Текст книги "Inked Armour"

Автор книги: Helena Hunting

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 Inked Armor
Clipped Wings – 2
Helena Hunting

Kato, this one’s for you.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Brooks, you really are solidly solid.

Micki, Tatiana, and the rest of my S&S team, it’s been a whirlwind, but an awesome one. Thank you!

Alex, Anne, and Kris, big hugs for helping me tame the beast. I’m so fortunate to know all of you.

Filets, you make me proud to be one of you.

Enn, you’re the woman and you’re made of awesome.

Deb, you are the most amazing person. If not for you, I never would have started on this crazy journey in the first place.

Thank you to my friends and family who have been such staunch supporters through this entire process, from inception to publication and all the steps in between.

To those of you who have been on this journey with me from the very beginning until now, I am indebted to you. Thank you for believing in my words.

1
TENLEY

At 6:23 in the morning, the front door opened downstairs and the security system let out a chirp, signaling Trey’s arrival. I held my breath as I listened for the sound of the code being punched in, then a warning beep, followed by Trey’s irate curse.

Last night I’d changed the security code for the seventh time in as many days. I started doing it after I woke up to him standing over my bed, screaming bloody murder about the tattoo on my back. Verbal abuse from my almost brother-in-law was not a good way to wake up. Since he’d thwarted my attempts to have the lock changed, I made the alarm system the bane of his existence.

Trey strung together creative new phrases describing exactly what he thought of me; he knew the alarm would start shrieking at any moment. I reached for my iPhone, jammed in the earbuds, and scrolled to the playlist I’d created for this freak show. Hard rock filled my ears as the alarm went into full panic mode.

Before long he started pounding on my door. Nabbing the remote from my night table, I turned on the surround sound hooked up to the flat-screen and blasted techno beats, then went into my bathroom to shower. Trey hated techno.

The pounding had ended by the time I’d showered and dressed. With practiced stealth, I silently turned the dead bolt on my bedroom door. Opening it a crack, I peeked out. No Trey, but that didn’t mean he was gone. He’d waited for hours before; his persistence knew no bounds.

Just outside the door was a pile of papers and a pen for me to sign over the property. He’d shown up each morning without fail, but in the past week his tactics had changed slightly. Occasionally he left the papers and ambushed me later in the day or the evening. The past couple of days, he’d gone back to waiting me out.

My response never changed. I always tore up the papers and watched them scatter like fat snowflakes on the floor. Their destruction had become a ritual I enjoyed.

I was about to shred the ones left for me this morning when I noticed they weren’t the usual documents. The stack was thinner. I leafed through the pages, frowning as I absorbed the content. The back page held my sloppy signature. Based on what I was reading, I’d signed over power of attorney to Trey.

I had absolutely no recollection of reading this document, never mind signing it. According to the date, it was drafted and made legal two months after the accident. I’d been released from the hospital at that point, but I hadn’t been in any state to care for myself, and Trey had put himself in charge of my medication. Now I understood why.

“Trey!” I crushed the documents in my fist and rushed down the stairs.

He was sitting at the kitchen island, typing away on his laptop with a coffee at his side. As if it were his house and not mine. I slammed the laptop shut on his hands.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” He stood, his chair toppling backward. The metallic clatter echoed in the open space.

“What’s wrong with me?” I shoved the papers into his chest. “What’s wrong with you? Do you think you can bully me into signing the house over?”

He seized my wrists to stop me from attacking him. His lip curled. “I have power of attorney. I can take everything if I want to.”

“Have you lost your mind? Do you honestly think this is going to hold? I wasn’t even lucid when I signed this.” I struggled against him, the bones in my wrists grinding painfully as his grip tightened.

“Sign over the house and it won’t be a problem.”

“Not to you, and especially not now!” I spat.

“Sign over the fucking house, goddamnit!” he roared.

“Why are you so intent on making me do this?” I screamed back.

“Because the estate is useless to me until I have possession of this house!”

He released my wrists and turned away to lurch around the kitchen, his wiry body jerking as he tried to get a handle on himself. Trey had never before lost control. I rubbed my wrists, red marks marring the skin where he’d held me too hard. His nostrils flared, eyes burning with hatred. He took a deep breath and adjusted his tie.

“There are five houses on the property; why do you need this one?” I asked, his motivation lost on me. Although, with him, logic need not apply.

“Are you really that stupid? I can’t sell the estate unless I own all the houses.”

