Page 49 of Four Tattoos

She shakes her head, refusing to hear it. “Things would be different with us. Thingsaredifferent.”

“We’ve been through it, Rose,” Christian says, his tone softer. “We know what it’s like. We know how it goes.”

“Right now, you’re looking at things through rose-colored glasses,” Mace says, not seeming to realize his unintentional wordplay. “Things aren’t always bright and happy, and most of the time, things don’t end well.”

Again, her eyes go from one of us to another, and hard as it is, I’m proud that we all stay firm and keep Rose’s best interests at heart. None of us truly wants to end things with her, not even Zipper, even though he won’t admit it, but it’s the right thing to do. It’s what we need to do so that she can get on with her life. We can’t hold her back.

She must see our resolve, because her face slowly changes as she accepts the truth. “Okay. I’m going to go, then,” she says, sounding so broken that I can hardly bear it.

“Wait. C’mere.” I pull her into a hug. I have to. I need to feel her soft body against mine one last time. “We enjoyed every minute with you, Rose.”

Her body trembles in my arms, and I’m sure she’s crying, but when I manage to pull away, I find that her eyes are dry.

Inside me, things are crumbling like poorly-constructed buildings during an earthquake, but on the outside, I stay strong. This hurts like hell, but I’ve made it through other hard times, and I’ll make it through this, for Rose’s sake.

After pressing a final kiss to her forehead, I let her go. Christian hugs her next, then Mace, then Zipper.

Then she stands tall, straightens her shoulders, and walks out, taking any bit of light and joy along with her.

38

ROSE

Iwon’t give them the satisfaction of seeing my tears.

Not that I believe they want to cause me pain—despite hurting me badly, I know that wasn’t their intention—but they think I’m young and naïve and that I don’t know how the world works. They’d expect me to cry, and so I won’t. Not in front of them, anyway.

My eyes stay dry all the way back to my apartment.

My brand new apartment.

This was supposed to be such a happy day, a new start full of hope and possibility. A step toward having my own life. I’d envisioned at least one or two of them spending my first night here with me, but now I’m all alone.

Maybe it’s anger that’s keeping me from crying. Why do they get to suddenly decide things are over? Just because they’re older than me, they think they know how everything will turn out. Nobody knows that.

Of course, I have a different outlook on life than they do, but I didn’t think they’d be quitters. I didn’t think they’d thrill me, charm me, make me fall in love with them, and then abruptly tell me goodbye.

And I am in love with them.

They said they were trying to protect me, but it’s a little too late for that, isn’t it? My heart is shattered in pieces—four pieces, to be exact.

* * *

I realize that if I focus on my anger rather than my sorrow, it’s easier to get through the day.

Thank god, I have another day off from the coffee shop, because it would have been impossible to smile at customers, and even more impossible to be cordial to Patrick and Nancy. I blame them, too, even though I do believe that they’re not the reason the men broke up with me.

The men wouldn’t have been swayed by Patrick’s demands, and despite how things have turned out, I believe they wouldn’t lie to me.

I was apparently just a bit of fun for them, and now they’re done playing with me.

It’s just like Nancy predicted, and that pisses me off. Maybe I am naïve. Maybe that’s the hard truth here.

It also makes me angry to think about how pleased Patrick and Nancy will be when they find out that the men have broken things off. Plenty of anger to go around, all of it swirling in my head like a cyclone.

By the time evening comes, I’m eager to go into Club Red, even though I’m exhausted from my anger and grief. I don’t particularly want to see anyone, but I can’t spend another minute staring at the bare walls of my apartment, no matter how bright and fresh they look.

I’d planned to ask the men if they’d draw pictures that I could hang up to decorate. Now all of the empty walls seem like they’re mocking me.

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