Chapter 10

Jory

“So,you really think this is going to work?” I ask Desi as we walk into the funeral home.

The past two weeks have been beyond my wildest dreams. Bryson and I are officially a couple, and even though he was cleared and has gone back to work, we’re spending every available moment together. Right now, I wish my mom was here so she could see that I’m whole and happy. He doesn’t push me for more than I’m ready to give, and that makes it that much more, at least to me.

I love his farmhouse and when he’s working, I go out and make sure the chickens are fed, watered, and collect the eggs that the ‘girls’ have started laying. He’s right about one thing; fresh laid eggs are phenomenal.

“What’s not to work?” she retorts. “Y’all are cute together, Jor. He’s courteous, kind, and he’s nice to my best friend.”

My giggles erupt because she’s being so matter of fact right now, it’s as if we’re talking about the weather, not about my love life.

I have a love life, Mom, I murmur inside my head. She was so worried I’d keep myself isolated and never find someone to share life with; this relationship with Bryson would exceed all of her expectations, that’s for sure.

“Not sure why you think that’s funny, girlfriend,” she replies. “I guess what I need to know is if you’ve ever thought about color schemes before.”

“For what?” I ask as we hang our purses in our lockers then head downstairs. We only have one body to get ready, but since we work so well as a team, it’s easier for both of us to come in and get it done.

She hums the bridal march as we breach the embalming room. While she grabs the file of the client, I walk over to the freezer and pull it out so we can transfer the body onto the gurney.

“Really? It’s a little too soon for that, Des,” I reply. “Now, help me get this guy moved over, will ya?”

We work in companionable silence with her occasionally breaking into love songs. I roll my eyes every time she does it, but inside, I’m giggling like a lunatic.

“Looks good, Jory,” she says once we’re done embalming and have the body washed. “Let’s look at the picture so we can see what we can do to make sure Mr. Ashburn’s family is happy with how he looks.”

“Works for me,” I mutter, pulling out the pictures and clipping them on the board so we can see what we’re going to be doing.

* * *

“You want to do what?” I ask Bryson over lunch at the diner. He just got off shift, so he’s still in uniform, so when he called and asked me to meet him, I was happy to oblige.

Looking up at me, he repeats his earlier words, “I thought we could go over to Manny’s tattoo shop. He’ll be able to let you know if he can do anything to cover your scars. That’s if you want him to because I think you’re perfect either way.”

“I kind of forgot about that, to be honest,” I confess. “But I’m definitely interested to see what he has to say. Oh, guess what? Mr. Whiskers and Cheeto are pre-adopted… by me! They’ll be weaned in the next week or so and can come home.”

“That’s great, sweetheart,” he replies. “So, that means we need to hit up a pet supply store soon, hm?”

I giggle, which I seem to be doing a lot lately since he’s entered my life, because he’s unlike any man I’ve ever met. He doesn’t mind shopping, in fact, on the days we’re able to spend together, we tend to run our errands and those include a lot of in and out of various stores. “I’ll make a list of things I’ll need for them so we’re ready when they come home.”

He places money on the table to cover our check, as well as a healthy tip, then helps me up and leads me out of the diner. I guess the next destination for us is the tattoo parlor. I’m still pushing away the nerves that are coursing inside me when we breach the door, a bell chiming overhead to alert those on staff inside the building of someone’s arrival.

“Be right out!” A male voice calls from somewhere in the back.

I’m busy looking at all the framed artwork, admiring the clean lines and artistic details when a large man strides out, a smile on his face as he says, “Bryson, my man!”

“Hey, Manny,” Bryson replies, shaking his hand. “This is my girlfriend, Jory, and she wanted to talk to you about whether or not you’d be able to tattoo over some scars she has.”

Manny turns to me, his hand already out to shake mine, and when I place my hand in his, I feel warmth flood through me. “I remember you,” he murmurs. “You’re the girl that ol’ Bryson here pulled out of the fire, right?”

I nod, unsure what his stance on the whole situation is; will he think I knew what Dorian was going to do, or will he side with those who believe Dorian held his plans close to his chest? It came out later, during the various news articles that were printed, that he had multiple journals detailing his plans. In a way, I feel sorry for his parents because they had no clue either, and not only did they end up losing their only child to his violent rampage, but they were dissected on every major news channel. Mrs. Tomlin sent flowers to me once I was able to receive them, and she and her husband visited once to apologize and ask me to forgive them.

Except… there was nothing to forgive them for since they didn’t shoot anyone, and they sure as hell didn’t start the fire. However, since it was important to them, I forgave them. They deserve some peace, after all. Dorian, on the other hand? Well, as my therapist used to tell me, I don’t have to forgive him today. Maybe it’ll happen someday, maybe it won’t. He no longer consumes my every thought.

