Chapter 11

Chapter Eleven

Aspen

We walk in silence around the block, Anderson holding my hand. I know I should say something to him; release it from his grasp and ask him to drive me home—or take a Lyft. Instead, I enjoy the vibe around me. The people walking back and forth while jogging or pushing strollers.

"This is where I work." Anderson points to one of the shops.

Ink Art Gallery, there isn't a big neon sign hanging on the wall, only the three words are written in a fancy script lettering on the glass door. The smeared brick and concrete building blends great with the hipster vibe in the neighborhood. The terracotta border on the edge of the glass windows adds an oriental like touch.

"You don't open often." I re-read the hours of operation following my finger with my eyes. "Oh, by appointment too."

I glance at him. "What kind of tattoo artist are you?" I narrow my gaze, there's no way he only works here. "Friends tell each other what they do for a living."

He huffs, walking further and pulling me along with him. Opening the door to the coffee shop, he finally releases my hand. The emptiness is back. It's a dark void consuming me. The same one that's left me feeling nothing since Michael died. Swallowing the sudden knot forming in my throat, I rush behind Anderson. We wait for a woman and her daughter. They're deciding between a fruit smoothie, or one of those chocolate, mocha shakes with extra whip cream.

"Is there a difference between one or the other?" Anderson edges closer to me, mumbling.

I shake my head pointing at the chalkboard. The smoothies are made from syrup and preserves. They have the same amount of calories.

Let the kid have the chocolate, he whispers in my ear.

"You're going to spoil your children." I laugh as I picture him high-fiving his children each time they eat dessert before dinner, finish their Halloween candy within an hour, or break the window because they hit the ball like pros.

He chuckles, opens his mouth and shuts it as the barista calls us. "Next."

"Hawk, man, how are you?" They fist bump, then shake hands, and finally clasp each other's backs into what seems like a bro-hug. Then he glances at me giving me an up and down glance. "What's it going to be today?"

"Large black coffee, a large latte with soy milk no foam. One celery, carrot and kale juice…" Anderson turns to me. "Do you want juice or what would you like for breakfast?"

He hands me a menu. Turning it several times I find what I need.

"I'll have the orange and carrot juice, and the hangover breakfast, extra bacon."

"That's my girl," he kisses my cheek. "Three of those, John."

The words trundle through my brain like a train with no intention of stopping heading toward a steel wall. Anderson pays for our breakfast, insisting this is on him. The entire outing has been on him. He paid for my drinks and I assume the cover to listen to the live show and now breakfast. Not a date, not a date, I repeat to myself. Placing his long fingers on my back, he steers me away from the counter, but stops in front of the tables.

"Do you mind if we ask for it to-go?"

"To-go is perfect, you can drive us to my house."

"John, can you box our breakfast and send it to my apartment, please?"

"You got it, Hawk!" He flashes a smile toward us. "The coffees and juice should be ready soon. Give us around ten minutes for the rest."

"Everyone calls you Hawk, huh," I state, picking up my coffee and taking a sip of caffeine. Heaven. Maybe I'll remember everything that happened last night after I finish it.

"Since high school, how about you?" He angles his head slightly. "Any unique nickname?"

"Nothing. Aspen. There's no cool nickname attached to it."

"Middle name?"

"Winter, Mom's middle name. I'm named after the place, in case you're wondering. But I want to think it's after the trees. They have this gorgeous golden-orange color during fall."

"Why after the place?"

I flinch. "That's where Mom and Dad believed I was conceived." I roll my eyes, laughing at my parent's lack of originality or sappy reasoning. "My brother's name is Austin—same reason."

He laughs, sipping his juice. I yearn for his hand, carrying two drinks makes it impossible for him to hold mine. We walk in silence the rest of the way. He lives above the tattoo parlor, but the shop and the living area's doors are on different streets.

"Kevin lives across the hall," Anderson explains stopping at the door across from his place. He hands over his juice, knocking on the door and setting down the coffee next to it. "I got your fancy coffee."

"He lives next door?" I inquire.

He nods, turning around and opening his apartment door.

"Kevin and I own the building," he explains as I enter his apartment, and close the door behind me.

"How did you become a tattoo artist? It's obvious you were in the force—your mom said so." I glare at him before he denies the obvious.

Anderson places his juice on top of the counter, I do the same with mine and keep the coffee in hand.

He explains how his dad was a Ranger and how he died when Anderson was only six. How his genetic code told him to be a warrior, to defend his country. Sophia, his mother, didn't want that life for his children. She encouraged him to find another career. Sports and art attracted him.

"Once I decided to retire, a buddy of mine hooked me up with a job and introduced me to Kevin." He brings out cutlery and napkins, and drags the table toward the couch where I sit. "A couple of years later he offered me a partnership, it included buying half of the building."

"What job did your buddy hook you up with?" I smile. "You do more than tattooing inconspicuous drunks, don't you?"

