myself here. Miami seemed like a beautiful city. I’d always wanted to see it. I might still go back to London eventually, but it’s expensive. Cramped.”
Kian nodded slowly. Both of them sat there, neither of them knowing what to say. He raised his glass and swallowed his beer at an astonishing rate. When he thumped his glass back down and locked his gaze back to hers, Katelyn was astounded at the way he could shut down his pain. There was nothing in his eyes, nothing he was willing to reveal, at any rate.
“So… now you know. Now you know why I say I’m fucked up. Why you should stay away. I’m not the kind of guy who is tender and sensitive. I’m not the family kind anymore. I’m not willing to take a chance on that again. No, that’s not right. I just can’t. I’m broken in ways that will never be put back together.”
Those eyes, so black, so sad, so unreadable, burned her heart. She understood what it was he was trying so hard to say without actually uttering the words. He’d tried to drive her away. He was probably still trying. And yet, here she was, sitting across from him, sharing tales of woe, her heart aching for the mistakes she’d made and the hand life so unfairly dealt him.
“Let’s go,” she said impulsively. “I’ll drive us back home.”
One dark brow raised in question, but the rest of Kian’s face remained stoic. She realized, with a start, that he’d learned that from his time as a cop. It was the face he probably used to interrogate people. Try as she might, it was nearly impossible to imagine him on the other side of the law when he looked the way he did now, black t-shirt straining over layers of muscle and ink blackened skin, ripped jeans. His usual leather jacket was missing, but probably not far. He’d likely run out of his shop without it.
“Home?” He said the word like he didn’t know what it truly meant. “To which house?” he finally added.
“To… to mine,” she whispered in a strangled voice. She couldn’t look at him any longer. “You might try and drive me away, but you’re not going to succeed. I’ve tried to keep myself away and I’ve failed.”
Kian’s hand shot out and gripped hers on the tabletop. He applied so much pressure it was almost painful. Her eyes shot up in alarm. His touch burned her and his eyes glowed with an almost feral light.
“I’m not the kind of man you can save.”
She was very aware that she was playing with fire, but hell, at the moment she wanted to be burned. “I’m not trying to save you.”
“No? It sure feels that way.”
“I wasn’t talking about salvation.”
Kian scrubbed his free hand over his face. “That’s funny. Ironic, I guess, because that’s sure what it felt like the other night.”
Katelyn had the distinct, uncomfortable feeling that he hadn’t meant to admit as much. His lips pressed together in a thin, hard line. The heat of awareness, of animal hunger, of a want and a need that felt so utterly right, spread over her, capturing her body in a tight, unrelenting hold.
She tugged her hand out of Kian’s grip, drug in her purse and produced her keys. When she looked up at him, her eyes focused on his face fearlessly and her words were unfaltering. “When I said home I meant your place. I don’t know what we found the other night, but I know I want more. And if it’s salvation is it the worst thing in the world?”
Kian’s throat bobbed hard. He shocked her when he let out a low chuckle. It was heated and filled with the thick, sexual tension that suddenly flared between them. “No. Not when it seems like we both need it so damn bad.”