Hating You, Loving You (Inked Hearts 4)

Chapter Twenty-Six

Dean

Chloe is usually good at hiding her feelings.

Not right now.

Her fingers dig into the steering wheel. Her left foot taps the mat. Her shoulders climb to her ears.

I do my best to distract her with stupid shit—changing the radio to the Top 40 station to get her complaining about the inanity of pop music, teasing her about how much more comfortable she'd feel in sandals than combat boots, asking how she can have any color tattoos where the rest of her wardrobe is black.

For a while, it works.

The closer we get to Burbank, the farther away her thoughts are. By the time she pulls off the freeway, she's in some other place. Her eyes stay on the road, but her head stays far away.

A few turns and she pulls into the hospital's parking garage. The concrete structure drowns out the sun and the blue skies. Turns the world to a cold, grey place.

Or maybe that's my head going off someplace.

I'm not a daydreamer. Never have been. I got into art because I wanted to do ink, not the other way around. But right now…

Fuck, my thoughts are a million places.

I thought I was scared for Ryan and Leighton and their inability to figure their shit out.

That was nothing.

How the hell am I going to handle it if something does happen to her?

I looked up the statistics this morning. There's almost no chance of a relapse after a double mastectomy. But if there is a relapse…

Odds aren't good.

Chloe parks on the third level. She leans back into her seat and plays with her keys. "I guess we should go do this."

"We have a minute."

"Barely." She turns to me, her eyes heavy with concern. "I'm sure they'll make us wait forever. They always do. I just… I want to be done with this."

"I know." I undo my seatbelt and move over the center console. Until I can wrap my arms around her.

She softens under my touch. "Sorry. I… I'm freaking out."

"Don't apologize."

"You're… it's weird, you being serious."

"Isn't it?"

"Can you… not?" Her laugh is soft. "This is serious. I know. But can we pretend like it's not?"

"Sure thing, sunshine." I pull back to release her. "But I gotta know something."

"Yeah?"

"That line last night about how you weren't still trying to get in my pants. That was bullshit, right?"

Guilt spreads over her expression.