Anderson scratches the back of his neck, shaking his head. There's a knock at the door. "Thank you for the coffee, asshole. Your food is here—it wouldn't hurt to fix your doorbell."

"So, you work for the private sector," I guess, finishing my coffee. "One of those companies that take wealthy contractors to dangerous zones."

"Nah, I don't babysit—much." He flinches, opening the door and picking up the bag of food. "If I'm free, I oversee the security of the Silver Moon—the place we visited yesterday. I'm a preferred security detail for my boss's family."

"When you're not free?"

He rubs his chin. "I do some private work."

"Yes." I clap excitedly. "You are the type, one of those men who are committed to the mission. So why retire?"

"There's a point when I couldn't do it anymore. I couldn't place the mission first. I lost too many brothers during battle. Innocent people died…"

"What's the difference between that one and the job you do?"

"I have freedom to operate and to choose my mission." He sighs, handing me my breakfast, then opening a container filled with crispy bacon. "I'm glad I retired. Now I can see Mom often, care for her now that…"

There's pain in his eyes, seeping out in his words. Placing a hand on top of his arm, I kiss his cheek.

"She'll be all right, we'll find a new treatment."

Anderson leans back in his seat, holding the takeout box in one hand and a fork in the other. "Yesterday she made me promise to stop if this new treatment doesn't work." He digs into his eggs, taking a few bites before speaking. "She's the only family I have."

"She's your mom," I add, squeezing his muscular leg. "Tomorrow we'll be in San Jose. I researched Dr. Vadapalli, he's one of the best in the country. I wished I had found him when Dad was diagnosed. He might still be around."

He sets the empty container on top of the table, his attention completely toward me. "Sorry for your loss."

I shrug. What can you do? Life happens. "We detected it too late; his body couldn't withstand the treatments," I give him the quick notes. "He left peacefully, one night while I cared for him."

Anderson takes my food, places it next to his container and hugs me. "I'm glad you're with me."

I don't know what to do with his words, or the ticking bomb that is my heart. Logically I should fight him, fight this attraction and leave. Instead, I hug him back. My mind might not like it, but my heart and my body feel safe. He fills the void.

"Where have you been?" Brynn looks over the door as I shut it close.

I blink twice, side walking toward my room.

"Aspen Winter Zimmerman, bring your ass to the living room!"

"No!"

"The walk of shame? Really? How old are you?"

"Judging by the tone of your voice I'd say five," I retort hurrying into my room, changing my shirt for a tank top and a light V-neck sweater. "It's not the walk of shame if sex wasn't involved."

"No sex?" Her voice is right next to me. I jolt as I turn and see her light gray eyes staring at me. "You're smiling, and there was no sex. Fuck, I can't imagine what'll happen when you two finally fuck."

"He's my friend. I have a boyfriend?—"

"Ah yes, a friend." Brynn walks to the dresser showing me my cell phone. "Heath came earlier to check on you. You haven't been answering your phone."

I rub the corner of my eye. "Heath and I aren't working out, are we?"

Brynn gives me a ‘you think?' glare. "What's going on with Anderson?" I open my mouth, and she shakes her head. "No, no, no. Please, don't bullshit me with that ‘we are friends' line. Answer my question."

A complicated question. Analyzing each word and touch between us worries me. I hate thinking about the different comments, smirks, and tones he uses. The panty melting, heartwarming treatment game he's playing is hard to ignore.

"Not enough to worry about being a cheater, sufficient enough to call it off with Heath," I explain, taking out my luggage from the walk-in closet. I'm happy that I took my time to pack yesterday after my nap.

Brynn crosses her arms, waiting for more. "You were gone all night, what else happened?"

I plop onto my bed, adjusting the pillows and hugging the body pillow while resting my head on top of it. My journey started when I opened the door, and found him holding a helmet, asking me to wear a warm jacket, leather if possible. I changed my flat shoes for a pair of riding boots. We drove along Interstate five toward Seattle, then east to Redmond, and back to downtown—the Silver Moon to be precise. Brynn and I share everything. I explained the kiss, the delicious margaritas, and my morning after.

"This is confusing. I want to run away far away from him but a part of me wants to stay and find out what's next with him."

"When are you breaking up with Heath?" Brynn is now lying next to me, playing with her phone.

I unlock my phone typing a message. "Today?"

Me: We need to talk.

Heath: Where were you?

Me: Out with a friend, lost track of time and left my phone behind.

Heath: I have the kids today.

Me: I'm going out of town tomorrow morning, can I swing by?

Heath: Mom agreed to come over to check on them later tonight. I'll be there around seven.

"It's not you, it's me," Brynn recites, staring at her phone. "We're better as friends. We are too alike. I need space."

"Cliché much?" I comment.

"I'm not ready for commitment." She laughs, and I join her. As she sobers up, she looks at me. "I think we're moving too fast."

"You're ridiculous!"

"The question is, are you breaking up to get rid of him?" I raise an eyebrow, what is she getting on about? "Or are you breaking up to start something with Anderson?"

"I don't know," I whisper.