Walk Through Fire (Page 84)

I was going to do that then.

And I was going to take my time this time.

Intent on that, I yanked his jeans down another inch, Logan lifting his hips to help. I could see the thick root of his hard cock and I couldn’t wait.

I yanked again and something caught my attention.

I looked at it, not taking it in at first, except to see it was freaking cool.

The head of a snake, mouth open, fangs bared, inked into the muscles demarcating his hip bone.

Staring at it, all of a sudden my insides froze and my fingers at his right hip yanked down more.

That was when the rest of me froze.

Because the body of the snake trailed down and across his hip, cool as all hell, beautiful really.

But it covered my ink.

It covered what had once been there.

It covered his declaration that he was mine.

All mine.

Only mine.

His ink was still at my back.

My ink was gone.

I stared at his hip, unmoving, for long enough for Logan to call, “Babe.”

I didn’t even twitch.

He slid his hand to my jaw, putting gentle pressure on to tilt my head so I’d look at him, doing this saying softly, “Millie, beautiful.”

… only her.

Gone.

I’d lost that.

I’d lost it.

And I’d never get it back.

Not with our reunion.

Not even if this worked and we had the rest of our days together.

… only her.

That was something I’d never get back.

Ever.

Scalded by this knowledge, blistering with the burn, the snake moving before my eyes, fangs bared, ready to strike and lay me to waste, I moved fast, launching myself to the end of the bed.

I started to swing my legs around to get off, to run away, run fast, run for my life in order to get away from that snake.

I didn’t even get my legs all the way around before Logan’s arm clamped around my belly and he hauled me back into his body.

“Baby,” he whispered into my ear.

I pushed against his hold with my body and my hands at his arm. “Let me go.”

His arm tightened. “Mill—”

I reared and lost it, shrieking, “Goddamn it! If I want to go, you need to let me go!”

He let me go.

I flew off the bed, into the bathroom, and slammed the door.

Once inside, I stopped dead.

“Okay, God, okay,” I chanted, starting to pace, my body controlled by emotions I couldn’t fight but I also couldn’t let loose or the healing that had begun would be lost and this new wound would open and fester immediately.

I dragged my fingernails over my forehead, along my scalp and fisted them in my hair.

“Okay, shit, okay… God,” I whispered, remembering.

Remembering how we got those tats together. Me on my stomach on a table beside him lounging back in a chair.

It had been the most romantic moment in my life.

I knew it later, definitely, after losing him.

But I’d felt it even then, my cheek to my arms folded in front of me, watching him, him turning his head to catch my eyes. I knew then that even when we got married, it would be awesome, but it wouldn’t be as beautiful as that.

That was everything.

That was us declaring we were us.

I dropped my hands, moving to the mirror, yanking off my pajama top and turning my back.

I held the material to my breasts as I twisted to look at the mirror, sliding the hair over my shoulder.

Only him…

No… only her.

It was gone.

He got it. Not even twenty-four hours and he got it. He got what I did. He got why.

But I took us away.

He would have understood back then. He would have been there to help me deal with the loss of our dream.

He would have been there to help build a new dream.

He would have been there.

And my Only him… would have its… only her.

Forever.

And I threw it away.

I slid down the cabinets to my ass, locking my arm over my breasts with my thighs as I curled into myself and the tears came.

They were silent.

They were deadly.

“Millie,” Logan called through the door.

I pressed my face in my knees, closing my eyes tight.

And seeing snake.

My body bucked with a sob.

“Babe, come out or let me in!” Logan yelled. “You got two seconds!”

I didn’t go out or let him in.

I wept into my knees.

I heard the door open. I heard the pained, “Fuck.” I felt myself shifted so I was not ass to the floor, face in my knees. I was ass to Logan’s lap, face in his neck, his hand pressing it there.

For my part, I didn’t touch him. I didn’t curl into him. I didn’t hold on. I sat in his lap in his arms as the tears fell profusely and soundlessly, all this having discovered yet again how I’d lost it all.

How I’d lost us.

Logan stroked my hair and whispered, “I’ll tat it back, baby. I’ll ink you wherever you wanna be. You pick the spot. I’ll do it tomorrow. Fuck, do it now. We’ll get dressed and go out now, Millie. We’ll ink you back into me.”

“I threw it away,” I replied brokenly.

He curled me closer. “We’re not goin’ back there. We agreed. We’re here. Get back here with me.”

“You can’t get it back,” I told him.

“You get dressed with me, doin’ that now,” he told me.

“You can’t get it back,” I repeated.

“Baby—”

I pulled my face out of his neck and looked at his misty beauty.

“You can’t,” I hissed fiercely. “I made it so you can’t. I threw us away and it isn’t only me anymore, Logan. It’ll never be only me. I threw that away so I can never get it back. You had a wife.”