“I would be really uncomfortable with that, King, honey,” I told him. “It’s like I tried to tell you when we fought about the car, I want to be independent. Men have always taken care of me, and through that, manipulated me my whole life.”
“You think I want to fuckin’ manipulate you?”
“No, I absolutely do not. I’m just trying to tell you why the thought of you or your father paying for my schooling makes me uncomfortable.”
“It’s not about where the money comes from?” he challenged, pulling back from me so his hands fell with an empty clatter to the table.
“No,” I said empathetically because truly, it didn’t.
King sighed as he smoothed his hands over his tied back hair and then dropped them with another loud clang. “So, you’ll let two bastards who tried to keep you under their thumb your whole fuckin’ life take away your opportunity to go back to school, a dream you’ve had for fuckin’ ever? You’re gonna let them take away my opportunity to give that to you? That’s what you’re doin’ here, Cress. It isn’t about your independence; think you’ve proven since you left that motherfucker that you’re stronger than any woman I ever met. Taking money from the man who loves you, who would fuckin’ love to give that to you, is not the same exchange you had goin’ with William. I’m not askin’ you for a trade, for your obedience. I want nothin’ back but seein’ the smile you’d wear every day you went to school as the student, and not the teacher.”
“Damn,” I breathed, reaching out to drag his hands back to me. “You really are a biker poet.”
The anger dissolved from his features but he still stared at me wearily.
I sighed, pried open his fist and placed his palm against my cheek. “Fine. If it really means that much to you, I’ll let you pay thousands of dollars to send me back to university.”
His laugh echoed around the room, drawing the attention of the guards, who frowned over at us. When he stopped, he winked at me, “Like winning with you, Cress, but it’s never losin’ so long as you’re the one happy in the end.”
Damn, biker boy sweetness could kill a girl.
I realized then that it was almost time to go, so before I lost my nerve, I pulled away from him. “I got something for you. I think you’ll like it but I want you to know that I got it for me, not even knowing if you’d take me back.”
He nodded, his head cocked in the way that said he was curious and his eyes brighter than star shine with love and interest.
God, a girl could feel like a Queen under the mantle of that gaze.
And I did.
So, I carefully rolled up the left edge of my bookish tee (this one with the cover of 1984 because I felt it was fitting for visiting a prison) and exposed the taped white bandage over the side of my ribs.
I heard King’s sharp intake of breath as I peeled away the protective covering and unveiled the new tattoo.
It took up about five inches, three of them text written in King’s exact handwriting. Above that was a heart and crossbones, below his poem:
Fit to me
Made for me
Bone of my bone
Broken
Lost or freed
You are a state of mine
Eternal
Bone
Of my bone
When I looked up at him, his face was tight with restraint and his eyes blazed.
“If I never get outta here, I got to marry your sweet ass so we can get us some conjugal visits,” he said.
I burst out laughing. It was so him, so inappropriate and boyish and fun that I loved him all the more for it.
“You like it,” I declared.
“Uh, yeah, babe.”
“But no need for conjugal visits, okay? We’re going to get you out of here. Shamble Wood is empty without its King.”
“Won’t be for long, babe. Like I said, never gonna let you go. I’m a smart man so I realize I gotta get out of here to keep all the jealous brothers away.”
I laughed like he meant me to and for the last ten minutes of our visit, I pretended that I was in love with a boy and we were sitting in a cafeteria like a normal couple. I didn’t worry about who had framed him, what the Nightstalkers were planning next, why William kept blowing up my phone or how people were going to react to my affair with a student. I just sat in front of my man and laughed.
I had thirteen missed calls when I finally checked my cell phone on my way back to Entrance and it started ringing as soon as I picked it up.
“Hello?” I asked through the Bluetooth speakers King had set up in Betty Sue.
She didn’t even have a working tape player when I bought her and now, she was wireless. I smiled because it felt like King was with me in the car.