USA Today bestselling author Catherine Cowles has had her nose in a book since the time she could read and finally decided to write down some of her own stories. When she’s not writing she can be found exploring her home state of Oregon, listening to true crime podcasts, or searching for her next book boyfriend.
Fragile Sanctuary
Delicate Escape
Broken Harbor
Beautiful Exile
Chasing Shelter
Also by Catherine Cowles
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FOR EVERYONE WHO FEELS LIKE THEY DON’T BELONG. I SEE YOU. YOU’RE BEAUTIFUL, GOOD, WORTHY. AND YOU WILL FIND OTHERS WHO SEE IT, TOO. DON’T EVER GIVE UP. FINDING YOUR PEOPLE WILL BE ALL THE SWEETER BECAUSE YOU WALKED ALONE FOR A LITTLE WHILE.
A Note From Catherine
Hello, dearest readers,
Thank you for picking up this book and wanting to embark on this journey with me. It means a little something extra because this story is my favorite journey yet.
The Sparrow Falls series follows a group of foster siblings, and Secret Haven’s storyline dives deeper into the foster care and child welfare systems. I’m lucky to have worked with two incredible social workers who helped me portray these subjects as accurately as possible. That said, this is a work of fiction, and while I did my best to reflect real-life procedures, some details may differ for the sake of the story.
My goal was always to remain as true to life as possible while honoring Fallon and Kye’s unique journey.
It has been a privilege to learn more about the foster care system through writing the Sparrow Falls series, and I am incredibly grateful to all those who have helped me on that path. If you’d like to explore ways to support foster youth, I encourage you to visit the following organizations’ websites:
Foster Love: fosterlove.com
CASA: nationalcasagal.org
National Foster Youth Institute: nfyi.org
If you are looking for a list of sensitive topics covered in this story, you can find them on my website at the bottom of each book page. catherinecowles.com/secret-haven
Prologue
Fallon
AGE FOURTEEN
If you just finished the last of the Lucky Charms, I am going to hack into your Instagram and post that picture of you streaking downtown the night before graduation.”
I didn’t look up at the sound of my brother Cope’s threat. My pencil kept right on scratching across the paper, the sound inaudible above the din in the kitchen. But growing up the way I had, I was used to noise and chaos. The good kind. The kind that came from my mom taking in foster child after foster child—anyone who needed her—even after my dad had passed away. It was just the kind of woman she was.
Sometimes, kids came for only a night or two. Other times, they stayed forever. But there were always a lot of us, which meant noise and chaos.
Shep shot Cope a grin, his amber eyes twinkling with mischief. “Good thing I’ve got a great ass. Nothing to worry about there.”
“Your ass is so pale, it gives mooning a whole new meaning,” Cope fired back.
“Watch your language. Both of you,” Mom warned, eying the newest member of our crew.
Arden was twelve and had only said about two words since coming to live with us a few months ago. But the way she watched everyone with her gray-violet eyes said she picked up on more than someone might expect.
My grandma, Lolli, made a pssh noise as she walked into the kitchen wearing a bedazzled workout outfit, tie-dyed in every color of the rainbow. “Foul language is honest.”
Mom pinned Lolli with a hard stare. “Foul language is not welcome in this house.”
“Just like my naked yoga isn’t?” Lolli huffed.
Cope’s face scrunched as he shook his head, making his lightbrown hair flutter in a way I was sure the high school girls would sigh over. “Please do not remind me. I’m scarred for life.”
Lolli stuck out her tongue at him. “It’s called a sun salutation, and it’s your fault for coming over to my guesthouse unannounced.”
Shep chuckled as he lowered himself to the stool next to me.
“Bet he won’t do that again.”
“I’m staying at least two hundred yards away at all times,” Cope said with a shiver.
Rhodes ambled into the kitchen, her deep-brown hair a little wild. “Don’t let them dull your sparkle, Lolli.”
“Never, my babycakes,” Lolli called back.
Shep set his bowl of cereal on the island next to me, making his milk slosh over the side. He quickly moved to mop it up as I lifted my journal out of its path. “Sorry, Fal.”
“When do you go back to college again?” I asked, my lips twitching.
He made a face. “This morning. And you’re gonna miss me like crazy.”
“Not when you take the last of the Lucky Charms,” Cope called from the opposite side of the kitchen.
“You snooze, you lose,” Shep shot back.
Mom looked up from the stove, giving them each a look that said she was exasperated. “You both need protein, not to mainline sugar.”
Rhodes sent my mom a smile. “I’ll have eggs, Nora.”
My mom’s expression turned gentle. “Have I told you that you’re my favorite today?”
“Kiss-ass,” Cope called as he tried to get the last shreds of Lucky Charms into his bowl.
“Copeland,” Mom chastised.
“Sorry, Mom.” He grinned at Rhodes. “Sorry, Rho Rho.”
My best friend was newer to our bunch. She’d come to live with us a year ago after her family was killed in a fire. And even with as much time as she’d spent here growing up, she was still finding her footing in the sibling pack.
“That’s pretty good,” Shep said, leaning over to look at what I was drawing.
I quickly closed my journal, hiding my sketch of a house. “Not as good as yours, future contractor extraordinaire.”
He sent me a lopsided grin. “Let’s hope.”
“Only if he’s not distracted by all the girls chasing after him on campus,” a new voice called. Our eldest brother, Trace, ambled into the kitchen, his new deputy uniform looking perfectly ironed.
“I thought you moved out,” Shep shot back.
“I’m out of coffee,” Trace muttered.
“Move out of his way,” Cope ordered. “Trace without coffee is a dangerous beast.”
Trace leveled him with a stare. “I don’t get my coffee, and I’m much more likely to write you a speeding ticket when you’re doing thirty-five in a twenty-five.”
Mom straightened, leveling a glare at my biological older brother. “Copeland Colson. I am entrusting you with precious cargo. Tell me you are not speeding.”
There was a slight edge to her tone, and I knew why. When I was ten, a car accident left Cope and me in the hospital, and our father and brother, Jacob, dead.
Trace winced and quickly wrapped an arm around Mom. “I’m
just giving him a hard time. He’s only doing like two miles over the speed limit.”
It was a lie. Cope was a speed demon on skates and behind the wheel. Always looking for that next thrill. Maybe because we’d come so close to losing it all.
I stood, putting together my things and shoving them into the backpack at my feet. Once that was done, I moved around the kitchen, gathering supplies for lunch. I quickly glanced around to see if anyone was watching before making two turkey sandwiches. But I got caught up making sure they were perfect and didn’t notice my mom moving in beside me.
She brushed some hair back from my face in that easy way of hers. “Did you get enough for breakfast? You’ve been bringing a lot for lunch lately.”
