Flawed Heart: A Brother’s Best Friend Romance (The Bedroom Tour Book 1)
Flawed Heart: Chapter 8

19 years old

Ididn’t think anything else could be more painful than this stupid picture that popped up on my Instagram story, turns out the caption of that picture hurt way worse. “Best day ever with an epic group of friends.” York is standing proudly, his arrogant smile crinkling his eyes, with his arm wrapped around Zander, who is also holding his diploma, and kissing Carrigan’s cheek. My heart drops and my eyes fill with tears. This is why I avoid social media now. This is why I promised myself I wouldn’t look. And I hadn’t until today. It’s been a little over a year since I left the States. Today, for some reason, a nagging feeling in my brain just wouldn’t go away. I drove out to my favorite bluff that overlooks the deep blue waters and reinstalled my Insta account. Deep in my heart, I won’t acknowledge the truth. I knew it was their graduation; I had the date memorized for years just like their birthdays, baseball games, and any other small occasion that came up over the years, where I would help them celebrate, so they felt loved and remembered. When York didn’t even text me back a simple thank you this past year, after the birthday message I sent him, I should have known to just give up. Instead, here I am, sitting in my favorite spot, looking out at the majestically blue waters and crying. They graduated college. Another huge milestone in their lives, and I’m not wanted or welcome to be a part of it.

The tears escape and cascade down my cheeks while I close out the app and delete it once again. Stupid girl. Will I ever learn? Every time I think I’ve made progress, and healed even the smallest corners of my heart, I do something to set myself back.

“Was it bad?” Tabbi asks, her arm resting over my shoulders, while we sit side-by-side. I manage to nod my head, but I can’t form words. She sighs. “They suck.”

They do.

And I’m weak for giving in and looking. Nothing good would come from being curious, and I knew that, but I looked anyway. Because I’m still the desperate girl I was back then, standing in the snow begging Zander to like me.

“They graduated,” I finally tell her, a ghost of a smile on my lips. “I deleted the app again. It was stupid to look. I’ve been doing better.”

Tabbi stays silent, but her arm tightens around me, lending her strength. After I made the decision to apply for the study abroad program, everything happened fast. While my application and grades were being reviewed, I went out and bought luggage, found someone else to take my dorm room, and created a separate bank account for myself. I felt like Agent 007, the way I was sneaking around campus until I finally emailed all my professors and was insistent that I finish the last two weeks of the term online. I was an honorary student. My grades were impeccable; there was no reason they should say no. I was only required to finish my finals in person. Once I received my email that I had been accepted to the study abroad program, I made the phone call to my grandpa. He was livid. But I was eighteen, and as Tabbi reminds me, I can do what I want. I celebrated my nineteenth birthday with Tabbi, then we set off across the ocean.

I haven’t talked to my grandpa since, and it kills me. He raised York and me after our parents died. Anything that was father-daughter related for school or my activities, he stepped in. We didn’t have the strained relationship he and York had, but then again, I didn’t know about the contract. Despite my distance, he still contacts me weekly to update me on things around the house or in the town of Magnolia Hills. I can feel his loneliness through his voicemails and the urge to reach out is always there. I’m just not ready.

I’ve asked a few opinions from lawyers in Auckland about the contract, but none of them have been able to give me a concrete answer on how to terminate it without enduring any of the repercussions. I keep trying though. I’ve read through my copy so many times, the pages are worn, with smudges, highlighter pens, and words are circled all over the sheets. Each time I pick the papers up, I’m reminded that a clock is ticking. I can’t face them until I get out of this mess.

