Maybe it’s time to change that, Presley.
The thought makes me laugh. Who am I kidding? Wearing barely-there undergarments isn’t going to make a damn bit of difference. It might make the package prettier, but it doesn’t change what’s inside. It doesn’t make up for what’s lacking. Whatever it is that leaves me undesirable, unnoticed, and unwanted.
Tilting my head, I study the reflection in front of me, wishing I could see inside myself to what’s underneath. Instead, I focus on what I can see. I take in the lines, dips, and curves of my body. The angles and features of my face. The contrast of white lace against my lightly tanned skin. Bright green eyes and long, rose gold hair. Full lips and straight white teeth.
Objectively, I’m an attractive woman, even by society’s standards.
The only faults in my physical appearance aren’t visible. They’re covered, carefully hidden from eyes that aren’t my own.
I may be beautiful. I may have a “bangin’” body.
But it’s not enough.
There’s absolutely nothing special about me.
You’re unremarkable and utterly ordinary.
There’s that little inner voice. The one that never fails to put me in my place.
Frustration builds the longer I stare at myself, the longer I stand silently, giving that voice time to speak up.
Camille doesn’t need me to do this.
I’m not even sure why she asked me in the first place. She has enough confidence for both of us. Let’s not even talk about the fact that I can be here for support without subjecting myself to posing for pictures that don’t have a chance in hell of being seen by anyone but me and the photographer.
Decision made.
Camille will have to get over it.
I move to grab my bag, ready to change back into my regular clothes, but I don’t get that far. The second it’s in my head, my text notification goes off. For a split second, I consider ignoring it and changing before Camille comes back into the room. Only a few people have my number. People I don’t want to ignore. Groaning, I dig it out of my purse. I swipe the screen, groan louder, and roll my eyes. Hard.
Vitamin D: I know what you’re thinking, my pretty. You’re not allowed to bail. Take that sexy ass of yours out there and strike a motherfuckin’ pose. Time to shine, baby!
Vitamin D: Oh! And come by when you’re done. Wine and carbs. I gotchu, boo!
Fucking Derrick.
Sometimes I swear he’s psychic.
I don’t know when he changed his contact name on my phone, but it makes me laugh. Camille comes in as I’m changing it back, so I hold up a finger and quickly type out a response.
Me: I love you.
Derrick: Of course you do. I’m the best! Muah!
Slipping my phone back into my bag, I smile to myself. Derrick is crazy as hell, but I’m lucky to have him in my life. I couldn’t ask for a better best friend.
“Are you ready now? Tara’s waiting for us and you’re up first.”
I roll my eyes, grab her hand, and pull her through the door.
I bite back the words I want to say and paste a smile on my face.
“You owe me.”
TWO
Adam
Silence greets me as I lock the door to the shop.
Leaning against it, I let my head fall back and blow out a heavy breath.
It’s been one hell of a day.
Not bad, just busy. Back-to-back appointments. More walk-ins than we could handle between the three of us. Ryker, Deacon, and I scrambled to schedule appointments for the overflow, which has us booked solid for the next few weeks. I’m gonna have to hire a couple more artists or else we’ll be running ourselves ragged trying to keep up.
When Jeremy signed the shop over to me, he warned me that business was slow. I expected to have to do some major advertising to get things flowing, but I was wrong. After a full remodel and name change, I opened the doors to Three Kings. Business has steadily picked up over the last six months and now we can’t keep up. Word of mouth around here is fuckin’ legit.
If Cannon would bring his ass up to North Carolina I would only have to hire one extra artist. I miss the days of working with him every day. I thought he would make the move after shit went sideways. Guess I was wrong. Ryan and I are both worried about him, but he tells us he’s fine. I don’t believe it for a second. Neither me, nor Ryan have been able to take the time to make a trip to Florida. It’d be easier for me since I don’t have kids, but there’s no way in hell I can get away from the shop right now.
Looking around as I head to my office, a sense of accomplishment settles over me. I’m proud of what I’ve done here. Opening a second shop wasn’t something I thought I’d ever do, but the timing was right. When the opportunity presented itself, I couldn’t say no.
I don’t regret it.
It’s been a good distraction.
Getting the shop up and running has kept my mind away from the other reason I came to Blackwood. Not always—and never for long—but it has helped.
Unlocking my desk drawer, I pull out the stack of papers I keep there.
These documents have plagued my mind for too damn long.
I was only seventeen when my only parent died.
My mother hung herself from an exposed beam in our shitty apartment without giving a single fuck that she was leaving herself for me and my sister to find. The image of my mother’s cold, limp body is permanently burned into my mind. It’s not something that one forgets.
She left us with nothing.
Not even a slip of paper to tell us she was sorry.
She couldn’t bother to explain to her two teenage children why death was a better option than any kind of life with us.
If not for Ryan’s mom, Elena and I would have ended up in the system. Julia took us in, treated us like her own. No one was able to locate the piece of shit we call a father. Julia even hired a private investigator to track him down, with no luck.
It doesn’t even matter now.
He doesn’t matter.
Elena is gone now too, and according to these documents...he’s not my biological father.
He walked out on his family and never looked back.
I wonder if he knew.
It damn sure came as a surprise to me.
When my mom died, Julia packed all her belongings and put them in a storage unit. I never bothered with any of it until Ryan asked me to move to North Carolina with him and I finally decided to go through her things.
I’d had no fuckin’ clue I was about to open Pandora’s box.
Mom had enough secrets to irrevocably damage not only me, but my sister as well. I’m only thankful that Elena never knew what I know now. Or maybe she did. Maybe she somehow discovered her truths. Maybe that’s why she turned to drugs and alcohol. Maybe it’s why she threw her life away.
I’ll never know.
I’m left with too many questions, not enough answers, and a deep-seated feeling of discontent.