My muscles stiffened; I couldn’t help it. A mixture of anxiety and guilt washed through me at hiding my mission from her. But if I shared, she’d get involved. I loved her for it, but I also feared it might make things worse.
“Sometimes, I want a snack on my free period,” I hedged. It wasn’t a lie. I did occasionally want something to eat during my free periods. It just usually came in the form of candy—strawberry Sour Patch Kids, if I had my way.
Cope sent me a look that told me he was about to be a shit-stirrer. “Eating for two, Fal?”
My jaw dropped, and Mom whirled on him. “That is not something to joke about.”
“Oh, please,” Cope muttered. “Fal’s never even kissed a boy. I think you’re safe.”
My cheeks heated because he was right. Cope’s words stung, but he was right. Everyone else in my family seemed to find relationships easily—or at least offers for them. Trace had been dating the same girl since he started college. Shep had endless female interest. Girls waited by Cope’s locker every day. Even Rhodes had plenty of boys paying her attention. And I was sure even Arden would have her share of interest if she ever ventured off our property.
But it was never easy for me. I was a little awkward. I didn’t care about the same stuff most kids in my class did. It just…didn’t seem important. And it didn’t help that I was shy around people I didn’t know well. More often than not, I faded into the background.
Grabbing the sandwiches, I stuffed them into my backpack and bolted out the front door. My feet hit the boards of the front steps, and I felt the sting of tears in the corners of my eyes. It was so stupid.
“Fal, wait,” Cope called from behind me.
I didn’t stop—not that I had anywhere to go. Colson Ranch was miles from town, and my only escape would’ve been into the pastures with the horses or cattle. I slowed at the fence line, staring out at the horizon. The Monarch Mountains were stunning in the morning light, and their staggering beauty and power were reminders of just how big the world was beyond our fences.
Cope moved in next to me, not saying anything for a moment. “I’m a dick.”
I didn’t respond.
“A dick of epic proportions. And I’ll give you my Lucky Charms for the next two weeks as restitution.”
My mouth curved slightly at that. “The ultimate penance.”
“No kidding,” he muttered. He knocked his shoulder into mine. “I’m sorry. Any boy would be lucky to have you at his side. But I’d also kick his ass if he made a move on you.”
I made a face at Cope. “And how many girls have you kissed?” I challenged.
“I’m seventeen. It’s different.”
“Whatever,” I muttered.
Cope looped an arm around me. “Forgiven?”
I glanced up at him. “I don’t know. You going to get me a milkshake after school?”
“Lucky Charms and a milkshake?”
“You were a dick of epic proportions.”
Cope burst out laughing but tugged me back toward the line of family vehicles. Trace watched us approach, the edges of his expression hardening. He didn’t like anyone around him feeling less than,
especially those he loved. It likely came from the events of his life before he came to stay with us. But he’d taken that hardship and turned it into something good.
“Want me to put him on a most-wanted list?” Trace asked, Shep and Rhodes standing next to him.
“I’ll settle for Lucky Charms and a milkshake payment,” I called back.
Cope pulled me tighter against him and gave me a noogie. “She drives a hard bargain.”
“Cope!” I squealed.
“Not the hair,” Rhodes yelled. “That’s adding insult to injury.”
I struggled to get free. “I’m going to put glitter in your hair gel.”
Cope laughed. “I don’t use hair gel.”
“Your body lotion, then.”
“Turn him into a fairy nymph,” Rho encouraged.
Cope released me. “Brutal.”
I tried to right my hair. “And don’t you forget it.”
The second bell rang, and more students flooded the halls. Kids stopped to offload books in their lockers and grab lunch money or food they’d brought from home. Nearly everyone but me. I kept my backpack on and dodged kids darting this way and that while trying to avoid any teachers who might question why I wasn’t headed for the cafeteria.
Who was I kidding? None of them would stop me. They’d assume I was working on a school project or logging some extra hours of homework. They wouldn’t be completely wrong. But they wouldn’t be totally right either.
“Fal!”
My muscles stiffened at the sound of Rho’s voice above the crowd. I could’ve pretended I didn’t hear her, but Rhodes was
determined, and she would’ve followed me. I slowed in the side hallway, stepping out of the flow of traffic.
“You’re fast for how tiny you are,” Rhodes said, struggling to catch her breath.
“What’s up?” I asked, feigning nonchalance.
Rho’s eyes narrowed on me the way only a best friend’s could. “Where are you going?”
“I have something to do this lunch period.”
“And that is?” she pressed.
I didn’t say anything right away.
Rhodes let out a long breath. “You’ve been MIA at lunch for weeks. What’s going on?”
I twisted the strap of my backpack around my fingers and pulled it tight. “I’m tutoring someone.”
Rho’s brow furrowed. “Why didn’t you just say so?”
“He doesn’t want people to know he’s struggling. That’s all.”
One corner of her mouth quirked up. “He, huh?”
My cheeks heated. “It’s not like that.” No matter how much I wanted it to be. But even if there were no stolen kisses or anything of the like, we shared something deep—an understanding I’d never had with anyone else. Not even Rhodes.
“I’m just giving you a hard time,” Rho said. “I’ll cover for you if anyone asks.”
I grinned at her and started down the hall. “You’re the bestest bestie,” I called.
“I know I am!” Rho shouted.
Keeping an eye out for any faculty members, I ducked out the side door and jogged across one of the soccer fields toward the forest. The moment I stepped into the trees, I breathed a little deeper. The clean mountain air, the pine scent clinging to everything, the sound of the creek in the distance…it all put me at ease.
I wound through the trees, following a path I knew by heart. It had been my escape route since high school started a few months ago. I just hadn’t realized at the time that it wasn’t only mine.
My heart stuttered as I caught sight of him sitting on a log. I
recognized him instantly, even from behind, and with the hood of his sweatshirt pulled up. Kyler Blackwood was just that kind of boy. Bigger than most of the guys at Sparrow Falls High, it wasn’t only his size that made him so easy to identify.
It was the energy that emanated from him, wafting off him in crackling waves. He seemed to prowl through life in a way that made others keep their distance. But I was never scared of Kyler. He was real. He didn’t paint on a smile when he didn’t feel it. He didn’t pretend that everything was okay when it wasn’t. He simply was. And I was in awe of it.
Fallen leaves crunched under my feet, and Kyler turned, revealing one side of his shadowed face. Even half-covered, I instantly knew something was wrong.
“Hey, Sparrow.”
I didn’t say anything right away; I just kept moving, needing to get to him. I lowered myself to the log next to him and let my backpack fall to the ground. “Tell me.”
Kyler shrugged off the request, asking a question of his own. “Got any new house drawings?”
He was the only one I’d ever shown my drawings to by choice. Sometimes, living in an imaginary world—one where parents and siblings didn’t die, and kids weren’t neglected or hurt—was easier. So, I’d repeatedly draw a whimsical house: a place where no bad things happened. It was a cross between a Craftsman and a Victorian, with teal siding and bright blooms covering most of it.