Only Tabbi knows about Operation: ‘Getting Over Zander Knight’ and the steps involved. The final step being, I hand Zander the shredded contract on a shiny silver tray. I created this operation during our twelve-hour flight to New Zealand. I’m pretty sure Tabbi wanted to tell me to shut the fuck up, but instead, she listened to my plan and gave her opinion when I asked. It was a month after we arrived that she finally convinced me to get my head out of my ass and start living. I had been attending class and study sessions, but I kept to myself like I was used to doing. After her moment of giving me some constructive criticism, I realized Tabbi was right. Gradually, I started making friends, meeting up at the beaches for parties, going out to dinner with my study group, then eventually, I started dating. Me. I’d never been on a date, and it took the poor guy I went to a movie with to spell it out for me that it was a date. Tabbi and I both got part-time jobs, where we met locals we became friends with as well. Suddenly, my social life was busy, and I had plans almost every weekend, if I wasn’t working.

I still thought about Zander all the time, but it was becoming less and less painful, until today. But it was okay. I knew I could pick myself up again; it was getting easier to do. So far I’ve been enjoying my new college experience and replaceing the real me. I wasn’t buried under York and Zander’s bullshit or Allister expectations. I was finally able to just be Mia.

“Shit,” I look down at my watch and realize the time. I’ve been here for way too long, “I’m going to miss my appointment.”

Tabbi jumps up when I do, her eyes wide. “Yeah, fuck, it took forever for you to get in with Fletch.”

Fletcher Morgan is my boss and the owner of Dark Magic Ink, a local tattoo parlor, downtown where I work part-time. He does amazing work and is booked out months in advance. The fact that he even offered to give me my first tattoo is practically unheard of. Perks of the job, I guess.

We get on our bikes and head back down the path to the road where her little Explorer is waiting. I help her get our bikes on the rack, and soon, we’re speeding into town. Thank god Tabbi was a world traveler because she was comfortable driving on the left side of the road. I’m getting used to it, but I prefer public transportation or even walking, if necessary.

By the time we get there, I only have one minute to spare before my appointment. Tabbi drops me off, and I race inside, swiping my thumb under my eyes one more time to check for smudged mascara, then I sweep my dirty-blonde locks up into a messy ponytail. I’ve wanted to get a tattoo since I was seventeen, but I never knew what I wanted. After this last year and all the changes in my life, I finally decided. When I told Fletch my idea, his brow rose, but that could also be because I’ve never offered any personal information about myself. And this tattoo brought up a whole discussion about my life back in the states.

“I almost gave your spot away,” Fletch says, glancing up from the design book that is laying open on the counter, where another man is standing with his back to me.

“Sorry! I lost track of time.” I raise my hands in surrender before hesitantly walking closer. Fletch gives me a bored look before swinging his dark and intense gaze to the other guy.

“Go ahead and keep looking, man. Hers shouldn’t be more than an hour.”

I slide my eyes over the guy who nods and gives Fletch a fist bump. He’s taller, almost taller than Fletch, who I know is six-five. He’s wearing a gray hoodie pulled up over his head and wearing a white baseball hat underneath. His cargo shorts ride lower on his hips and my lip twitches when I see the Crocs on his feet. The number of arguments that I’ve heard people have over Crocs makes me want to laugh out loud. I make my way around the counter and follow Fletch back to his room, where he already has his instruments out and the ink ready to go. I feel the anxiety rise in my throat and swallow hard against it. I can do this. People get tattoos every day.

“It’s not going to be that bad. Some people either just feel like it’s an annoying pain or some people fall asleep to the buzzing noise,” Fletch explains, trying to make me feel more at ease. I’m not worried about the actual needle or the pain though. I’m permanently marking my skin for the rest of my life and that thought alone sends a surge of adrenaline through my veins. I won’t be just a plain, blank canvas anymore. This piece of art will alter the life I have been living, changing my image from just a boring, good girl.

I sit in the chair and Fletch cleans my skin before sticking a stencil of the design we created onto the bare spot. “What do you think?”

I nod my head enthusiastically. “Perfect.”

He nods then sets to work, changing his gloves and preparing the tattoo gun. “Take a deep breath,” he commands suddenly, and I follow his instructions. “Now, breathe out.” As the air expels from my lungs, the adrenaline calms, leaving a warmth and heaviness in my limbs. I give Fletch a smile and that’s when he bends over my wrist and I feel the first pierce of the needle changing my future.

