Page 76 of Inked Desires
I head toward the glass door, ready to unlock it, when I catch sight of him again. He’s outside, smiling, holding up two steaming cups with his gloved hands. I rush to open the door.
A blast of cold air rushes in with him, and I shut the door behind us.
“You’re here,” I say, my voice a little too upbeat.
His smile grows as he hands me a cup.
“Black. I didn’t know how you take it,” he says.
I nod. Of course, he doesn’t know. He doesn’t remember anything. Without waiting for a response, he walks over to the desk, sets his coffee down, takes off his coat and gloves.
“What should I do?” he asks right away.
Seeing him back in that chair stirs a flood of memories. The space feels less empty, but nothing is the same. Andrew is brimming with energy. Maybe I should’ve kept him away from all this. Maybe that was the only way to protect him from the memories.
He waits patiently for my answer. I can’t bring myself to send him away.
“Make coffee. Sweep. Pay the bills. Greet customers,” I say, trying to sound casual.
It’s nothing special, but he nods and gets up. In the kitchen, he finds a broom and starts sweeping like it’s the most satisfying task on Earth.
“I didn’t expect to see you so soon,” I admit, not wanting the conversation to end.
“I’ve got nothing else to do. I’m going to go crazy if I don’t keep busy,” he says honestly.
A gust of cold air and the chime above the door pull my attention. I turn. Travis steps inside. I give him a quick nod.
He freezes. His eyes shift between Andrew and me, full of disbelief.
“No, it’s not William. It’s Andrew,” I answer the unspoken question.
“Who’s William?” Andrew asks, glancing between us.
“His ex-husband,” Travis replies before I can.
I just nod. He might not remember, but we’ve lived through this already. I don’t want to keep things from him anymore. It broke us last time. Talking about that part of my life still feels like someone’s yanking on my ribs.
“You were married?”
“It’s a long story,” I say, avoiding the subject. I rest a hand on Travis’s shoulder and guide him to the back room.“If anyone calls, I’m busy.”
I shut the door behind us.
“Pants down, on the table,” I tell my former teammate.
“You could at least buy me coffee before trying to get me naked,” he laughs.
“Funny. I’ll get your coffee. Lose the pants,” I shoot back as I walk out.
Andrew’s sitting at my desk, holding a piece of paper. Shit.
“It’s beautiful,” he says.
“It better be. Tattoos are permanent,” I mutter, brushing off the compliment.
“Who’s it for?”
I pause in the doorway of the kitchen and look at him.
