Sooo, me again. Hey! I wrote this for the Inked Contest hosted by TwiFandomNews. It was partly inspired by a plot bunny I adopted from Sunshine1220 a loooong time ago, and partly by my awe and respect for the soldiers who give up so much to serve their countries.

This tale comes in two parts. The first is posting now, and the second will post later on today. I'm honoured to say it received two awards in the contest—OnlyInValhalla's Validator's pick and Brierlynn03's Judge's pick. Thank you to both of you ladies, and to anybody else who voted for Not Giving In.

Also, a big thank you to annaharding for her beta magic and to Belizabetty Masen for the GORGEOUS banner she made me. If you haven't seen it, come find me on Facebook in my reader group, Ciara Shayee's Subconscious.

Summary: Thousands of miles from home, Staff Sergeant McCarty lost more than the war had any right to take from him—his best friend, his independence, and his memories. He is hiding from a life he does not remember. She is running from a life she wishes she could forget. She can only hope he'll be happy when he finally remembers, because this time, she's not giving in

Disclaimer - Twilight and its inclusive material is copyright to Stephenie Meyer. Original creation, including but not limited to plot and characters, is copyright to the respective authors of each story. No copyright infringement is intended.

Not Giving In

McCARTY

The sticky heat of a typical Texas day clung to McCarty as he climbed out of his air-conditioned truck. Having just had it reupholstered the past week, it still smelled of new leather and the evergreen-scented Little Tree hanging from the rear-view. Chunky, dressed in a paint black as pitch, and with an engine that roared, the truck matched the look its owner tended to go for. As he strolled along the sidewalk head-to-toe in a charcoal muscle tee and cargo pants, more than one person stopped to look. Not that he noticed. He was on a mission.

The bell over the door announced his arrival. Garrett Magee looked away from the paper spread over the counter, his lips curling up in an almost-toothless smile. "Hey, McCarty. Your usual?"

Rubbing his jaw, McCarty considered his options. His morning—early though it still was—had been utter horse-shit so far, but the smell of fresh coffee beans and the sight of Maggie carrying a cake out of the kitchen might just be capable of turning it around.

"Please, Gare. And a slice of whatever that is, Mags." He flashed her a grin for good measure, taking his regular spot at the counter and setting his backpack on the floor at his feet. He could see the door to the street and the doors to the bathrooms from there; all the exits were covered. At this point, it had become an ingrained habit.

"Here you go, sugar," Maggie drawled, sliding the plate toward him. Whatever it was, it smelled delicious. "It's a new recipe, so be honest with me, you hear?"

"Everythin' you make is delicious, Mags. I doubt this'll be any different." Forking a chunk into his mouth, he figured it was good sense to ask what he was eating. "What is it, anyway?"

"Poppy seed with lemon frosting. The trial run was too dry. Hopefully this one turned out better."

Holy moly.

"I'll take the whole thing. Just...wrap it up and I'll take it to go."

Maggie's laugh lit up the whole café. She couldn't have looked more delighted as her weathered hands cupped her wrinkled, smiling cheeks. "You like it? Really?"

"Love it," McCarty corrected, shooting her a wink as she rushed off to serve another customer. That was just fine with him; he could enjoy his cake in peace and figure out the rest of his day. He'd asked Riley to clear his schedule for the morning, but he had a busy afternoon including a couple of small pieces and a three-hour session on an old buddy's back piece.

Slowly, the café began to fill up. McCarty moved from his spot at the bar to one of the small tables in the back. They had the comfy club chairs. He loved them so much, he'd talked Garrett into telling him where he got them so he could get a couple for his house. Sinking into the leather with a sigh, he pulled out his tablet and got to work sketching. The design for Jake's piece was all done, but one of his earlier appointments had emailed over some inspiration pics in preparation for his session. McCarty shook his head with a quiet, slightly exasperated curse.

"More fuckin' dragons." He appreciated a good dragon tatt as much as the next guy, but seriously. Couldn't people think outside the damn box anymore?