“But in your parents’ will—”

“The will doesn’t matter anymore! My parents are dead, no thanks to your brilliant wedding plans, so what they wanted is irrelevant.”

The shot of guilt hit me like a bullet to the heart. “That’s not fair.”

“You don’t like the truth? Is it too much for you to handle? Should I get you a pill?”

“Enough.” I held up my hand.

I could never live in this house—not when it symbolized everything that might have been, but would never be. I couldn’t stand the thought of it leaving his family. Especially when he had so many close relatives who would jump at the opportunity to call the estate home if they could afford it. The property had been in his family for generations.

“Even if I signed over this house, your uncles still own the summer home, don’t they?” I asked.

“My uncles will sell.”

“How can you be sure?”

“Because everyone has a price. I’m just not sure what yours is. I mean, you stayed with Connor even after he fucked his way through half the female population of Cornell while you were on your little break, or whatever you called it,” Trey sneered. “And then you jumped all over that fucking proposal. So maybe the money is more important than you’re letting on. You’ve been more than willing to relinquish your self-respect these days, from what I witnessed in Chicago. What if I doubled the offer? Would you take it then?”

Any shred of empathy I may have had for Trey dissolved. Connor hadn’t been perfect, and neither had our relationship, but Trey’s allegation sounded like another of his ploys to hurt me. True or not, I didn’t need that stain on Connor’s memory.

“Why do you have to be so cruel?”

Trey’s smile was malicious. “You are the only thing standing in my way, and I will do anything in my power to get what I need. If you don’t sign it over, I will take it. The request was a courtesy, but I see you’re too self-absorbed to understand that. As usual.”

I held up the crumpled papers, my resolve hardening. “This will never hold.”

“We’ll see about that.”

He righted the toppled chair and picked up his suit jacket. He tucked the laptop into his briefcase, but before he closed the case he withdrew yet another set of papers. These I recognized.

“I’ll just leave these for you, shall I? In case you change that little mind of yours.” With that, he turned and walked out the door.

As soon as Trey’s car disappeared around the bend in the drive, I sank down in one of the chairs. His words were like slivers working deep into my skin.

My relationship with Connor had always been tricky. He was older by several years, and he’d had some unrealistic expectations, mostly old-fashioned notions of propriety. In hindsight, it had been all about keeping up appearances. If we’d gotten married, I would have had to balance that my entire life. All my “little quirks,” as Connor called them, would have been shelved or channeled into more acceptable things. Or hidden under clothing or hair, as my tiny tattoo and ear piercings had been.

Connor had been halfway across the country for years, only coming back to Minnesota during the summer months and holidays. When we started dating, he flew back more often. But the distance strained the relationship, and in my final semester of college it became too much to juggle. I needed to focus on school, not pine for a boyfriend so far away. So I gave him a reprieve. It lasted eight weeks. I’d never asked him about that span of time. It hadn’t seemed necessary to know, because shortly thereafter he proposed.

Unfortunately, that little barb from Trey brought up other concerns that had nothing to do with Connor. An image of Hayden with Sienna all over him popped into my head. The thought made my stomach turn. I couldn’t stand the idea of him with anyone but me. Which wasn’t fair because I left him, not the other way around.

If he went back to her in my absence, I had no one to blame but myself. Two weeks was long enough for her to find a way to sink her claws back into him, especially with how I’d left things. It made the urgency of tying up loose ends even more pressing. I missed him so much it was a constant, painful distraction.

I smoothed the power-of-attorney papers out on the counter. Unlike sorting through Connor’s effects or managing the financial aspects of the settlement, this wasn’t something I could handle on my own. I snatched up my purse and the documents and headed for the garage.

The familiar drive to Minneapolis didn’t take long, and I soon reached Williams and Williams Attorneys at Law. I should have called ahead, but Frank Williams was a longtime friend of my father’s. I was certain he would see me, even without an appointment.

The elevator ride to the twelfth floor took forever. The confined space made me anxious; I hadn’t been to Frank’s office since I signed the paperwork regarding the settlement from the airline and my parents’ will.

The receptionist looked surprised as I entered. “Tenley!”

“Hi, Catherine. I’m afraid I don’t have an appointment, but I’m happy to wait if Frank is available.”

“Is everything okay? Is there a problem with the settlement?”

“It’s about Connor’s estate. I have . . . some questions.”

“I’ll be right back.” She went down the hall to Frank’s office, and less than a minute later he appeared, Catherine following behind.

“Tenley! It’s so good to see you.” Though he smiled, I saw his concern as he folded me in a fatherly embrace. I hugged him back. “How is Chicago treating you?”

