Page 33 of When Fate Breaks
“What about it?”
Her lips purse at the side. “I just feel like that word means different things than it used to.”
I close the distance between us, leaning against the one somewhat stable outer wall of the greenhouse. “Since when?”
She turns in the doorway to face me. “Since we grew up,” she nearly whispers.
I let out a sharp breath, her admission catching me off guard.
There’s the girl I know.MyEvangeline–
I quickly shake my head.
No.
“Evangeline…it doesn’t have to,” I say. “Mean different things.”
“I just don’t think it’s that simple.”
“Well, it should be.”
Evangeline steels her spine, her mouth opening like she’s going to say something, but she doesn’t; instead, she simply stares at me again for several more long and painfully silent seconds.
When I suddenly have the urge to say and do a million things I know I shouldn’t–and realize I’m already about to forget that this isnone of my damn business– I force a half-hearted smirk on my face and push off of the wall. I just make my way past Evangeline in the doorway and back inside the greenhouse when I feel her hand shoot out and grab me by the left forearm, jerking me to a stop.
I blow a breath out of my nose, ignoring the churning feeling in my stomach as I turn around to face her. When my gaze finds her, however, she’s not looking at me; she’s looking down at my forearm, turning it slightly back and forth. When she finally looks up at me, the biggest and most beautiful smile breaks across her face.
“This is home, right?” she asks.
Fuck.
My mouth goes bone dry, a lump settling in my throat. “Yeah,” I mutter.
Evangeline’s eyes sparkle in response as she continues to examine my tattoo. I’ve had it for years now and almost never think about it. I honestly find it funny how big of a deal people like to make out of tattoos. Once they’re on your body, they just become a part of you. You almost forget they’re there.
Almost.
I follow her gaze, really looking at and re-appreciating the artwork for the first time in a long time. Her index finger traces from the mountain peaks extending to the crease of my elbow, down across the conifer trees running all around my mid-forearm, and ending at the body of water the entire image is framing.
Home.
Lake Placid.
The warmth of Evangeline’s finger seems to be annoyingly radiating a path straight into my chest. A fuzzy feeling of nostalgia weighs heavier on me the longer we both stare at the image of the lake.
Thankfully, Evangeline pulls away, letting my arm fall.
She swallows hard once, her eyes trailing from the ground to my face and finally landing on my shoulder. She reaches out and my heart rate instantly spikes in response as I realize she must be eyeing my other grouping of tattoos on the upper portion of my right arm, just barely poking out of the collar of my white t-shirt.
“And what’s this?” Evangeline asks hesitantly, her fingers just grazing the shoulder of my open flannel before her cell phone starts going nuts again.
She lets out a huff, grabbing her phone from the top of the stack of binders, her brows pulling together as she declines the call and begins typing furiously.
“Is everything okay?” I ask her.
“Ugh, no,” she huffs. “Well, yes. But, no.”
“Makes sense,” I deadpan.
