“I get your motivation. But I just don’t want you to keep things from me anymore.”
She peeked over her shoulder at me, eyes watery. “That’s a two-way street, Hayden.”
I paused, unwilling to work on the most difficult part until we had this cleared up. “You know how last week you said you didn’t want the past to bog down what we have because it would change the way I see you?”
“Yes.”
“Well, that’s how I feel about the situation you’re referring to. I need time, just like you did. Give me a week and I’ll tell you what you need to know.” I wouldn’t tell her everything, not even close. But I would explain as best I could what my deal with Sienna had been and why she continued to make my life difficult.
“Whatever your relationship was with her, it won’t change how I feel about you now,” Tenley said, stroking her palm over my knee.
It was on the tip of my tongue to ask how exactly she felt about me. But it wasn’t a good time, not with her being so emotional. If she asked me that question, I would have no clue what to say, because the truth was too much, even for me.
“Just so we’re on the same page, what Sarah told me last night in no way changes how I feel about you either. Okay?”
“Okay.”
She seemed to relax a little. I left it at that. I hoped she would still feel the same after I dropped my bomb on her, although what Sienna and I had was never something I would classify as a relationship, no matter what Jamie tried to imply.
Tenley squeezed my knee through the hardest part. It didn’t matter how gentle I was; the scars were hypersensitive, particularly with the amount of trauma I’d subjected them to the previous night. The skin on her arms pebbled as she squirmed, a sure sign the discomfort was extreme. Next time I would start with the worst and end with the easiest.
When it was over, she sat with her fists clenched in her lap, shivering. I patted her back dry with the towel, but her skin was raw and sore, so she twisted away.
“You need to take something to help ease the sting,” I said, draping the towel over her shoulders.
“I already took Tylenol,” she replied.
Her palms rubbed up and down her thighs, nails pressing into her knees, like she wanted to control whatever was going on inside. I didn’t like this. I was used to dealing with my own ink and the discomfort that came with it. For me, the aftermath promised a welcome alternative to my internal discord. But the first one had been harder than the rest. Tenley’s was more than twice the size of my introduction to the after-tattoo burn. I’d been ruined at the time, destroyed by a loss that was my fault, and I relished the pain. Because I deserved it. Tenley was in such a different place, and she didn’t have the kind of chemical escape I’d had. Not that I wanted her to.
I crossed over to the vanity and opened her medicine cabinet. The top two rows were dedicated to prescription bottles. Most of them were at least half full. I checked out the labels, something I hadn’t done before. A few of the names sent up red flags. Most I didn’t recognize.
“Do you take all this stuff?”
I didn’t want her to feel judged. But she was right—with every layer uncovered, I began to see her differently. No matter how brutal the damage, she was a fighter and a survivor. I couldn’t figure out what the hell she wanted with me.
Tenley was hunched over, the towel pressed to her chest as she folded in on herself.
I knelt down in front of her, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. “Tenley? Kitten, do you take all of those regularly?”
“They’re left over from the accident.”
It wasn’t a straight answer. “You want the regular Tylenol or the prescription stuff?”
“Prescription, please.”
I went back to the cabinet and retrieved the bottle.
“I’ll need two. It hurts a lot,” she said softly. And I knew she was referring to more than just the physical scars.
I filled the glass on the edge of the counter and handed it to her. Turning back to the vanity, I surveyed the medications. There were several painkillers of varying intensity. I went for the weakest ones, which were still far stronger than the standard over-the-counter stuff. “How about we start with one, and if it’s still bad in an hour you take another?”
“Okay.”
I shook a pill into my palm and pressed on her bottom lip, encouraging her to open. I dropped the white tablet on her tongue. I heard a crunch and had to suppress a shudder at what I knew must have been a bitter, chemical taste. She drained the contents of the glass. When she was done, I gave her a lingering, chaste kiss. Later I would look up some of the names of the shit she was taking that I couldn’t identify.
“I’m going to take you to school today,” I told her.
“I only have office hours and a meeting with my group. I should be fine.”
“I just fed you codeine. You’re not driving yourself anywhere.”