She props her elbows on the edge of the chair and rests her chin on her hands. “She said she’s wanted to meet him for a while, but she was afraid my dad would be upset with her because his dad’s such a fucking bastard. Plus, we lived so far away that it made it hard to just stop by. Then her husband got transferred to San Diego, and she decided she no longer had an excuse. She has kids, too. I think a daughter and a son. I’m not sure about all the deets, but I guess we’re supposed to hang out sometime or something.”

“That’s so weird . . . that he suddenly has a sister.” So weird, but I’m jealous.

The jealously is short-lived, because my skin starts to burn from the needle, and my eyelids start to close as I plummet toward the darkness.

Lyric pulls me right back out, delicately placing her palm on my cheek. “Hey, look at me.”

When I open my eyes, my gaze locks with hers. I wait for her to say something, but instead, she intensely carries my gaze. I feel myself falling again, only someplace different. Someplace new.

Feel, feel, feel your heart beating.

It feels so free

With her eyes on you.

Nothing else matters.

Time has vanished.

The past doesn’t exist.

The pain and the wrong is gone.

Feel, feel, feel yourself sinking.

Not into the darkness

Where the chains pull you down.

But into the light

Where your heart is waiting to be found.

Found, found, found.

I’m not sure how long I lay in that chair, but it’s enough time that my legs are wobbly when I stand. Once I get my footing, I stare at my reflection in the mirror. The outline of the tattoo inks my ribcage. Through the twists, lines, and dark curves of the feather and beak, the scars are still visible, yet I feel lighter inside, different, less bound. I took a massive step today.

Ethan thanks Cole for doing a kickass job then makes me another appointment to get the outlines shaded while I put my shirt back on. Then I leave the back room with Lyric, and we head for the car.

During the drive home, Lyric and I sit in the backseat with our hands clasped. The contact of her skin lulls me into a relaxing state as I lean my head against the window and watch the buildings and houses drift by.

My thoughts drift to Sadie. I wish she could have been here with me, getting her tattoo covered up. I vow to myself that, one day, when she’s found, I’ll take her to do just that. I’ll help her feel free from the darkness like the Gregorys and Lyric have helped me.

Freedom, is that was this is? Have I finally found something I never thought existed? Is it possible that one day I’ll be free?

All I can do is hope.

Chapter 14

Lyric

Something changed in Ayden the day he got the outline of his tattoo. He became more at ease, as if the mark on his ribcage had been weighing him down. Don’t get me wrong, he’s still my shy boy who is holding onto a lot of pain and constantly worries about his sister. But he has been smiling more, which has to be a step forward, right?

A couple of weeks drift by before he goes in to get the shading done. I want to go with him, but the appointment falls on the day my family and I are meeting my father’s sister and her husband.

They arrive at the house around five o’clock to have dinner, dressed to impress. Seeing my aunt again, I wonder how I ever could have missed the family resemblance. My father and her share the same blond hair and sky blue eyes and joking mannerism to the point that the relation is almost uncanny.

Around six, we gather around the dinner table to eat. Outside the window, the sun is setting, and next door, the Gregory’s driveway is vacant, which means Ayden is still getting his tattoo. As soon as I see that car, though, I’m bailing out to go over there.

“So, where are your kids?” I ask Ava as I pick at my chicken.

“They’re actually still back in New York with their grandparents,” Ava explains, wrapping her fingers around the wineglass. “We wanted to get settled before we brought them out here.”

I wonder if she means with the grandfather I’ve never met. I don’t ask, though, since I can tell the subject is making my dad uncomfortable.

“We’ll definitely have to bring them over when we get them out here,” she continues after taking a sip of wine. “I think you and my oldest would really get along. He’s really into music.”

Funny, I wonder if my dad got his musical talent from his dad, then.

“Does he play anything?” I ask, scooping up a glob of mash potatoes.

“He plays the cello,” her husband, Glen, answers, poking his fork into the salad. “And he used to play the flute when he was younger, but when he reached fourteen, he gave it up. Said he was too old for it.”

“I play the violin,” I tell them. “Maybe we could rock out sometime, orchestra style. Unless he plays symphonic rock.”

“I think I’ve heard him mention something about that before.” He exchanges a look with Ava who shrugs.

“Beats me.” She sets the wineglass down. “He goes through a new phase every other week. The only thing he’s stuck with is the cello.”

“How old is he?” I reach for a roll.

“He’s fifteen,” Ava replies as my mom refills her glass with wine.

“So, Kale’s age,” I remark. “Sounds about right.”

Kale goes through phases like no other. Like that girl he had a crush on a month ago. He’s moved on from her and is focused on someone else.