I wasn’t especially good at drawing, but I’d gotten good at this one thing. It was my escape. Except that escape had shifted over the past few months. Changed. Because Kyler had become a part of it.
I could feel the anger and pain swirling around Kyler. I took him in. His hand lay on the log, pressing against the rough bark. His knuckles were torn, which wasn’t unusual given the number of fights he got into, both inside the ring and out of it. But some of the tears were fresh.
The urge to clean them gnawed at me. I’d taken to carrying a first-aid kit in my backpack for exactly that reason. But it wasn’t time.
Not yet. Because something was hurting him a hell of a lot more than those knuckles.
I moved, linking my pinky with his and squeezing. It was our sign that we were there for each other. If I needed to rage about how unfair it was that I’d lost Dad and Jacob, or how worried I was about one of my siblings… If Kyler needed to let loose the ugly stew of feelings regarding what he faced at home each and every day: his father’s fists, his mother’s vitriol. We were always there.
“Tell me.” My words had a slight pleading edge.
Something about that made Kyler turn. And that’s when I saw it. A sick feeling swirled inside me as I took in the side of Kyler’s face. It was bruised and swollen in a way that could only come from someone hitting you over and over again when you were down.
My pinky tightened around Kyler’s as if my grip on him was the only thing keeping him with me. “The fights?” I croaked. Kyler was a hell of a mixed martial artist, but he’d started taking some fights for money, and I’d never had a good feeling about them. Looking at his face now, I realized it was more than just the physical toll of those fights.
The light in Kyler’s amber eyes swirled, turning darker. “No.”
My throat constricted. Worse than fights for money with no protective gear? Worse than getting mixed up with guys who wore motorcycle club vests and Trace said were dangerous?
“Your dad?” I could barely get the words out, my throat weaving into intricate knots I didn’t think I’d ever get undone.
Kyler looked at the creek below us. The dogwoods that had been in full bloom months ago when we first met here were now bare, like bony fingers that had been starved of food and affection for far too long. Like Kyler himself.
A muscle along his jaw pulsed in time to a beat only he could hear. “He got the jump on me when I got home. Drunk or high. Maybe both. He got me down, and I couldn’t get up. Woke up on the floor this morning.”
The pressure of unshed tears was instant, but I shoved them and the rage swirling inside me down as far as they would go. “Your mom?”
The two words were strangled, barely audible, but he heard them. “You know she doesn’t give a fuck about me. She’s still pissed that I ruined the best years of her life. Sometimes, I think she’d rather he finish me off.”
Tears filled my eyes, cresting up and spilling over as I kept hold of Kyler’s pinky. But I couldn’t speak. Didn’t have the words for him living through something so awful.
He turned then, taking in my face. “Fuck, Sparrow. Don’t cry.”
Kyler tugged his hand from mine. Not holding his pinky made me feel a little sick. Like I could no longer protect him. Kyler covered his thumbs with the sleeves of his hoodie and swept them under my eyes, clearing away the tears. “I’m okay.”
“You’re not.” The words were barely a whisper. “They can’t get away with this. We can’t let them.”
Kyler’s hands dropped from my face. “I’m gonna take off. Maybe try to make it to Portland.”
Panic flooded my system, fear fast on its heels. Kyler was two years older than me, but sixteen wasn’t old enough to make it on your own in a huge city. Anything could happen to him. And the idea of not seeing Kyler every day? Not knowing he was all right?
It made me feel like I couldn’t breathe.
“Don’t,” I croaked. “I can talk to Trace. He’s a deputy now. He can help—”
“No.” Kyler was on his feet in a flash, pacing. “You can’t. I could end up in a group home or, if my dad rats me out for fighting, juvie. I can’t risk it, Sparrow. Promise me you won’t tell anyone. Promise.”
Each word wound the panic tighter. But I knew I couldn’t betray the gift Kyler had given me.
Trust.
For the boy who had nothing, he’d given me everything. His trust. His kindness. He’d seen me doing battle with my grief and had come alongside me in the most beautiful way.
“I won’t tell,” I whispered.
The tension in Kyler eased a fraction, like someone had dialed down an electrical current. “Okay.”
I stared at the boy who’d become my haven, taking in his beaten and bloodied face. “I can’t stand you hurting,” I rasped, pushing to my feet. “I want to fix it. I want to kill them. I want to take away all the pain and make it better.”
“You do,” Kyler said, cutting me off as he moved into my space and linked his pinky with mine again. “You bring me food. You make sure I don’t flunk out of my classes.” His finger traced the arrow necklace I wore every day. “You make me feel…not alone. And, Sparrow? I’ve been alone for basically as long as I’ve been breathing. But you? You make it all better.”
My breath hitched as Kyler’s hand lifted to cup my cheek, his thumb sweeping away the last of my tears. My pulse thundered in my ears as his head dipped. But he just hovered there, not closing the distance, waiting for me. Like he always did.
And because it was Kyler, I wasn’t afraid or even nervous. I just wanted. To know what his lips felt like, what his tongue tasted like, what it would be like to be kissed by this boy.
I closed the distance, my mouth meeting his. The boy everyone thought of as a brute was heartbreakingly gentle as his mouth met mine. Heat hit my lips, spreading out, moving through my whole form, waking me up as if I’d been sleepwalking through life. Kyler tasted like peppermint and a hint of smoke, and his scent was stronger now, too: oakmoss and amber, but with a twist. As though when those scents connected with Kyler’s skin, they changed. Just like I did.
His rough palm slid along my jaw as I pressed into him, wanting more of the magic that was only him. His tongue stroked in, just barely. Hesitant, waiting for that permission again. I met his kiss awkwardly at first, but then I found my footing. His long fingers slid into my hair as I opened for him.
“Well, well, well. What do we have here? I knew there was something more goin’ on than studying.”
At the sound of the voice, Kyler and I jerked apart. He instantly moved me behind him and glared at his friend.
Oren snorted. “Please. Like I’m interested in the little mouse.”
Kyler’s hands fisted, and the already bruised knuckles cracked.
“It’s a good thing you’re not. Because if you lay a finger on her, you know I’d snap your neck like a twig.”
Oren held up his hands, but I saw a flare of anger in his brown depths. “Touchy, touchy. Save it for your fight this weekend.”
That had anger washing through me, hot and fast. “He’s not fighting this weekend. Look at his face. He probably has a concussion.”
Oren sent a glare in my direction. “You’re a real buzzkill, mouse. You know that? He’ll be fine by Saturday.”
I stepped to Kyler’s side, letting my anger burn out any fear. “If I find out you pressured Kyler into fighting, I’ll have my brother put you on every sheriff’s department watch list imaginable. I’ll let the air out of your crotch rocket’s tires every day. And I will find a way to sneak pink hair dye into your shampoo.”
