My head jerks back in surprise which only makes the pain pound back in response. One eye scrunches up as I wince through it. “Now?”
She folds her arms. “I had to put you to bed last night. I think I’m owed an explanation.”
I frown at her. “I’m not sure my tattoo will answer your question. What is your question?”
“The lion,” she says. “When did you get it? What does it mean?”
“Why?” I ask her carefully.
“Because you’re always looking at it.”
My eyes widen and I’m hit with a wave of self-consciousness. “I am?” Fuck, I had never noticed.
“From time to time,” she says. “You may not be seeing it for what it is, but it’s one of the many places your eyes go.”
I exhale noisily. She’d sunken into my skin, just like the tattoo. I could open another page for her. I could give her another glimpse inside. She couldn’t throw it back in my face if I was leaving. The pages would just flutter to the ground.
“All right,” I say, holding out my forearm for her to see better, for me to remember. “This is Lionel. Not my dog. My lion. I got this tattoo when I was sixteen. I’d been living with the McGregors for a while by then, but…” I pause, wondering how I can explain such a thing to someone who has never gone through it. “When you grow up in a boy’s home, when you don’t have anyone to love you, to care for you, to think of you, then you cling to whatever is lovely in the world. Lionel was my stuffed animal, given to me as a birthday present. The very same day my mother gave me away.”
I reluctantly meet her eyes, but I’m surprised not to see any pity in them. She’s involved in my words, as if she’s living it as I had. I swallow hard and continue. “Lionel was what I truly loved and the only thing that loved me back. It was soft, you know, in a place that was very hard and very cold and very black. The lion gave me hope, even when everything seemed hopeless. Through many foster families who couldn’t…handle me. And sometimes, sometimes I couldn’t handle them. Finally the McGregors took me in, but…” I lick my lips. “Sometimes the good things have a hell of a time outweighing the bad. Demons follow you everywhere. All the time.” I tap the back of my head. “Mine are here, and they are dark and they are always looking for the weakness in me.”
You’re my weakness. You’ll bring them out again.
I close my eyes to those thoughts, pinching them together tight.
Kayla lays her hand on my arm, and I open them, taking in a deep breath.
“You don’t have to say any more,” she says. “I get it.”
I shake my head. “Nah. Nah, you don’t, and I’m glad you don’t.” I exhale sharply. “So, Lionel the Lion reminds me that there is good in the world. There’s always something worth holding on to. It’s just another word for hope, you know?”
She nods slowly. “I know.” She looks away briefly, her eyes awash with sadness. “Shit. Lachlan, you’re breaking my heart.”
I sit up straighter and put my hand on her chest. “No. There’s no breaking this thing.”
She looks up at me through her lashes, mouth twisted into a smile. “Let’s hope.”
Our eyes lock, and before I know what I’m doing, I’m leaning in, pressing her soft lips to mine, letting the feel of her, the taste of her, wash away the grime.
We kiss for a long time, a slow, lazy, desperate meeting of the mouths, and I find everything in my body stiffens, hot and tense.
But she pulls away, her dainty hand on my chest, and quickly runs her thumb over my brow. “I promised everyone we’d have lunch with them. We’re going to a winery.”
I frown, not wanting to see anyone but her and especially not wanting to go to a winery after last night.