Reminding himself that he was the artist, not the canvas, he started sketching out a few different designs for the client to look at. As usual, McCarty lost himself in his drawing until the quiet thunk of a mug hitting the table disturbed him.

"A refill," Garrett said with a tip of his imaginary hat. Then he set a small plate beside the steaming coffee and hurried back to the counter to help his wife with the mid-morning rush.

"Thanks, Gare," McCarty mumbled with a grin, reaching for the cake without bothering with the fork. Crumbs dropped into his lap, but it was no biggie. The cake was too good to worry about crumbs.

The distinct feeling of eyes on him set McCarty's teeth on edge. The hairs on his arms raised. Glancing around, he soaked in the sounds and atmosphere of his favorite coffee shop.

The slow thump-whir-thump of the overhead fans did little to cool the mid-summer heat sneaking in through the windows. An old stereo serenaded the patrons with twangy riffs and drawled lyrics. The smell of coffee beans, cake, and all the oiled wooden furniture created a deliciously comforting aroma. Frowning, McCarty's eyes skipped over businessmen, Mr. Allan from the gas station down the street, and Mrs. Weber from the laundromat. Then they danced over a woman and her kid in the corner—

There.

A pair of big, dark eyes peered at him over the back of the seat. When the little girl, who couldn't have been older than four or five, realized she was busted, she squeaked loud enough McCarty heard it clear across the busy room and swung around to face her momma.

Her momma, who, McCarty couldn't help but notice, was mighty fine to look at.

Offering her a brief smile and a nod, he refocused on his tablet and his cake, but he couldn't shake her smirking face from his mind and absolutely couldn't resist a few sly glances.

She had long chestnut hair, half up in a messy knot and half down; the loose waves tumbled over her shoulders. Her lips were painted a deep cherry red, her eyes as dark as her daughter's and crinkled at the corners with her smile. McCarty shifted in his seat when he glanced up in time to see her licking frosting from her fingers. The glint of a multitude of rings couldn't distract him from the sudden realization that she'd been eating some of his cake.

However, he couldn't be upset. Not when she caught him staring red-handed and simply shot him a dimpled smirk before ducking her head to speak to the little girl.

Well, I'll be damned.

McCarty chuckled under his breath before finishing his slice with a disappointed sigh. A quick look at the counter reassured him; a box sat on the shelf at the back, his name in Sharpie big enough for him to read from his seat.

Good. So Cherry Lips over there didn't get the last slice.

Distracted as he'd been by the thought of losing his cake, McCarty hadn't noticed a certain little snoop sneaking over to his table. He heard a sweet, rich voice saying "Go on, it's okay," before just about leaping out of his chair as a small hand double-tapped his forearm.

The little girl shuffled closer, enormous eyes staring up at him from beneath long lashes as she lisped, "Ex-excuse me, please, do you have to put your tattoos on every day or does your mommy help you?"

I am dying. Seriously. Is this kid for real?

McCarty's futile attempts to hide his amusement made the girl's cheeks flush crimson. "I don't have to put them on every day," he told her, trying not to laugh. "I, uh, drew most of them on a long time ago and they've never washed off. Do you wanna hear a secret?"

Her eyes widened and lit up. "Ooh, I l-love secrets! I'm real good at keepin' 'em." To prove her point, she zipped her lips with yellow-painted fingertips and mimed tossing the key over her shoulder along with her blonde pigtail.

Leaning in a little closer, McCarty peeped over her shoulder to see her momma. She was leaning back in her chair, relaxed as they come, with a wide smile on her face.

"My momma was madder than a cat on a hot tin roof when she saw all my tattoos for the first time."

Possibly all the other times, too, but he couldn't be sure.

A burst of high, lilting laughter bubbled from the girl. Her tiny hands came up to cover her gap-toothed smile but not before McCarty saw she had the same double-dimpled grin as her momma.

"Really? She was mad?"

"So mad." So mad it made him smirk just thinking about it. He was just hours fresh from the sandbox and she couldn't decide if she was happier to see him than she was mad that he'd covered his entire left arm in ink.