“She’s got a vengeful streak,” Jericho said, stepping out of the trees. “I like it.”
I wasn’t crazy about either of Kyler’s so-called friends, but Jericho seemed to have a soul, at least.
Oren’s jaw worked back and forth, his gaze flicking to Kyler. “You’d better keep your bitch on a shorter leash and stop telling her our business.”
Kyler moved forward lightning-quick. The only thing saving Oren from a knockout punch was Jericho grabbing his jacket and pulling him back.
“All right, all right,” Jericho said, getting between them. “Let’s just take a breath. Ore, you know Fallon’s a no-go zone for you and anyone else. Kye will break you in two. Kye, no hitting the home team, remember?”
“He earned it,” Kyler growled.
“Maybe. But Oren’s never not gonna be an asshole. So, we just gotta deal.”
“You’re both pricks,” Oren muttered.
The school bell rang in the distance, and it felt a lot like a clock striking midnight. I was about to turn into a pumpkin. Kyler turned, his gaze roaming my face like he was trying to memorize it. “You’d better go. You don’t want to be late.”
I moved in, not caring that his friends were there. I linked my pinky with his. “You gonna be okay?”
One corner of his mouth quirked up. “Always am, aren’t I?”
“Be careful,” I whispered.
Kyler stared down at me for a long moment. Then he dipped his head and pressed a kiss to my forehead. It was like he was trying to memorize that, too. My insides churned because it felt a hell of a lot like a goodbye.
“Kyler—”
I swung my backpack around and pulled out the extra lunch I’d made, shoving it into his hands.
“Go,” he said quietly. “Not letting you be late because of me.”
So, I went. But I regretted it for the rest of the day.
A ringing sounded from down the hall and the kitchen below as I stared at the ceiling in the dark like it held all the answers to my problems. Two rings later, it cut off.
My bedroom was two doors down from my mom’s, but I could still hear her muffled voice as she answered the phone—not the words but her familiar, sleepy tone. Then I listened to the floorboards creak as she made her way down the hall and the stairs.
It likely meant one thing: a newcomer. And one coming in the middle of the night meant it was bad. An emergency placement. I tossed off the covers and sat up, sliding my feet into my fluffy unicorn slippers that matched my PJs and padding down the hall. Mom already had the kettle on by the time I made it downstairs.
“Hey, sweetie. Did I wake you?” she asked as she tightened the sash of her flannel robe. It was the one Dad had gotten her a decade ago. She said putting it on felt like getting a hug from him. She’d patched holes and restitched seams, and I had a feeling she’d wear it for the rest of her days.
I shook my head. “Couldn’t sleep.”
Mom brushed some hair out of my face. “Everything okay?”
No, everything was not okay. But I’d made a promise, and Kyler had given me his trust. I wouldn’t ever break that. “Just a lot going on at school.”
“I’m making some Sleepytime tea. Drink some of that.”
“Okay.” I watched as she expertly removed the kettle before it could make a sound and poured hot water into a teapot before pulling out three mugs. “Who’s coming?” I asked softly.
Mom’s face got that troubled look it often did when we were about to get a bad case. Like when Arden had arrived and couldn’t bear to sleep with the lights off. Or when Trace went to the cemetery to visit his mom on her birthday. “A boy’s coming to stay with us for a while.”
I watched her face for more clues. “What happened?”
She placed a hand-sewn tea cozy over the pot, then rested her hand there. “He was hurt, and he needs a safe place to stay.”
My stomach cramped. How were there so many people in the world who wanted to inflict pain? “Did they get who did it?”
Mom nodded. “Trace said the man’s in lockup.”
“Good.” The force behind the word had my mom raising her brows.
She reached out and cupped my face before tapping the arrow necklace Dad had given me. “Always my little warrior for justice.” A soft knock sounded on the door before she could continue. “That’s probably Trace.”
Mom was already on the move, and I followed behind, wanting to see if I could do anything to help. But as the front door opened, my whole world dropped away. It wasn’t the weary look on Trace’s face that did it, or the sad look on his partner, Gabriel’s. It was the boy whose gaze was cast at the ground. The same one who’d given me everything.
I must’ve made a sound because Kyler’s head jerked up. The second it did, pain filled his expression. His dark brown hair looked
black under the dim porch light, mirroring the shadowy circles under his amber eyes.
“Careful,” Trace said quietly. “The stitches will smart for a while.”
Stitches?
My gaze jumped around Kyler’s form, taking in new flashes of information: an arm in a sling, taped gauze peeking out from under scrubs, a bandage across his brow, and the side of his face even more swollen.
“Hi, Kye,” my mom said gently. “I’m Nora Colson. You’re most welcome here. I’ve got a room ready and some tea brewing in the kitchen. Fallon can show you the way. You might know her from school.”
My heart hammered in my ears. A tingling sensation erupted in my fingers, and it felt like the whole world might drop away. Kyler. My Kyler was the one who’d been hurt. The one who needed shelter.
“No,” Kyler rasped. “I don’t think we’ve met.”
It felt like the most brutal blow—worse than waking up in the hospital after the car accident with broken ribs and a concussion.
“Fal?” Mom asked.
“Sorry,” I squeaked. “I can show you.” I scurried like the little mouse Oren always accused me of being, but Kyler wasn’t nearly as quick. Every step he took looked like it cost him, and I couldn’t stop the tears that gathered in my eyes.
Mom spoke to Trace and Gabriel in hushed tones as I led Kyler to the kitchen without saying a word. When we finally reached it and had some privacy, I focused on the tea. I couldn’t look at him. It hurt too much. In every way.
“Tell me,” I croaked.
Kyler didn’t say anything for a long moment. “He caught me packing a bag to leave.” Kyler’s words were rough like sandpaper and full of pain. “Grabbed a knife. Never seen him so mad.” His voice caught. “I think he was going to kill me.”
I had to look at him then. The shock and fear were too much. “Kyler,” I breathed.
His tears came then, running down his face in streaks of agony.
“My dad tried to kill me. And my mom didn’t do a damn thing to stop him. She just watched like I was nothing to her.”
I wanted to touch him, but I didn’t know where. Every place I looked seemed like it would cause him pain. Still, like always, I moved for his pinky and hooked it with mine. “You’re safe now. We’ve got you.”
A new sort of fear and pain slid into his expression like they were wrapped in panic. He gripped my pinky harder. “You can’t tell them we know each other. That I kissed you.”
I frowned, trying to understand.
“They’ll never let me stay here if they know. Your brother pulled strings to get me in here. They wanted to put me in a group home in Roxbury. If they boot me from here, that’s where I’ll go.”
