24: Some Tattoos Are Meant to Hide

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The rope is hanging on by a thread and my fingers swipe together until my pads barely touch, like when I'm trying to zoom out from my phone

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The rope is hanging on by a thread and my fingers swipe together until my pads barely touch, like when I'm trying to zoom out from my phone. Instead, I'm foolishly trying to mend the frayed pieces as if I had this magical ability to link the rope back together.

Goosebumps rise on Lee's skin as I continue to attempt the impossible. Something about the broken pieces hurts my heart. Finally giving up, my touch glides down, skimming over the anchor. The colorless tattoo is so well executed that pieces of it shine as if the anchor is real and a light is hitting off it. My disfigured nails curve along with the rope, following its path, hugging the anchor. But it doesn't matter how strong the thickness of it is, the part at the top where it's breaking renders the support helpless.

My fingers dip and climb along his ribs but my heart practically stalls every time I meet a rubbery bump that interrupts the smooth texture of his warm skin and tattoo. Each scar adds depth to the rope, being hidden away by black and grey ink. Each part of the rope hides the horrifying scar left behind from Lee's sperm donor.

Whoever the artist had been, did this tattoo with grace and deep respect. I would never have noticed the scar because the tattoo hides it so well, beautifully incorporating it into the artwork.

As much as my heart breaks at each remnant of Lee's past, I also fall in love with him more. This man has been through the depths of hell here on earth and he refuses to break, holding on no matter what even if it's by a thin thread.

Lee doesn't give himself enough credit.

He has no idea how strong he is.

My cheek lays against his soft black shirt, his warmth seeping through. But black dots in my vision causes me to stop my inspection of his tattoo in favor of closing my eyes and groaning, white dots igniting in the darkness. The muscles around my eyes tense and Lee moves, sitting up as I sit back, his shirt sliding down and concealing his tattoo and scar once again from me.

His hand pushes back some of my hair. I had curled it and wore a cute outfit today for a nice date with him... only for a migraine to attack me fifteen minutes before he got here.

But this amazing man brought the date to me. He picked up food from Joss' diner, ordering tomato soup with chips, along with my favorite chipotle sandwich. And yes, I have become obsessed with dipping potato chips into my soup.

Sue me.

After eating he snuggled with me on my couch and we were in the process of watching The Great British Baking Show when my fingers slid under his shirt, testing, wondering if he'd let me venture to where his scar was.

He did.

And my heart literally exploded from my chest.

"Is it not getting better?" His thick molasses accent makes my skin tingle.

I glance over at Paul Hollywood as he taste tests one of the signature bakes, my hair falling over the side my face like a curtain. "It is, it's just taking a bit for the medication to kick in. It doesn't help that my jaw is killing my and starting to affect my ear."

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