Page 113 of Ly to Me

Carver smirked as I replied, “Either is fine.”

Grant dipped the tattoo gun into a container of black ink. “Happy to see Tallulah’s dresses getting some use.” The gun clicked on, and Grant pressed it back to Carver’s eagle tattoo spanning his upper back.

“Tell her I said thank you for me.”

“Sure will.”

I stepped in close enough for Carver to reach out and pull me to him. “Don’t move, dickwad. Unless you want me to draw a worm coming out if its beak.”

“I dare you,” my husband muttered.

I squinted my eyes, watching as black ink began to cover spots that had been more grey. “Why an eagle?” I asked absentmindedly, though a part of me already knew the answer.

Grant’s eyes flitted between us while Carver’s arm tightened around me. It was Grant who finally piped in, “A memorial for his friend.” The twisting in my gut that had eased when Carver put his hands on me suddenly returned, searing into my throat. I instantly felt sick as tears welled to the surface. “Carver tells me you two knew each other, so surely you know—are youfucking kidding me?Move one more time and I’ll never tattoo you again.”

“Shut the fuck up, Grant, and turn that thing off for a sec.”

Grant did as he was told and scrubbed his palm down his face. “I’ll get some water, then. Or a beer. You have that?”

“You’re not drinking while fixing me up. You know where the cups and shit are for water.”

Grant chuckled and left to the kitchen, keeping his eyes on the cupboard as I tried to get the words out. Carver turned in his seat and pulled me down onto his lap, wrapping his arms around me as those wells of tears flooded down my cheeks.

“It’s okay, sweetheart.” He pulled my head to his chest and stroked my hair.

“Jared?” I asked, hoping I’d misunderstood something. He couldn’t mean him. Not him. The one other person who saw me and didn’t think I was less than I was. The only person Carver had to lean on.

Carver’s chin moved up and down on top of my head. “He died a fighter.”

“When?”

“Not long after he enlisted. About a year in.”

I wanted to ask how. I wanted to cry more. I wanted my husband to never have to go through the level of pain I could feel from his thundering heartbeat against my cheek.

“He always told me you’d come back.” I shattered into tiny fragments as he continued to stroke my hair, wrapping his arms tighter around my waist. “He knew you’d be back,” he repeated, almost to himself.

“I wasn’t here…for any of it. For you. Him.” My mind raced as I put together that Carver probably felt the same, because he’d never enlisted. I knew their plans were to enter together, and I knew the way Carver’s head worked.

His guilt mirrored mine. I couldfeelit. Sense it through every movement of his chest. But I didn’t know Jared as well as Carver did. The pain of losing a friend like that…was unfathomable.

He sighed deeply. “I know, sweetheart. But stayin’ in the past, blaming ourselves for what happened—it isn’t going to do any good. Trust me, I know how destructive that is. He wouldn’t want us to think like that.”

I nodded, my damp cheek rubbing over his chest right as Grant cleared his throat from behind Carver. “Don’t mind me, not like I don’t have all day to be here,” Grant said with enough sarcasm to make Carver turn his head over his shoulder, no doubt staring him down.

“It’s okay, he’s right. I shouldn’t have asked,” I said.

“You have every right to ask whatever you want,” Carver corrected.

“The gun isn’t that loud. Y’all can talk while I work. Don’t even care if you decide to keep her in your lap the whole time, just don’t fucking move.”

Carver and I fell silent, his hands moving over me, attempting to soothe the ache in my chest—the loss of a friend. Carver didn’t just lose me when I left—he lost everyone.

“I love you,” I murmured. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t—” I took a deep breath. “I didn’t want you to suffer.”

Carver rested his cheek on top of my head. “I know,” he whispered, though it didn’t feel sincere. I knew exactly why. I hadn’t promised to stay. Hadn’t promised to not bring more suffering to him like I had before. But trying to picture what I’d be doing in twenty-one days was akin to ripping my body in two.

Processing emotions was still too new to me, and it seemed every time I tried, I just broke down. I believed that was supposed to be done in private, but with Carver holding me, I didn’t feel like I was being a bother like I’d expected.