“I’m taking a short break. There are some things that need my attention here.”

“Why don’t you come to my office and we can talk.” He looked to Catherine. “Can you reschedule that lunch meeting?”

“Of course.”

“I’ll let you know if we need to rearrange anything else this afternoon,” Frank said, and led me to his office.

Once the doors were closed, I filled him in, handing over the documents. Frank lifted the bifocals hanging around his neck, his frown deepening as he scanned the pages.

“Why haven’t I seen this before?” he asked.

“I just found out about it this morning. I came directly to you. Is Trey right? Can he take everything?” The property and the value attached to it didn’t concern me. It was having control stripped away, the potential for more loss too much to handle.

“This is your signature?” He flipped to the back page and turned it toward me.

“Yes, but I had just been released from the hospital and was on a lot of medications. I don’t remember signing that.”

“That son of a—” Frank shook his head. “He can be disbarred for this.”

“Is there anything we can do?”

“I’ll need a few days, but I’m sure I can have this rescinded. He should be taken to task over this—but I have a feeling you won’t be interested in going that route.”

“I don’t have the energy to take him to court. I just want to make sure he doesn’t have any power over me, and that he doesn’t get the house. I want this behind me so I can move on.”

“If that’s what you prefer. Now, Catherine said something about Connor’s estate. Is there more we need to deal with?”

“Yes.” I pulled out a copy of Trey’s transfer-of-ownership papers and the proposed remuneration.

So much had changed since I’d signed the papers for the settlement. I’d been drowning in guilt over accepting financial compensation for such overwhelming emotional losses. For the past year I’d believed the loss was a direct result of my selfishness. Trey had played on that, but I’d finally seen that what had happened was far beyond anyone’s control. I wouldn’t allow him to hold that over me anymore.

Four days later I was back in Frank’s office with Connor’s cousin Weston.

Frank had been able to overturn the power of attorney. He’d also uncovered some information about a recent proposal for the Hoffman estate, which sprawled over ten acres with five houses. Trey had applied to the city council for commercial zoning and demolition.

My house and its two-acre parcel of land was a gift from Connor’s parents, meant for us once we were married. We were supposed to move in when we returned from Hawaii—except that hadn’t happened.

I’d been shocked when I found out the property had been left to me. Trey had been livid, particularly since Connor, who’d specialized in real estate law, had left him with no loopholes to take it from me.

While his plans for the property were unknown, some of the houses, if not all of them, were at risk of being torn down. That was not acceptable.

In drawing up the new transfer-of-ownership agreement, Frank included a clause that stipulated the house and two acres would remain under the residential zoning bylaws. And since the house was smack in the middle of the estate, that kiboshed Trey’s plans.

Pen in hand, Weston looked up at me. “You’re sure about this?”

“Absolutely. Connor would have wanted to keep the estate in the family.” Weston’s family also held half the deed to the summer home. Once my house was signed over, Trey was effectively screwed.

Weston and Connor had been close growing up. Weston had almost come to the wedding, but it hadn’t worked with his schedule. He’d been gravely disappointed, but now I was glad for that small mercy.

With a respectful nod, he bent over the papers, signing at each of the yellow tabs. When his signature was scrawled on the last page, he set the pen down.

“Is that it?” I asked Frank. “The house is Weston’s?”

“That’s it. The keys will be passed over tomorrow evening at five.”

That would give me enough time to get the rest of Connor’s effects boxed and sent off to charity and to pack my bags. The tension of the past few weeks drained out of me. The power of attorney had been reversed. The house wasn’t my responsibility anymore; it belonged to someone who deserved it. I hadn’t wanted any money for it, but Weston insisted. Frank had assured me we could set up a trust fund. My parents’ house was the only thing left now. I still wasn’t ready to part with that.

Weston pulled me into a hug. “Thank you for doing this for Connor. I know it must be hard for you to give this up.”

It was more of a relief, especially knowing the house was safe now. “I’m sorry you’ll have to deal with Trey.”

He laughed. “Don’t worry yourself about that. I’ve been dealing with him my entire life. It’s about time someone put him in his place.”

After I left Frank’s office, I went to my parents’ house. Despite my daily visits, I hadn’t accomplished much in the way of cleaning out my childhood home. Sadness overshadowed the warmth of the familiar surroundings. Being in the house without my family hurt; it had become a mausoleum instead of a home.

