Page 33 of The Rose and the Hound (Ashes and Roses #2)

I sat nervously in the tattoo studio waiting area, my foot tapping at a fast clip.

I’d had the tattoo of Bear lasered off some time ago, but nothing can ever be completely removed, from your mind or your skin.

There was a faint, blurred image on my hip, subtle enough that you couldn’t make out the original tattoo but obvious enough that you could see there was once an image there.

Tattooing over my past was more than a new beginning.

It was a declaration that I would begin to live my life for me.

At my first consultation, the artist had roughly sketched a beautiful green rose.

He was incredibly gifted and very kind when I explained that I wanted something to celebrate a new beginning.

I wanted a rose, and he suggested green, which apparently symbolized renewal and growth.

The Rose was starting fresh and focusing on her own growth; no man was getting real estate on my body again. I was more than someone’s accessory.

I hated my mother for what she’d done but her actions had triggered new feelings in me.

I was always an accessory or an appliance for others.

I was Loretta’s daughter, Blake and Dr. Conti’s obsessed admirer, a hardworking employee, the media’s villain, social media’s punchline, or a dutiful neighbor.

What did I ever do for me? I had no hobbies.

I had no reciprocal friendships. Even when I did socialize on those rare occasions, it was mostly to fight others’ perceptions of me as a “weirdo.” Even my obsession with finding my father was tied to being someone’s daughter.

If Paul was my father, great. If not, I’d survive that.

I’d stop searching, not just because I’d hit a dead end in my quest, but because I didn’t need to belong to someone anymore.

I just had to be me. Finding out who I really was would be challenging, but I was ridiculously excited about it.

I’d started a new list on my phone of things that interested me.

The list would be useful for finding hobbies and potentially beginning a new career.

I loved reading and I loved children. With a felony stalking and assault charge, it was doubtful I could ever work with children, but maybe I could work in a role that helped children somehow even if I didn’t get to work directly with them.

I always enjoyed gardening when I cared for Colin, but I had no garden in my apartment.

Maybe I’d get some plants or a long pot I could plant herbs in.

“Rose?” Teddy, the tattoo artist, poked his head out of his room and smiled at me. “Ready?”

“Ready—and more than excited, Teddy,” I said, letting my smile meet his.

Calling him by his first name wasn’t just casual; it was deliberate.

A small rebellion against the walls I used to build.

I was learning that healthy boundaries weren’t about hiding behind formality or distance.

They were about choosing connection without fear. And in that choice, I felt free.

I wandered into the room and was hit by the reassuring smell of antiseptic and cleaning products.

In the brief chat I had in the hall with Gloria last week, she recommended Teddy to me with full confidence.

I hadn’t been overly open with Gloria, simply telling her that I’d stupidly tattooed myself for a man and wanted the laser blur covered.

She’d gushed about Teddy, pushing up her sleeve to show me the beautiful art that trailed up her left arm.

It had been a pleasant, if brief, conversation, but I’d left feeling ten foot tall.

We had engaged as equals, and I hadn’t second guessed everything I said.

She was a friendly person and her suggestion to catch up for a coffee or a drink had given me a surge of warmth and hope.

When I returned home after our chat, I didn’t even feel the need to check my lists.

I had a friend, not a stalking target. Of that, I was 100% confident.

I left the hallway first. I didn’t watch Gloria leave, nor did I wonder what she was doing when she had left my sight.

Gloria was warm and sweet, but nothing in her made me want to cling.

Teddy wiped sanitizer over my bared hip, giving me a chill. I was nervous, but mostly excited. “Let me know if you need a break,” he offered. I knew I wouldn’t. I coped with pain quite well and the initial tattoo hadn’t really hurt, although I’d been in a cloud of obsession and “love” at that time.

By the time he’d finished, I was feeling stronger than I ever had before.

I was tattooed on my hip. Not Blake. The memory of tattooing the bear on my hip made me want to cry.

I could remember my mindset at that time: obsessed and single-minded.

I hadn’t really even loved Blake, although I only recognized that after intense therapy.

Blake represented a family man, a steady partner who was protective and about to be a father.

Those were the qualities I loved and desperately sought.

I could barely remember his personality.

He was nice, if a bit weak, but the attraction had been one-sided.

Guilt ate at me as I remembered all the things I’d done.

One day, I’d love to apologize to Harriet, but I suspect she’d rather slow dance with a beehive.

I had discussed my feelings about Harriet with Dr. Warren, who reminded me that an apology would likely be to clear my conscience rather than to somehow ease Harriet’s pain.

She was right but if I could wave a magic wand and take away every bit of pain I’d given Harriet, I would.

The same applied to Dr. Conti and his family.

If anything, I felt even worse about him.

That man had not even given me a single indication that he was interested.

No texts, no smiles, no personal favors.

He’d just treated me like he treated any other patient.

The memories were painful but the discomfort they gave me was a clear sign of how far I’d come.

I could look back objectively and see how unhealthy my behavior was.

Teddy held a mirror up to my hip. I bit my lip to stop the tears. It was beautiful.

“Thank you, Teddy. It’s amazing! I didn’t know I could love something so much,” I gushed.

He smiled proudly. “Well, it was your description, Rose. I just made it into a design.” As well as being a creative genius, this man was modest. And yet, I still didn’t want to stalk him. The knowledge gave me confidence in the path I was traveling.

I thanked him again, paid the receptionist and left the studio a new woman. No. Not a new woman. The woman I had always been but was too lonely and sad to let flourish.