Chapter 21

TWENTY-ONE

The flu or whatever it was that possessed my body for a full twenty-four hours is gone. I'm one hundred percent back to normal when I crack my eyes open and face the morning sun. Bright yellow rays reflect off the buildings of the city below. I expect Lennon to be gone as he has been every morning since I've been sleeping here.

Maybe it's a foolish notion to believe we turned a corner last night. Not that I blame him if he did leave. He is running a multi-million-dollar corporation. I'm sure this is normal. But with the way his concern bled in front of me yesterday, a sliver of hope played in my heart hoping he'd stay. At least until I'd woken up.

So, I stay where I am, close my eyes, and soak up the sun, not ready to turn around and face whether he's still with me or not. I'm not sure I could handle the way my heart will react when it finds Lennon is gone. I keep my eyes closed and breathe in, thinking back to yesterday. My legs are sore, and my center is still warm from having him buried inside me. But the most significant moment of last night crashes into my thoughts.

Lennon had a nightmare. I'm still unsure whether it's a regular occurrence, but I've never seen so much pain in his eyes.

I wonder if his nightmare has to do with his mom. He's kept the details about her short, never wanting to discuss her for more than ten words. He's always quick to shut down the conversation.

But then again, I'm harboring secrets just as dark and deep. I've kept the truth about why I married Lennon more than close to my chest. I've kept it locked under the splintered bone and the aching muscle that my heart has turned into. I don't know when Roe will feel comfortable enough to share her diagnosis with the public, but her secret is eating me alive. And the closer I grow to Lennon, the more difficult it will be to keep. Drowning in thoughts of my sister, I decide to face what the day might bring.

The balloon that's made a home in my chest doesn't deflate as it usually does when I turn around. Lennon is still here. In bed with me. He's turned on his side, facing away from me. The muscles on his back contract with every slow and measured breath he takes.

I study the tattoos inked on his skin, one by one. A large tree is sprawled out across his left shoulder blade. Leaves fall from the tree like burnt ashes. Similar to the one on his hand, a dark purple rose runs down the middle of his back. Thorns and loose petals swirl around the stem. There's a darkness to Lennon's tattoos but there's also truth in them. He told me some of his tattoos hold meaning, some don't. I wonder how many have meaning.

My eyes continue to roam over his back until one knocks the oxygen from my lungs. On the right side of his torso, along his ribs is a large lavender-colored feather. The wisps of the feather are delicate. Intricate. The feather is as big as the size of my hand, the top disappearing under his arm.

Watery eyed, I cover my hand, gasping when I read the script tattooed underneath the feather.

Sweet Nothings.

My hand trembles when I reach out, wanting to touch the words. Like a magnet, I feel drawn to them. My heart craving to make them tangible and real.

The feather looks exactly as it did on my nineteenth birthday tiara. I close my eyes as a tear slips between my lashes. The memory of Lennon holding the feather between his fingers playing in my mind. The way it danced against our breaths as he whispered in my ear.

My fingers ghost the length of the feather. My vision blurs as tears slip from my eyes.

"Good morning, sweet nothings."