Now that Bryson’s in my life, my focus is on the future, not on the past. If Manny can help change the way my scars look, I feel like I’ll get another piece of me back. One that’s been lost for a lot of years.

“So, Bryson thinks that maybe you can cover my scars?” I question, suddenly anxious to see if he can do it or not.

“As a matter of fact, when Bryson reached out to me a week or so ago, I called my mentor, Loki, who’s part of the Poseidon’s Warriors MC. He and one of his artists, Kaya, are far more skilled with doing cover ups on scars than I am, and I want you to have the best. They’re actually on their way and should be here in a few minutes.”

I know my eyes are wide as I glance over at Bryson. I had mentally prepared myself for this happening, maybe not today, but soon, and now, the way I understand it, I’ll have three people looking over my scars.

“Jory? It’s okay, sweetheart,” Bryson says, walking over and pulling me into his side.

I take several deep breaths trying to keep the panic attack that’s looming at bay. It’s been a long time since I had one, but I hate them. I feel so weak, so incapacitated when I have one. I don’t want Bryson to see me like this, so I keep using the coping techniques the therapist taught me.

I’m so focused on not giving in to the darkness I don’t realize that Bryson has picked me up and is carrying me through the tattoo shop until he sits down and curls his arms around me. He’s muttering nonsensical things while his hands continuously move across my back. As my tears overflow until they’re running down my cheeks, he cups my face in his hands.

“Is it because more than one person will see your scars?” he gently asks. At my nod, he continues, his voice quiet and calm. “There’s nothing for you to worry about. Manny, Loki, and Kaya are professionals. In fact, they often do pro bono work on women with mastectomy scars. It’s going to be okay, sweetheart. They won’t blow smoke up your ass. If they’re able to do something, they’ll be forthright and honest.”

“No one except Desi has seen them in a very long time,” I whisper.

“If you want to wait, we’ll wait. This isn’t about me, it’s about you, Jory. If you’re not comfortable doing this, we’ll thank them for their time, go by the animal shelter to see if they have a dog for me yet, and head out to the farm. Totally your choice, baby.”

“A dog?” I can’t help the giggle that escapes because the disparity between where we’re at and where he directed the conversation is a bit mind boggling.

“Eventually, they’ll get one that fits what I’m looking for,” he replies.

“You won’t leave me?” I ask.

“I’ll be by your side every step of the way, sweetheart.”

* * *

“You’re sure?” I murmur, looking at Manny, Loki, and Kaya.

The three of them took their time examining my scars and I didn’t feel like a slab of meat on a butcher’s block. They asked questions, were gentle when they touched me, and never once looked at me with pity. They might feel it, but they definitely kept their expressions in check.

“Yeah, we are,” Loki replies. “There are some areas that might be a bit… challenging, but all three of us have the ability and skill to handle it. The question is, are you up for this or do you need more time? Because it’ll be done in a series of sessions. Initially, we’ll do all the outlining, then once you’re healed, we’ll bring you back in to do the shading.”

“What were you thinking?” Kaya asks.

“I… I wasn’t sure. Do you have any ideas?” I question.

She nods then pulls her tablet from the table she put it on and quickly goes to the photos category. She opens the folder with the pictures she took of my burns, then accesses a second folder where I see picture after picture of before and after shots showing burns then the cover up tattoo. Most are in black and white, with gray shading, and I presume it’s because the skin grafts are not as pigmented as normal skin.

“Are you able to make them more colorful?” I ask.

“Typically, no, because the grafts will pretty much leach it out of the skin. For some reason, black and dark-colored ink works best,” she replies. “Here, look at this one.”

I take the tablet from her as Bryson comes to stand behind me, looking over my shoulder. “I like those,” he murmurs as I slowly scroll through each picture.

“I do too,” I reply, my gaze fixated on the large black and white flowers that flow almost effortlessly down the woman’s leg.

“We can do another flower if you’d like, Jory,” Kaya adds. “And in between, we can put henna-like scrolls which will cover the graft lines.”

Making a decision, I look at her and say, “Yes, I’d like hydrangeas and lilacs if that’s possible.”

“How soon can y’all start?” Bryson asks. “Because I promised my girl I’d be by her side, so I want to make sure it’s on one of my off days.”

“We’ll create a few pictures for her to approve, then we can get it on the books whenever we’re all three free,” Kaya promises.

“All three?” I question.

“Yeah, we’re going to work together to create this for you, Jory,” Manny states. “We’ve done it before, and it works well for the client.”

“Then let’s do it,” I declare.