It does take less than an hour, and when he’s done, Fletch covers my wrist in plastic and tape. “You remember the care instructions?”

I nod. “Wait a few hours to remove the film. Wash with unscented soap, pat dry and apply cream twice a day.” The details are etched into my memory since I repeat these instructions to customers a few times a day.

My eyes drop once more to my ink and then back to my boss. “Thank you again.”

He nods, his face passive as always, but I see a faint twitch of his lips. I get up from his chair and follow him back out to the waiting area.

“Find something you like?” Fletch asks, and it’s then I notice that guy from earlier is still standing there. I glance at him, the same time he looks my way. His crystal blue gaze catches mine for a split second and warmth spreads through my limbs. I feel immediately drawn to him. I take in his high cheekbones, angular jaw, and perfectly-shaped nose. Black ink dances along his neck, but it’s covered by the hood he’s wearing and I can’t make out what the design is. Even with the shadow from the bill of his hat, it’s obvious he’s ridiculously attractive. His pillowy lips quirk up as I continue to study his face like a creep. My cheeks flush when I finally manage to tear my eyes away, mentally face slapping my forehead.

The man’s shoulders shrug, and he tilts his head toward my arm. “Might be looking at getting what gorgeous over here got.”

His words are heavy with an Australian accent and quite flirty. Instinctively I pull my arm closer to my body, and when he notices, he winks.

“Flowers might be interesting to go with the skull and music note sleeve you already have.” Fletch lifts a brow at the man, and he laughs. The sound is warm and I can’t help when a small smile forms on my own lips as well.

Fletch turns to me, and I pull my wallet out. “It’s your first, you’re an employee, it’s on the house.”

“What? Fletch I can’t let you do that. I already pissed people off by taking an hour out of your schedule for today.”

“This is your first tattoo?” The man in the hoodie slides closer to me and props his hip against the counter next to me. “You never had ink done and you work at a tattoo parlor?”

“Don’t mind him, he’s missing some brain cells.” Fletch flicks his head toward the guy, who only smiles, and once again, I replace myself unable to look away from his model-worthy face and his shiny white smile.

“Mate, do you have to tell her all the good things about me right away,” the man laughs, then turns back to me, “but seriously, this was your first tat?”

I nod and feel my cheeks heating from the intensity of his eyes as they travel all over me. “Yep, this was my first time.”

The man’s smile grows wider and a little salacious. “So much innuendo in that one sentence.”

My mouth drops when I realize what he means. “No, wait, that’s—”

“Leave her alone, Spyder.” Fletch chuckles but comes to my rescue. “And quit hitting on her. Mia is the first office employee who actually shows up on time and keeps my books perfect. I’m not losing her because you’re an idiot.”

“Ouch.” He steps back, a hand over his heart. His eyes meet mine teasingly, and this time, I really can’t help but laugh.

“So, it’s Mia?”

“Is your name really Spyder?” I counter.

“Only to my friends.” He winks again. Oh boy. I can already tell this guy is trouble. I bet he’s the type who delivers line after line to girls. He’s hot and something tells me he knows it. I doubt there’s a modest bone in his body. Yet, he hasn’t been mean to me, and if I’m honest with myself, I enjoyed his light flirting and teasing. Until I stepped through the doors of Dark Magic Ink this afternoon, my day had been horrible. After meeting Spyder and getting my first tattoo, I feel better, beautiful and hopeful.

“I bet,” I tell him, smiling, before turning my attention back to Fletch, who is watching the exchange with mild humor glinting in his eye. “Thank you,” I tell him sincerely, blinking once to keep the tears I feel threatening. “It means a lot to me.”

He nods wordlessly, and I wave to them both before leaving the shop. My entire walk to the bus stop across the street, I can feel Spyder’s eyes on me. Watching. Observing. Instead of being creepy it feels protective. It’s a foreign feeling, something I’m not at all used to; yet, I can’t help the way my heart clenches in response. When the bus arrives, I replace my seat. It’s not until we start moving that I realize I wish I had had an excuse to stay longer.