Page 107 of Of Heartbreak and Harmony
“Look.”
I arch a brow.
“Look, Callie.”
I blow out a harsh breath and look down, my eyes falling to hisupper thigh. It takes a moment for what I’m seeing to register in my brain. At first, it’s just a splotch of reds, oranges, and yellows, but then I blink, and like magic, it comes into focus. A viewfinder revealing an image that knocks the wind out of me. I gasp.
The splotch of colors on Torren’s thigh is a tattoo of a faceless woman.
A woman standing among flames.
And the longer I look, the more I realize that the tattoo looks just like the ArtFusion photo. Instead of standing awkwardly, the faceless woman in the tattoo almost appears to be dancing, the flames resembling phoenix wings behind her.
As I stare at it, dragging my eyes over every detail, my heart starts to pound faster and faster, thudding loudly in my head.
The woman isme.
I shake my head. It doesn’t make sense.
“When did you get that?” I ask, my voice almost a whisper. The ink is slightly faded. Hair lightly dusts his muscular thigh. I can tell it’s not a new tattoo, but I need to know.
“Six months after the festival.”
I finally tear my eyes away from the tattoo and look back at Torren. “Why?”
His lips twitch at the corners. I don’t know if he’s fighting a smile or a frown. Either option would piss me off.
“Because I couldn’t get you out of my head.”
I scoff. “Yeah, sure. Yet when I literally slammed into you at the pier, it took you weeks to remember who I was. I was playing your devoted fake girlfriend for an entire week before it clicked.”
“I don’t know how to explain it to you.” He lets out a low, almost self-deprecating laugh. “It’s hard to explain being an addict to someone who’s never walked that path. When you’re high—and I was almost always high—the specifics are hazy. Chunks of time are black holes. Not every memory is readily available. Not everything sticks. But you? Youstuck. The idea of you. Abstract images of you. Fleeting fractions of memories. When I found the picture in my phone, I latched onto it. I’d stare at it for hours, trying to memorize your outline. Trying like hell to fill in the missing details. But then I’d get high and have to start all over again, and time tends to erode anything that remains.”
He laughs again, this one louder. “I actually got that tattoo while fucked up, too. I don’t regret it, though. Never have.”
His words pierce through my armor. They make my chest ache and my eyes sting. My years-long desire for him bubbles up. My past hero worship. My envy.
“I’m sorry, Callie. I’m so fucking sorry. Please believe that you were more to me. I fucked up, but you were more. Youaremore. This is real. This is real, for me. It always has been.”
I start to crumble. To give in, but then I stand taller.
I shake my head once more. I got swept up in the argument—in the emotions and insignificant details—and I remind myself of therealreason I’ve been hating him all these years. Not because I caught him screwing Sav the night after he fucked me. Yeah, that sucked, but it didn’t derail me. Having sex with him at ArtFusion was a stupid decision, and I made peace with it a long time ago.
But he’s right about one thing. I don’t get to change the facts, and neither does he.
“None of this changes anything, Torren.”
His face falls, brows slanting in a defeated, confused expression that makes my throat feel tight. I sigh and close my eyes so I don’t have to look at him.
“You still fucked up my band. You can apologize all you want about what happened at the music festival, but you still took Caveat Lover away from me, and that hurts worse than everything else. Watching you fuck Sav the night after you fucked me was a punch to the gut, but losing my band was debilitating, and I can’t forgive you for that.”
I drag a hand down my face and tilt my head to the ceiling, my throat cracking more and more with each word.
“Jesus, you have no idea how hard it’s been for me to be here knowing how you all operate. I just kept telling myself it was okay...that you owed me that money based on what you did to Caveat Lover alone. But fuck, I can’t stay here anymore. I can’t. That tattoo, your story—they don’t change any of it.”
When I look back at him, his face is twisted with confusion. It fans the flames of my grudge. When he speaks, I want to punch him again.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about. I thought you left the band to take care of your mom.”
