Page 116 of The Ampersand Effect

“Nora taught me the art of letting go. She said paper airplanes aren’t meant to stay where they’re made—they’re designed to fly. But they need help, and it’s okay to ask for a hand when we need it. But ultimately, we have to let go in order to fly.”

A single, traitorous tear spilled over her lashes and slid down her cheek. Tobin gently wiped it away.

Tobin kissed her softly. “I wish I could have met Nora. I wish I could thank her for helping you.” She pulled back just enough for unspoken emotion to simmer, imploring her to understand. “You are worth so much more than your past, Grier. You are worth loving.”

The implication of her words hung in the air between them.

Grier felt the weight of their unspoken honesty settle in the space between heartbeats. She knew she was falling—she knew, instinctively, that Tobin was too.

She just wasn’t sure Tobin was willing to embrace it, to reach for her as they fell together. She didn’t fully trust that Tobin was ready, and she didn’t want to risk her balking at a premature profession.

So she did the only thing that felt right in that moment. She reached for Tobin and buried her face in her bare chest, clinging to her like a lifeline.

When her heart rate settled and her tears had dried, she pushed herself away and resumed trailing lines along Tobin’s tattoos.

“Your turn,“ she said. “I can infer the basics of these symbols— but I want to hear what they mean toyou.”

Tobin closed her eyes and smiled, letting Grier’s fingers skim along her skin. As Tobin’s body relaxed beneath her touch, Grier held the moment in wordless reverence—grateful for this moment, this view.

“The sleeve on my arm is pretty straightforward. Each symbol is one I’ve picked up during my travels. I try to find symbols of local history or lore—things that hold deeper meaning and feel personal— but nothing overly profound. The compass on my ribs speaks to my wanderlust, my need to see the world, to chase the horizon at every opportunity.”

Tobin paused, and Grier caught the slight hitch in her breath as her fingers traced the compass over her ribs, then slowly followed the tendrils of ink flowing into the branches of the cherry blossoms.

Her fingers moved deliberately, arcing toward the underside of Tobin’s left breast—where Grier knew a long keloid scar lay, hidden beneath the dye. She suspected this scar was the true origin of the tattoo, its purpose to cover—a story rewritten according to Tobin’s

need. But she wanted to hear it in Tobin’s words.

“It’s from the accident,” Tobin offered, her eyes now closed. But Grier felt the shiver that ran through her as she traced the length of the scar. She sensed Tobin fighting the urge to pull away, to shield this tangible reminder of one of her most horrific experiences. If it was from the accident, Grier knew—without Tobin needing to say— that no one had touched it. At least not with the affection she was trying desperately to convey now.

She moved her hand to Tobin’s face, stroking her thumb along her jaw, offering her a reprieve.

“You don’t have to tell me if you’re not ready,” she whispered. “I didn’t mean to push you.”

Tobin’s eyes fluttered open, clouded by memories that tugged her toward a past that wasn’t distant enough.

“I’m here to listen, when you’re ready. I want you to feel safe talking about that night with me—but only when it feels right to you.”

Tobin closed her eyes again, pinching them shut briefly, steeling herself. Grier didn’t think—she bent forward and pressed a gentle kiss to the corner of Tobin’s eye, then to her lips. Tobin opened to her, their tongues brushing softly, tenderly.

Then, Tobin took Grier’s hand from her jaw, squeezed it affectionately, and guided their joined fingers back to the scar.

“I’m ready,” she whispered.

Grier felt Tobin’s breathing begin to steady, her ribs expanding beneath her fingers. Their hands remained still, entwined over Tobin’s chest. Tobin used her thumb to trace the scar, taking Grier’s thumb with hers.

“When we went down, a piece of the control panel shattered— embedding itself between my ribs. It punctured my lung and came mere centimeters from hitting my he—” Tobin stuttered, the emotion of her memory tangible and raw. “From my heart.” She drew a shaky breath. “If I’d been conscious after theimpact—if I’d moved—I could’ve shifted the metal deeper and punctured my heart.”

Tobin stilled her hands and squeezed Grier’s to her chest as she inhaled a deep, rattling breath.

“After I healed, the scar… glared at me. It was a constant reminder of the worst moment of my life. Of the night everything changed. Of my… fragility.”

Grier’s heart ached hearing Tobin recount such a pivotal moment. She wanted Tobin to see how strong she truly was—not be pulled back into that raw, vulnerable moment. And yet, she knew Tobin was choosing this vulnerability—for her. And that filled her with pride—and overwhelming gratitude.

“The cherry blossoms were an obvious choice. They remind me of my roots—of where I come from—and they cover the reminder of a night that was just that: a single night. The tattoo reminds me that I’m more than one night, more than one experience—a lifetime more.”

Tobin’s eyes opened and instinctively sought Grier’s. They were no longer clouded, and Grier felt a cold rush of pride spark her nerves as she realized Tobin looked bright and clear—determined.

“After I decided on the tattoo, I looked up the cultural meaning of cherry blossoms and learned that they often represent the balance between life and death, which only reinforced my choice.”