She shook her head and smiled. “It’s a good cry. I wasn’t sure what you would say. You’re a man of few words, after all.”
She was not the first person to say that. “I speak when it’s important. And you’re important.”
Far too important for him. Hell, he was dirt, tainted compared to her. And he was so fucking big. He could break her with one careless move. How could he ever think he was good enough for her? At the same time, he knew if he walked away right then, he’d not only regret it forever, but she’d think it was because of her.
She wrung her hands together and bit her lip.
“What is it?”
“I’ve wanted to tell you for a long while. Not because it was a huge weight on me, even though it was, but more so because…” She let out a breath. “I don’t have nipples anymore. I mean, they took them away when they did the first surgery. I will never have the kind of sensation I once had. It’s impossible. But I’ve always wanted to do…something.”
He froze. Austin and Maya had done a few nipple tattoos at the shop where they made the ink almost realistic. It was hard, but a tattoo that Sloane knew took courage beyond what others thought. All of those at Montgomery Ink had tattooed over and through scars in their line of work. Hell, it was how Austin had met his wife, Sierra.
But he wasn’t sure he could deal with Maya or Austin doing Hailey’s ink. He knew he had no right to be possessive, but he wanted to be the one to help her…if that was what she wanted.
“I don’t want nipple tattoos. I just don’t think they’re for me. But I do want something. I’ve been toying with the idea of art across my chest for a while. I’ve just needed the courage to tell my story and then do something about it.”
He took a deep breath. “I think you have far more courage than you give yourself credit for.”
She smiled at him, breaking his heart all over again. “I’ve always thought…” She stopped, frowned. “I’ve always thought I should have you do it. I don’t know why. I mean, I know we’ve wanted each other, we’ve said so tonight. But this is different. I always thought you could help me. But I’ve been scared.”
He leaned forward again and kissed her softly, his heart beating rapidly in his chest. “I would be honored to help you. You can trust me, Hails. I’ll take care of you.”
She put her hands on his chest and moved forward. “I do trust you. That’s why I told you. Why I want you to do my ink.”
Sloane kissed her again. “I’ll do anything you need me to do. And when you’re ready for me to start it, I’ll be by your side, making sure it’s exactly what you need. For you to ask me this…” he shook his head. “You blow me away, Hailey. You fucking blow me away.”
She smiled at him then, and he was lost.
He loved this woman, loved everything about her, and now he had fallen that much deeper. He just prayed he could keep her.
The bomb blast hit his Humvee hard, and his brain rattled. Sloane gasped for breath, the fire burning around him all but searing his skin. He reached for his brother, but couldn’t feel him. Couldn’t feel much of anything.
Just the pain.
Sloane sat up in bed, sweat pouring from his skin as he tried to swallow. Only he couldn’t breathe, and he had to keep his heart from pounding right out of his chest.
Fuck.
He hadn’t had one of those nightmares in years. He knew he’d never rightly forget that day, but he thought he’d move past the night terrors that kept him up, that kept his hands unsteady and his eyes red-rimmed.
Sloane grunted as he pulled his legs to the side of the bed and rested his head in his hands. He just needed to take a few deep breaths and then he’d be fine. He’d done this countless times before. PTSD didn’t go away with happy thoughts and willpower alone. He knew it might never go away, but at least he wasn’t struggling on a day-to-day basis. He was doing far better than some of his friends from the service. Hell, at least he’d come home whole. Or even come home at all. His body might be covered in scars, but he’d kept his limbs and his sight.
That had to count for something.
The thought of loss and coming through made him think of Hailey and he sobered rapidly. He’d only been to war. Only fought and lived, coming out mostly whole.
She’d lost far more than he had.
And yet he felt like she was doing so much better than him. She’d fought with grace, or at least he figured she had. She’d even told him about the tattoo she wanted him to give her. When he thought of his situation, all he’d done was live—when so many hadn’t.
No one else in that truck had lived through that roadside bomb.
Only him.
How was it he deserved to be here? How did he deserve to come home and be with a woman who made him feel like everything would be okay?
He didn’t deserve it.