Pain ripped through me. Kyler didn’t deserve that. He deserved to be somewhere he wouldn’t have to watch his back. A place he could heal. And he would be. Even if I had to erase the fact that he knew me better than anyone. Even if I had to hide that I’d fallen in love with him the moment he found me screaming in the woods.
Kyler let go of my pinky, and it felt like someone was ripping my still-beating heart from my chest. But he didn’t look away when he spoke again, saying the words that broke me. “Sparrow,” he croaked, “you were always too good for me anyway. It’s better this way.”
Chapter One
Fallon
FOURTEEN YEARS LATER
Cupping my hands around a mug that read World’s Best Aunt, I inhaled deeply. The scent of dark roast filled my nose, deep and rich with hints of dark chocolate and almonds. Or maybe I was imagining that. It didn’t matter. Only one thing did. “Do your job, sweet, sweet caffeine,” I whispered into the cup as if to manifest some sort of wakefulness.
Taking a long pull of coffee, I closed my eyes—eyes that felt like they were full of acid-coated sand. But I felt slightly more human after a few sips.
I opened my eyes and set the mug on the dresser. Countless rings littered the surface from endless mornings just like this one. It drove my mom crazy. She was constantly giving me coasters or offering to refurbish the top. But the coasters got lost in the chaos of my minuscule cottage on the edge of town, and the dresser had character. Or as Lolli said, “It’s seen some things, baby girl.”
Moving around my room, I pulled up the covers on my bed and winced at the stack of file folders and the laptop on my nightstand.
Paperwork. There was never-ending paperwork when you worked for the child welfare arm of the Department of Human Services. And nine times out of ten, it was the reason for my two a.m. bedtimes. I reached for my coffee and took a sip at the reminder of just how little sleep I was going on.
My phone dinged, and I reached over to swipe it from the charging dock, nearly upending the Leaning Tower of Paperwork in the process. I muttered a curse as hot coffee sloshed onto my hand but managed not to do any serious damage. My sibling group chat flashed on the screen.
Shep has changed the name of the group to Cope’s Tighty-whities.
I frowned at the screen. My siblings were always trying to one-up each other by changing the chat name, but this was a new one.
Shep: Look what I spotted at the grocery store this morning…
A photo of a magazine filled the screen. Sports Today had one photo on the cover. My brother, the hockey star, shirtless with some sort of oil on his chest and his hair slicked back. He wasn’t in his underwear, thank the gods above, but he was in workout shorts that left little to the imagination. My nose scrunched up.
Me: I really didn’t need to see this before breakfast. I feel a little ill.
Cope: Rude. Sutton said I look great.
Rhodes: Your fiancée can’t exactly be trusted to be impartial.
Kyler: Did they dip you in a vat of olive oil for this? Give you a rubdown with a tub of Crisco? I need to know the background.
Everyone in my family called Kyler by his nickname, Kye, but I could never find it in me to switch his name in my phone. Like so many other things, it was a reminder of what could’ve been. A brand of something I could never let go, even though it would never be mine.
Trace: That photo is obscene. It’s like gray sweatpants but worse.
Rhodes: Ah, gray sweatpants. Men’s slut clothes. I think it’s cold enough for me to leave a few pairs out for Anson to wear.
That had a smile tugging at my lips.
Me: Let me know how the hater of sunshine and bright colors responds to having to walk around in lingerie.
Rho’s fiancé was a notorious grump who’d communicated in mostly grunts and scowls until she came into his life. But everything had changed when the ex-profiler found her—when they’d found each other. A pang lit along my sternum. I set my phone on the dresser and rubbed the spot.
Arden: It’s too early for Cope’s junk to be in my face. But I’m sure the puck bunnies will be thrilled.
Cope: Don’t say puck bunnies around Sutton. She gets a little stabby.
Arden: I think I’ll get her a switchblade for Christmas.
A soft sound of amusement left my lips as I started on my makeup. In our family, Arden was known for pulling a knife first and asking questions later—which was exactly how she’d met her nowfiancé, Lincoln.
Cope: Please, don’t. I’m not sure I can afford the lawsuits.
Shep: You’ll all be happy to know that I sent this photo to Lolli, and she said she’s going to turn Cope into a fairy prince in her next art piece.
A grin finally found my lips as I struggled to keep the cover-up where it was supposed to go. Lolli was infamous for her inappropriate diamond art creations. They all had some kind of phallic or sexual bent to them. And no matter how hard a time Mom or my siblings gave her, she never stopped gifting them.
Cope: There will be payback, hammer boy. She’s probably going to have me mounting a poor, defenseless fairy.
Rhodes: You could luck out and be part of one of her throuple creations. Remember the elf queen Eiffel Tower piece?
Trace: My eyes still haven’t recovered.
I studied my face in the mirror and winced. My dark circles would need two coats of makeup today.
Kyler: I’m demanding to know her artist’s vision at dinner tonight.
A curse slipped past my lips as I glanced at the stack of work on my nightstand.
Me: I might have to miss tonight. Sorry, guys. Give me the playby-play if I do.
Rhodes: What’s going on? You’ve been totally MIA lately.
Guilt pricked at me because she was right. I’d missed more family dinners over the last month than I had in the past five years.
Me: Sorry. Work’s nutty right now. We’re down a caseworker, and things have just been…a lot. But I’ll try to make it. Promise.
Kyler: Let me guess who’s picking up the slack.
I scowled at my phone, both because he was right and because he knew why this was so important to me. Not just because I knew how deep the need for social workers and support systems was for these kids, but because of him.
Kye was an invisible brand on my bones. Something I carried with me wherever I went, in whatever I did—even if no one ever knew.
Trace: You need to take care of yourself, or you won’t be able to help anyone.
That only deepened my scowl. Trace had retained the overprotective-big-brother role for all of us. Now, he was also the sheriff, extending that protectiveness to the entire county.
Me: I know what I can handle. Love you all.
Cope: That’s Fal-speak for fuck off.
Arden: You’d all better watch your backs, or you’re gonna get glitter-bombed.
I wanted to smile at her reference to my favorite version of
retribution but couldn’t quite get my mouth to obey. I was too tired. Instead, I locked my phone and finished getting ready. I donned my typical slacks and button-down and wove my blond hair into a braid. There was only one piece missing. My hands moved to my jewelry tray and the necklace there—the arrow I’d worn every day for as long as I could remember. I fastened it around my neck and stared at the tiny charm. Tracing it with my fingertips, I swore I could still feel the echo of Kye’s fingers doing the same thing.
I squeezed my eyes shut and let myself remember those days for a fleeting handful of moments. I called on the ghost of Kyler, letting the memory wrap around me, allowing myself to recall what it had felt like to be his.
When I opened my eyes, he was gone. No more Kyler. Only Kye. The only foster brother I’d never see as what I should: a sibling and nothing more. Because it didn’t matter if it had been fourteen seconds or fourteen years, he’d always be the boy who’d given me everything.
