Leave a Mark (20 page)

Wren giggled.

“
That
is such a great sound." His deep, rich voice grew soft.

His words and tone stilled her breath. Wren cleared her throat and tried to get it together.

“What do you do about Victor while you’re at work?”

“My neighbor, Jill, has a teenaged son. He comes over at about ten o’clock to walk him and put down fresh newspaper by the door,” Lee said, and Wren caught the distinct zip of silk on silk. She’d heard the sound the day before when he removed his tie. Her heart stuttered, and her body softened.

Lee was undressing.

At once, the image of his bare chest was before her. The memory had teased her yesterday and last night, and it pounced on this opportunity to torment her again.

“So, he hasn’t destroyed your house yet?” she asked, feigning a disinterest she didn’t feel.

“Nah, Victor’s a good boy.”

The way he said it let Wren know that he was talking directly to the puppy. It made her smile.

“I keep him closed in the kitchen with his bed and toys, and he knows to go on the paper now — if he has to — so he’s good. When I work during the day, he goes to Camp Bow Wow, and he comes home exhausted. It works out.”

“You take him to doggy daycare?” Wren asked, surprised.

“Of course. I don’t want him to be alone all day,” Lee said, clearly hating the idea. “The longest he’s by himself is when I work nights, and if I could get a sitter for him then, I would.”

“That’s so sweet,” Wren heard herself say.

“I promised you I’d be good to him."

Wren heard a thump followed by a rustling.

“Come up here, boy…”

“What are you doing?” she asked, trying to puzzle out the sounds.

“I’m getting into bed, and if Victor curls up by my feet, he’s more likely to bite my toes,” he said. “He sleeps longer if he’s on my chest.”

Lee was in bed? Cuddling up with a puppy? Wren closed her eyes and could almost picture the adorable scene. Then her eyes shot open.

“Are you still wearing the bandage over your tattoo?”

“Yes,” Lee answered through a yawn.

“Well, get up and go take it off,” she instructed. “And put some antibiotic cream on it before you get back in bed.”

“Oh right… I forgot.” By the sound of it, Lee was throwing off the covers and getting out of bed.

“Take care of that and don’t forget to reapply before you go to work tonight,” she said. “And then get some rest.”

“Wait. Are you hanging up?” he asked, sounding displeased.

“Well… yeah,” Wren hedged. “You’re going to bed.”

He was silent for a moment. “Five more minutes.”

Again, his voice was a soft depth she wanted to sink into. “Fine,” she answered, her own voice almost coming out a squeak.

“So, Polysporin…” She heard him rattling around in what she imagined was a medicine cabinet. “That’s not going to mess up the color or anything?”

Wren shook her head “No. Not at all. It’ll help it heal faster and protect you from infection.” Then she shot up in bed, wired tight. “But not MRSA! Did you come into contact with any infected patients today?”

Lee’s chuckle made her shoulders loosen. “No, we actually don’t see a lot of that in the maternity ward,” he told her.

Wren let out a silent sigh of relief. Antibiotic resistant staph had become a menace in the tattoo world in recent years. Studio Ink followed hygiene and sterilization protocols to the letter, but that didn’t mean their clients were immune to infection after they left. A fair number of their male clients worked offshore, and rigs were teeming with the hideous bacteria. Wren knew hospitals were too.

“Well, I hope it stays that way,” she muttered, flopping back down onto her pillows.

“What was that?”

“What?”

“That soft
whoosh
sound?” Lee asked.

Wren frowned. “I don’t know. I just settled back onto my pillows. Why?” Across the line, Wren heard a strangled sound. “You okay?”

“Just… a sweet thought.”

Her breath caught. Was he picturing her in bed?

Wren heard another thump followed by a satisfied grunt. “Okay, medicated and back in bed,” Lee said.

“You’re really going to bed at seven a.m.? When the whole world is waking up?” Indeed, sunlight, clear and brilliant, now streamed through her windows. Her own sleepiness fell away.

Lee gave a long sigh. “I am. After interning and residency, I can pretty much sleep anytime, anywhere.”

She heard rustling sounds, like he was settling himself under his covers and into his pillow.

“Still, when I moved in, I sprang for the blackout curtains, so it’s pretty dark in here right now.”

Wren felt a shiver pass over her. The thought of him lying in bed in the dark was too much.

“Well, I should probably let you get some sleep—”

“Wait. Not yet.” His words stopped hers, but the longing in his voice set her heart racing. “You’re always running away from me…”

“I-I am not,” she stammered. But it was true. Of course it was true. What else could she do?

“Yes, you are.” His whisper was like a caress. “Am I so bad?”

Wren had only one answer. He
was
bad. Bad for her. So very bad.

“Is it all because I kissed you that day?” he continued softly. “The day you let me hold you, and I tasted your tears… I couldn’t taste them and not taste you.”

Wren looked down at her chest; her heartbeat made the fabric of her nightgown jump. Any words that might have come to her aid vanished in her throat.

“Was it that? Or was it before? When you came to me with those delicious pies.” His voice sounded so close she could almost feel it against her neck. “And Marcelle answered the door and scared you away.”

“She didn’t—” Wren only managed two words before he charged over her.

“What would have happened, Wren, if I’d broken up with her just a little sooner?"

In spite of herself, Wren closed her eyes and just listened. She didn’t want to argue; she just wanted the touch of his voice. The allure of what might have been.

“I would have answered the door. I would have invited you in. I would have asked you to stay,” he said.

With her eyes closed, she saw it happen, saw the fantasy again that had lured her to his doorstep in the first place. No matter what she’d told herself that evening, she’d wanted to be with him. She pictured him opening the door. She pictured him smiling at her.

“Would you have stayed, Wren?”

Oh, yes.