I wandered through the house, lingering over familiar treasures, boxing up things I felt compelled to take with me. I could almost see my parents in the living room, cuddled up on the couch watching TV. I missed my father’s dry sense of humor and my mother’s warmth. I missed summer dinners in the backyard, Friday movie nights, camping trips in the rain. I missed the life I had before it fell apart.

Yet I realized that even if I could have it all back, it would never be the same. I was a different person now. I could no longer live in the protective cocoon of my previous existence; I had seen too much. The trauma had triggered my metamorphosis.

I stopped in the doorway to my bedroom. The black comforter went perfectly with the band posters and the framed prints of Escher and Dalí. My parents had always allowed me creative freedom. Maybe they’d believed it would be enough of an outlet for my rebellious tendencies, but it hadn’t been. My mom had argued with me over the piercings as they traveled up the shell of my ear. When I brought up the possibility of a tattoo, I got a lecture on the type of image I should want to project.

When Connor echoed their sentiments, I went out and got one anyway. When he got upset, I retaliated further by dying my hair poppy red right before a huge family event. I wasn’t allowed in the pictures, but I snuck in the back anyway.

I had always straddled the line; many of my interests were unacceptable in my social sphere. So I fostered them through the subjects I chose to study.

Until Hayden.

I crossed the room and ran my fingers over the bedspread. What would Hayden have thought of my teenage bedroom? What would my parents have thought of him? Would they have been able to see past the unconventional exterior? I wanted to believe they could.

They might have seen him as a passing phase, something to try out and eventually move on from. Maybe before the crash I would have regarded Hayden as an experiment in deviance, but I doubted it. I would still have been drawn to him. But I wouldn’t have had the courage to act on that attraction. His allure would have been overshadowed by my desire to fit into an impossible mold. My loss had made him accessible in a way he wouldn’t otherwise have been. Hayden understood my impulse for difference.

His quiet, unassuming intelligence and his unique perception of the world kept me intrigued. Beyond that, our physical connection far surpassed mere need. From the very first time, sex with Hayden had been transcendental. I’d never experienced anything like it before him.

I missed our physical connection. I missed the way he tasted, the feel of his skin, the endless lines of ink covering his body. I wanted him back—but I needed to be worthy of him first.

Moving around my old bedroom, I peeled the posters off the wall and rolled them up, threw some knickknacks I couldn’t leave behind in a box, then went downstairs to lock up. The next time I came to Arden Hills, it would be after I’d decided what to do with the house. With every additional piece of my past I released, I felt more capable of embracing my future.

Driving away, I resolved to do the one thing I’d avoided since my return. I stopped at a greenhouse and picked up poinsettias. They wouldn’t last long in this weather, but I wanted to leave something beautiful behind. As I pulled into Hillside Cemetery, I felt a pang of guilt for not having done this sooner. The memorial service had been horrible, not healing, which contributed to my avoiding the cemetery.

Trying to understand why the crash had taken so much from me was pointless. I’d internalized that pain, allowing it to take over my life, but I couldn’t anymore. Not if I wanted to go back to Chicago, to Hayden. It had taken returning to Arden Hills for me to finally realize that the tragedy wasn’t a punishment for my transgressions.

At the cemetery, I visited everyone: the friends I’d lost, Connor’s parents, my own. I spent a long time at my mother’s grave, telling her about Chicago. I told her how much I hated my adviser and how I wasn’t sure if I could manage his unrealistic expectations, his ever-changing demands and his unwanted interest in me. I told her about my job at Serendipity and the friends I’d made; how much she would have liked them even though they were different. And I told her about the tattoo and the artist who’d changed my world, and that I wanted to be with him, despite being afraid.

Connor I saved for last. Soft flakes began to swirl around me as I set the white poinsettia beside his gravestone. I sank down on the grass, heedless of the cold damp.

He’d been stolen from life so early. I traced his name on the stone, followed by his dates of birth and death. He was a constant in my life; I’d grown up with him. The summer before I started college, things had changed between us. He looked at me differently. Treated me differently.

Dating had been a natural progression. In the beginning we kept it quiet. The secrecy of it had been part of the draw: the sneaking around, the frantic make-out sessions when we found ourselves alone. I liked the rebellion of it all, that he was older, that his attraction to me made him reckless, and that I wielded such power over him.

In the cold, quiet of the cemetery I mourned my old life, finally allowing myself to grieve Connor, our families, and our friends in a way I hadn’t before. The guilt and pain flowed out of me in streams of tears, yet there was a peace I’d never before felt. I would always love Connor, but he was gone. It was time to let go.