My hatchback sputtered slightly as I parked in a spot at the end of a row. I grimaced and turned off the engine, giving the dashboard a little pat. “Just make it through this winter, and I’ll retire you somewhere nice and sunny.” Like the junkyard.
Climbing out of my car, I moved to the back and grabbed my overflowing tote bag. While the rear seat was tidy, the back was littered with a second set of basically everything I might need since I practically lived out of my car some weeks: countless water bottles, workout gear, changes of clothes for court or jeans to go riding with Arden and Keely, even a pillow and a blanket.
It had also become home to my backups for everything I could possibly need for the kids I worked with: clothing, books, toys, snacks, and a first-aid kit. It was a chaotic disarray, but it worked.
I closed the back door and beeped my locks. Even that sounded a little sad and tired. “Me, too, buddy. Me, too.”
Rolling my shoulders back, I started toward the office. Mercer County Child Welfare served five different towns and the surrounding areas. Including the support staff, five of us worked here. We could’ve used at least twice that number.
As a caseworker, it was recommended that I work on no more than twenty-five cases at a time. I currently had thirty-two. The past few months had shown me exactly why so many social workers got burned out. The work could be hard on your soul, and when you were overtaxed on top of it? It was a recipe for disaster.
But it was also the most rewarding job I could imagine doing. There was no better feeling than helping families on their way to healthy reunifications or getting kids into new environments where they could finally soar. There were always cases where it didn’t feel like a win was possible, and the best you could hope for was survival. But that didn’t mean I would stop fighting.
Every single child’s file that crossed my desk deserved my best. And that’s what they would get. Even if I had to go without sleep to give it to them.
A buzzer sounded as I entered the office, and Mary Lou looked up from her reception desk. “Morning, Fal.”
“Morning,” I greeted. “How’s Ginny? Her cold any better?”
“Much. Unfortunately, Tom caught it, and you know what that means.”
I shuddered. “Not the man flu.”
Mary Lou chuckled. “You know it.”
“May the force be with you.”
“I’ll take whatever I can get.”
I headed inside the small office area I shared with the other caseworker, Mila, and our investigator, Noah. The only separate office was for the head of Mercer County Child Welfare, Rose.
“Morning,” Noah greeted, looking up from his laptop and adjusting his glasses. “I brought donuts.” He gestured to the kitchenette along the far wall.
“Thanks. I will take any and all sugar and deposit it straight into my bloodstream.”
Mila shook her head, her dark hair cascading around her in waves that only accentuated her stunning Eastern European features. “I’m not sure how you two are even alive with how you eat.”
I glanced at her green juice and wrinkled my nose. “I’ll keep my greens in a salad, thank you very much.”
“When you’re crashing at one p.m., you’ll wish you’d had my green juice.”
Mila might’ve been right. She had four years on me in both age and experience on the job. But I was keeping my head above water the best I could. “Pry sugar from my cold, dead hands,” I muttered as I crossed to my desk.
Noah chuckled as he leaned back in his chair. “Sugar is energy. It keeps us going.”
“I’m taking that as evidence-based proof because Noah’s been at this job for longer than either of us.”
At thirty-four, Noah had been at DHS for a decade. And hitting the ten-year mark usually meant it would stick.
I slid my tote bag to the floor and pulled back my chair, stilling as a package and note caught my eye. A bag of strawberry Sour Patch Kids and a folded piece of paper with Fallon in artful, colorful letters.
My throat tightened as I sat, my fingers hovering over the paper in a battle of both wanting to open it and not.
“She wanted to read it,” Noah said, refocusing on his computer.
“Way to throw me under the bus,” Mila shot back.
My gaze flicked to her, my eyes narrowing.
She held up both hands. “I didn’t. Geez. I’m just curious what the bad boy of Blackheart Ink has to say today.”
I fought the urge to shift uncomfortably. It wasn’t uncommon for Kye to stop by on his way to his MMA gym, Haven, or the tattoo studio he also owned, and leave something for me. Candy was the most common treasure. But it wasn’t always that. I had a collection of things he’d left strewn across my desk.
A Chevy Impala key chain from the show Supernatural. A stuffed
velociraptor from Kye’s and my favorite movie, Jurassic Park. A snow globe of New York City from when he had flown out there for some huge tattoo expo. A drawing he’d done of my dream house.
The last was my favorite. He’d taken what I’d doodled over and over again and turned it into something beautiful. It didn’t matter that I’d never make enough money to afford that kind of house. It was more than that. It was a symbol of hope.
I flipped the note open to find more artful script inside.
Can’t have you passing out on the job. A little fuel to keep you going. Don’t work too hard.
Below the text was a drawing of a sparrow. It was how he signed every note. I struggled to swallow as I refolded the paper and opened my bottom desk drawer to tuck it safely away. I had to empty the drawer every so often, but I never threw the notes away. I kept them in boxes in my closet. And when I really wanted to torture myself, I’d pull them out and read them.
“That bad, huh?” Mila asked. “He tell you he murdered someone last night?”
I scowled in her direction. Mila wasn’t being intentionally cruel, but she saw the world in black and white. Right and wrong. Kye’s record and his sometimes-surly demeanor put him in the wrong category for her. And I was sure him being covered in tattoos and wearing scarred motorcycle boots instead of cowboy ones didn’t help.
“Leave it,” I warned.
She opened her mouth to say something else, but Rose’s door opened. “Oh, good, Fal. You’re here. I want to go over the Andrews’ placement with you.”
I pushed back my chair and stood, grateful for the interruption. If anything tripped my trigger, it was someone insulting Kye. Thankfully, Rose and I had plenty to go over.
I lost myself in the rhythm of the day. I had two home visits. One was to check on a reunified family after the mom had gone to rehab. She was doing great, working her program and getting some additional support from a sister who’d decided to move closer to help out with the kids. I was cautiously hopeful.
The second was to check on a set of brothers in their foster placement. The younger boy was flourishing under the newfound attention and care, doing better in school and making more friends. But the older boy was struggling. At fifteen, he’d built up walls, and his foster parents would have to work to break them down. But the Moores were up to the task. I knew because I’d seen them do it countless times before.
By the time I made it back to the office, I was fading. As I glanced at my watch, I cursed. One-thirteen in the afternoon. Damn Mila for being right. Instead of taking time to make something in the office, I beelined for my desk and ripped open the bag of strawberry Sour Patch Kids.
Noah looked up from his computer. “That bad?”
“If you tell Mila that I had a sugar crash exactly when she said I would, you’re dead to me.” I shoved the strawberry gummies into my mouth, closed my eyes, and moaned. “Sour strawberries, you’re all I need in this world. You never abandon me in my time of need. You’re always there just when I need you.”