But she held her mouth shut. Saying yes to Dr. Leland Hawthorne was entirely too dangerous. She could never let herself want anyone like him. She’d never let herself want anyone who was too good for her. Wren Blanchard could never measure up to everything Dr. Leland Hawthorne was or to the kind of world that had produced him. Boyfriends who mooched food and left dirty dishes on her coffee table, guys who hooked up with her at Agave and left the morning after… that she could do. That was her type. Not him. Not this.

“I wish it would have happened just like that,” Lee whispered. “Because then maybe you’d be here right now. And I want you here right now.”

Wren sucked in her breath. She had to stop wanting him. “I have to go.”

“Don’t go—”

“I have to go.”

“You spook just like a bir—”

But she hung up before he could finish. Her heart hammered, and she’d broken into a sweat. Wren kicked off her covers and leapt out of bed. She tossed her phone to the mattress just as it started buzzing again.

Ignoring it, she stalked to the bathroom. While waiting for the shower to heat, she stared at herself in the mirror above the sink. Her shag cut looked extra mussed, and her blue streaks needed touching up. She thought about Lee’s what-if scenario — if Marcelle had not answered the door that night.

But Marcelle had answered the door.

Wren’s reflection in the mirror stared back at her. She was
nothing
like Marcelle. What did Lee see when he looked at her?

She peeled off her nightgown and took in her body. Seeing her phoenix, Wren breathed deeper, inhaling safety, exhaling shame.

Her ink.

No matter what lay underneath, her art was beautiful. Flawless. Untainted. And it covered so well. It hid so much.

Wren stepped into the shower and closed her eyes as the stream ran down her face. The water was hot, but, given her state, she wasn’t surprised when her mind returned to a warm rain…

She spent the whole night in Simon’s treehouse, Wren crept back to Mamaw Gigi’s as the sun woke the birds. She usually ate breakfast at Mamaw Gigi’s kitchen counter anyway, but she was always dressed for school first.

“Wren, darlin’, why are you still in your jammies?” Mamaw Gigi asked when she stepped through the front door.

Wren stood there, keenly aware of her missing panties, staring at her grandmother in silence. Darryl had warned her after the first time if she ever told anyone what they had done — they, not he — no one would want her to be their little girl. They’d throw her away. She’d have to live in an orphanage.

Wren did not want Mamaw Gigi, Papaw Dale, and Laurie to throw her away. And she definitely didn’t want them to know what she’d done. But even as she tried to force down her bowl of Cheerios, Wren knew she didn’t want to do it again.

Ever.

After school that day, she went to Simon’s. Instead of playing fort, she insisted they play campout. Wren helped Simon drag his sleeping bag out of his house and up the tree. It was harder to get him to agree to leaving it out overnight, but Wren explained that the sleeping bag would be happier outside, and leaving it out would save them the trouble of dragging it back the next day.

That night, she didn’t wait around. As soon as Laurie closed her bedroom door, and Wren heard her mother’s giggles mixed among the beat of “Pony” drifting from her room, she crept out of the house.

But this time, she was prepared. In her pillow, she’d stashed a can of OFF! along with one of Papaw Dale’s flashlights and her stuffed koala bear.

Snuggled in the sleeping bag, Wren stared up at the night sky through the branches, but this time there were no stars. She didn’t bother to question where the stars had gone before falling asleep, but she knew the answer when raindrops splashed on her forehead hours later.

At first, it was just drizzle, and Wren didn’t mind. The sleeping bag was thick, and it was summer. A little rain would cool her off. But soon, drizzle turned to downpour and lightning split the sky.

Thunder had never yelled so loud.

Wren burrowed into the sleeping bag and inched her way under the shelter of Simon’s plastic lawn chair until it tented her head. The battery of rain on the plastic beat a deafening drumroll that never ended, but the sleeping bag was water resistant, and Wren stayed dry enough.

She boiled in the heat of the sleeping bag, and she jumped with every crack of thunder, but it was better than Darryl.

WREN STEPPED OUT
of the shower, dried off, and returned to her room. She eyed her phone as though it were a snake. When she was finally dressed, she plucked up the courage to wake the screen.

One missed call. One voicemail. Two texts. Wren read them first.

Lee:
Listen to my voicemail.

Lee:
Say yes. It’ll be fun.

She didn’t have to listen. She could ignore it. No good could come from listening.

Wren walked back to the bathroom, scrubbed her towel over her head, and then finger combed her hair.

What had Lee said? If she wasn’t going to listen to his voicemail, she’d have to delete it. The curiosity would drive her mad.

She ran a little styling gel through her damp locks and grabbed the blow dryer. While she fluffed out her waves, Wren debated with herself. Whether she listened to his message or deleted it before listening, Lee wouldn’t know the difference. Until he called back. And Wren knew he’d call back.

She stalked to her room, snatched up her phone, and played the message.

“I can’t believe you just hung up on me."

His voice was still deep but soft, as if talking right in her ear. Right to her. He didn’t sound angry, just sleepy and entirely too sexy.

“Wren Marguerite Blanchard, that is so rude.”

At this she gasped.

“And, yes, I found out your middle name… without violating HIPAA, I should add. But that’s a story for another time… Why did you hang up on me, Wren?”

She could tell he was smiling as he spoke, but she didn’t miss the disappointment in his voice. She felt it in her chest, and a little guilt there made itself known.

“I’ve never met anyone like you… never. I delivered five babies last night, and I checked on two dozen patients. I’m careful, Wren. I don’t let myself get distracted while I’m working… But every time I said goodbye to one of them, my thoughts went right back to you…”

Wren sunk down on the edge of her bed and pressed the phone closer to her ear. Listening had been a mistake. Now, she couldn’t tear herself away.