When I opened my eyes, it was to find Noah’s attention zeroed in on my mouth. He cleared his throat and quickly averted his gaze. “While you mainline sugar, want to go over the Cooper case?”
“Sure,” I mumbled around my gummies as I sat at my desk and pulled out my laptop.
When I opened the window that housed my files, Noah stood and moved in behind me. “The prosecutor is going to file charges for child neglect and endangerment tomorrow. With the evidence and testimonies, I think the parents will do some time.”
My stomach twisted the way it always did with these kinds of cases. It didn’t matter how many times I’d gone through situations like this one. Some people at DHS said they had to turn off their emotions to get through the day and do the work they did. And I understood that. But I couldn’t. I wasn’t built that way.
“The kids’ grandmother would like to assume permanent custody. She has good support around her and a steady income with a
work-from-home job. Do you think we can file to terminate the parental rights?”
Noah made a humming noise, his hands gripping the back of my chair as he thought about his answer. Instead of Noah’s voice, I heard a deeper one. One that held a rasp that felt like fingertips skating down my spine.
“Not sure what you’re looking for, but I can tell you where it’s fucking not. And that’s in Fal’s cleavage.”
Oh, hell.
Chapter Two
Kye
I’d gotten good at fighting off triggers to my temper over the years, learning to deal with the monster that lived inside me. But some things were always a tripwire: someone harming those more vulnerable than them, anyone hurting an animal, and Fallon.
Nothing could send my temper flying quicker than someone messing with Sparrow.
I wasn’t an idiot. I saw how Fal’s so-called coworker looked at her. The way he’d always looked at her. The only one who seemed oblivious to it was Fallon.
But he was getting bolder. Like the way he’d been hovering over her, guarding her like a precious toy he didn’t want any of the other kids to play with. Or how his gaze wasn’t on her computer screen but down her shirt.
My hands fisted, the ink on my skin rippling with the move. It took everything I had not to let my temper grab hold. I didn’t have room for fuckups. Not with my history.
It didn’t matter that it was a juvenile record; it still had the
potential to bring the hammer down if I took a wrong step. Assault. An illegal fight ring. Getting mixed up with what the courts called organized crime. It didn’t matter that I’d had my reasons at the time; they were all black marks on my record. And on my soul.
Noah made a startled sound and whirled around. “I’m not looking at her cleavage.”
I simply stared back at him, unmoving.
Fallon sighed—the weary kind that said she didn’t know what to do with me. “Ignore him. His overprotectiveness knows no bounds.”
“Not sure that’s what it is,” Noah muttered, returning to his desk.
I eased a bit as his distance from Fallon grew. It wasn’t that I didn’t know that Fal would meet someone someday. Fall in love. Truly move on with her life in a way that was more than a handful of dates here and there. It would kill me, but I’d be happy if the man was truly worthy of her. Because she deserved all the good things this world had to offer.
“Kyler,” Fallon said, arching a brow as she swung her chair around. “What are you doing here?”
My dick twitched at the use of my formal name. I lived for those moments. The way they reminded me of what had almost been. Of the few fleeting seconds she’d been mine. Even if she only said it now if I was in trouble. Sometimes, I wondered if I purposely pissed her off just so she would call me Kyler.
I lifted a bag with The Mix Up in teal lettering across it. “Thought you might need more than sugar to get through the day.”
Fallon’s expression softened. She unfolded from the desk chair as a smile tugged at her mouth. “Tell me it’s the spinach and artichoke grilled cheese.”
“Not gonna go out of my way to bring you lunch and do you dirty.”
Her lips twitched. “I can always count on you.”
She could. Always. It didn’t matter if she needed me in the middle of the night or from a million miles away. I’d be there.
“Picnic tables?” I asked, knowing it was her preferred lunch spot, even when it was freezing.
“Yup.” She shrugged on her jacket, pulling acres of blond hair from under the collar.
My fingers twitched, dying to reach out and tangle in the strands, every part of me so damn attuned to Fallon’s beauty. It was the kind that only grew the longer you looked at her. The way the curve of her smile turned her mouth into a perfect bow I wanted to tug on with my teeth. How the deep blue of her eyes turned stormy with any heightened emotion—good or bad. And her shape—how she fit perfectly against me any time I dared to wrap an arm around her.
Fuck.
I shoved all of that down like I always did and headed outside.
The November temperatures hovered in the mid-forties, but it was cold enough that I’d opted for my truck instead of my bike today. At least Central Oregon had the sun to take the edge off.
Fallon took a deep breath as we headed for one of the picnic tables. “Smells like snow.”
“Bite your tongue.”
She laughed as she settled on one of the benches, and the sound rattled around in my empty chest, making itself at home there. “You never were one for the white stuff,” she said, pulling her jacket tighter.
“People think it’s all enchanting, but it’s really just a cold, wet, broken bone waiting to happen.”
One side of Fallon’s mouth kicked up. “Okay, Grinch.”
I opened the bag and pulled out her sandwich, drink, and a few cookies. “I am not a grinch. Christmas movies? Hell, yes. Especially Die Hard.”
Fallon rolled her eyes. “Die Hard is not a Christmas movie.”
“Then Little Women isn’t either,” I challenged.
Fallon unwrapped her sandwich. “You fight dirty.”
“I’m also a fan of Christmas cookies, presents, and forced time off work,” I continued.
“Okay, okay. You’re Santa’s secret elf. Happy?”
“Been called a lot of things. Can’t say Santa’s secret elf has been one of them.”
Fallon grinned. “A supersized elf?”
I grunted and pulled out my turkey sandwich. “So, how’s everything going?”
Fallon eyed me carefully. “Is that what this is about? A checkup?”
I shrugged, but the truth was I’d always check on her. Until we were old and gray and cursing at kids to get off our lawns. “You’ve been pushing pretty hard.”
“You’re one to talk,” she muttered. I grinned. “Work hard, play hard.”
That had a scowl twisting her lips. “I do not need to know about your extracurricular activities.”
A sour sensation swept through my gut, but it was better this way: letting Fallon believe countless women were warming my bed, when the truth was the damn thing was as frigid as the Arctic tundra.
“You’re not answering my question,” I pressed.
Fallon took a bite of her sandwich, buying time. “I just have a larger-than-normal caseload.”
“How many?”
She moved to take another bite, but I caught her wrist, stilling the motion. The feel of Fallon’s skin scalded me the way it always did, leaving beautiful burns in its wake. “How many, Fal?”
“Thirty-two,” she whispered.
I cursed. “You’re going to work yourself into the ground.”
A little fire entered those deep blue eyes, darkening the irises and turning them to glittering sapphires. “I know what I can handle.”
“Do you? Or are you just willing to hurt yourself for the sake of others?”
That fire burned brighter. “They’re worth it, and you damn well know it. Nothing’s more important than making sure they have someplace safe to rest while their worlds are upended.”
“You’re more important. How many kids can you help if you end up in the hospital from exhaustion?”
Hurt flickered in Fallon’s eyes. “I’m not weak.”
Hell.
I set my sandwich down and did something I rarely allowed myself to do anymore. I curled my pinky around hers and squeezed.
“The last thing I think you are is weak, Sparrow. But we miss you. Your family misses you.”
If anything happened to her, I wouldn’t survive it. And I knew all too well how much vile cruelty and violence lived in the world— just as I knew that Fallon placed herself right in the middle of it, time after time.
My truck rumbled to a stop in my parking spot outside Blackheart Ink. Everything about it was black on black on black. The wood façade of the building on the outskirts of Sparrow Falls had been stained a shadowy tone that Shep hadn’t been all that sure about at the time. But my contractor brother had used the color on several renovation projects and new builds since. The sign for the shop was a matte black you could only see in certain light.
Jericho said it was moronic not to have a sign you could read easily, but I thought it added to the mystique of the place. And I’d been right. After an article in The New York Times titled “The New Face of Ink” came out, business in my little corner of the world exploded. The fact that it felt like a secret speakeasy with a hidden name only added to the allure.
I hated the attention that article—and subsequent ones—had brought, but I didn’t hate the resulting cash. Lines of ink, tools, and even apparel meant I was more than comfortable. And when I discovered I had a penchant for the stock market, that comfort had grown to a sum I’d never spend in this lifetime. It was so far from what I’d grown up in and with, and something my so-called father never would’ve believed.
Climbing out of my truck, I slammed the door and headed toward Blackheart. I flexed my hand, my pinky still tingling from where it had been linked with Fal’s. I wanted to burn it into my flesh
forever—and forget it at the same time. I shoved the battle for supremacy down and tried to focus on what came next.
Walking past a row of vehicles, I cracked my neck: Penelope’s bright-pink Caddy, Bear’s and Jericho’s bikes, and a couple others I didn’t recognize. A bell jingled as I opened the front door, and Bear looked up from the reception desk.
The grizzly grandpa of a biker grinned at me. “Runnin’ a little late, boss man. Get distracted with Miss Fal?”
I scowled at him. “You look like you need more work to do.”
He leaned back in his chair and patted his leg, which had a prosthetic for its lower half. “I dunno. Feels like snow. You know my leg acts up when it snows.”
I scoffed. “You could take on a two-ton grizzly in a snowstorm and still bring us cookies.”
“Don’t forget the cookies,” Jericho called from one of the tattoo chairs, where he was inking some delicate lotus flowers on a very attractive redhead.
Jericho had been with me since the day I opened my doors. Together, we’d managed to extricate ourselves from the Reapers’ hold—and I had Trace to thank for that. He’d put enough fear into the motorcycle club for them to steer clear. Having law enforcement permanently parked outside their clubhouse wasn’t exactly ideal. And they’d wanted it gone badly enough to free us and end the underground fights.
“Cookies are the only thing keeping you employed,” I called as I headed for my station. I also had a closed room in the back, but I liked knowing what was happening in the shop. Getting a feel for what was going on and who was coming through its doors.
Bear leaned back on his stool and crossed his arms over his barrel chest. “This shop would fall apart without me.”
He was right, and we knew it—even if he had an organizational system no one else could understand.
I grabbed my sketching pencils and notepad and kicked up in the empty chair at my station. I needed to work on an addition to a client’s sleeve. He’d given me a couple of touchstones, but beyond
that, I had free rein. It was my favorite way to work: knowing some things that had meaning and bringing my artistry to it all. The client’s trust meant something.
“Priest, you want to hit Haven later and spar?” Jericho asked from next to me.
I needed a sparring session desperately. It didn’t matter that I’d left behind the more nefarious aspects of mixed martial arts; it was still one of the few places I felt free. Art, MMA, and Fallon. That was my trifecta, and it always would be.
My fingers moved, the pencil skimming across the page in delicate strokes. “Can’t. Family dinner.”
I felt eyes on me but didn’t look up. I knew it wasn’t Jericho. He was too focused on his work. And it wasn’t coming from Bear’s direction. It had to be the redhead. I was proven right when she spoke. “You’re Kyler Blackwood, aren’t you?”
My gaze flicked over to her briefly, but it was long enough to see hers fixed on me. “That’s me.”
Her eyes lit then, the green sparking. “I tried to get in with you, but they said you were booked out for six months.”
“You’re welcome,” Bear called.
Jesus.
Jericho lifted the tip of the tattoo machine from her skin. “What am I? Chopped liver?”
The redhead giggled and sent heart eyes in his direction. “Never.”
A little of the tension weaving around me eased. All sorts of people came in for ink. Those who truly loved the art, those looking for a thrill, those wanting to memorialize a loss or something they’d lived through… And then there were those who used it for the high.
The redhead seemed to be the latter. But it wasn’t just women. Men could be ink addicts, too. People who wanted to be as close as possible to the culture of it—the artists, the buzz—but either didn’t want to put in the work to become artists themselves or didn’t have the skill.
I refocused on my drawing, but footsteps soon sounded down the hall. “Here’s your aftercare kit. Make sure you follow the directions
and all the steps. If anything gets red or hot to the touch, it’s time to see a doctor.”
Penelope appeared, leading a woman who looked to be in her mid-forties with a new septum piercing out into reception. “Thanks, Pen.”
Penelope hugged her, her unicorn hair of light pinks, purples, and blues swishing around her. “Take care.”
As the woman checked out, Penelope turned to me, assessing. “You look tired.”
What was new? My demons had been riding me extra hard the last few months. And everything Trace went through with his douchebag of a father recently had stirred them up even more. Sometimes, it felt like I was waging war with them every night.
Memories of my father coming at me with that knife. My mother’s voice swirling around and around in my head. “Worthless. Everything you touch, you ruin.”
“I’m fine,” I bit out.
Penelope let out a scoff. “Want me to get you lunch?”
“Already ate with Fal.”
Penelope’s mouth tightened—the barest amount—but I didn’t miss it. Just like I didn’t miss her subtle invitations. They never crossed a line, and I did my best to let her know the door wasn’t open, but she never quite seemed to get the message.
Jericho looked up from his lotus flower, his blond beard glinting in the studio lights. “How come you never offer to get me lunch?”
“Because I have a modicum of taste,” Penelope shot back.
“You crush me.”
She just shook her head, but did it with a grin. “Going to grab something at The Mix Up. Be back.”
She headed out the door with her client just as the sound of a motorcycle lit the air. It didn’t matter how much time passed; that noise always had me on alert until I knew the owner was a friendly. I swiveled my chair around and grimaced as I caught sight of the bike through one of the front windows. I knew it in a single glance.
The flames encircling the skull were so over-the-top and cliché