She was was five-two in heels but scarier than all the drill sergeants McCarty had ever met rolled into one.

"Did you hafta go to timeout?" She asked seriously. "I go to timeout a whole lot."

"A sweet kid like you? I don't believe it."

Puffing up with pride, she gave him a look that said she was far more mischievous than her angelic appearance indicated. "Mommy says I'm all piss and vinegar but it's okay 'cause I'm cute as a button."

McCarty's bark of laughter made her jump and attracted more than one set of eyes. The girl's momma cocked her head before grabbing her purse and scooting between tables to join them.

"Rosie-Rae, what on Earth are you saying now?"

"Nothin' other than the truth, I'll bet," McCarty said before the girl...Rosie-Rae...could get herself into any bother. Standing and brushing cake crumbs from his jeans as he put his tablet down on the table, McCarty offered his hand. "McCarty. It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance, ma'am."

There, what do you know. I do have manners, after all. Momma would be proud.

Quirking an eyebrow, Rosie-Rae's momma shot her daughter a wink before slipping her small hand into McCarty's. It was dwarfed by his much larger palm. Her skin was soft and warm, the metal of her rings clinking against the thick titanium band on his middle finger. "Bella, this little one's keeper."

"Keeper? I'm not an animal, Momma. I don't need a zookeeper!" Rosie-Rae squealed.

Tugging one of her daughter's pigtails, Bella gently pulled Rosie-Rae into her side. The little girl leaned into her momma and beamed up at her; the sight made McCarty smile.

"Sorry for letting her come bug you. I couldn't resist seeing your face when she told me what she wanted to ask."

"It's no problem." Turning his attention to Rosie-Rae, McCarty grinned wider. "Besides, you weren't buggin' me."

"See, told ya," Rosie-Rae chimed up at Bella with a self-satisfied, tongue-out, cross-eyed grin. "What's your name again? Mac…"

Bella said "Mr. McCarty" just as McCarty told the girl, "Mac will do just fine." It was what all his nieces and nephews called him.

"Mac said he doesn't hafta put 'em on every day, he just drawed 'em on once and they don't ever wash off! Isn't that cool?"

"Oh, yeah, really cool," Bella agreed with a laugh.

"And his mommy was super mad. What's'it you said? Madder than…"

McCarty smirked. "Madder than a cat on a hot tin roof. I almost got grounded."

Rosie-Rae's eyebrows jumped up her forehead. "Ooh, that's real bad. My big brother gets grounded sometimes when he's bad. He's sixteen. Most of the times it's 'cause he climbs out his window and sneaks some of Momma's good whiskey—"

"All right, Miss Ma'am. Enough outta you," Bella gushed, clapping a hand over her daughter's mouth.

McCarty's smirk widened and bordered on painful as Bella's cheeks were infused with red almost as dark as the cherry paint on her plump lips. She didn't look old enough to have a sixteen-year-old, but what did he know? Some people had kids young nowadays.

"I used to get grounded a lot when I was your brother's age," McCarty admitted. "I like to think I'm better behaved now."

"Mommy says I'm s'posed to be good or I can't have no suckers at the weekend." The hang-dog look on Rosie-Rae's face told McCarty it was fairly likely she'd already squandered her chances and she knew it. Bella's burgeoning smile confirmed his suspicions.

"Well, that's a pretty good trade, I reckon. But you gotta earn your treats, huh?"

"I guess…"

A small arm looped through McCarty's, a waft of sweet-smelling cake drifting up to his nose. "We sold some, but I didn't think you'd mind sharing," Maggie told him with a twinkly-eyed smile, handing over the big to-go box.

"Ooh, s'that the cake Mommy had? It's so yummy!" Rosie-Rae squeaked, bouncing on her toes. "Can I have some to take home?"

Bella's jaw dropped and her eyes widened. "Rosie-Rae Collins! Don't be so rude!" McCarty frowned as the color drained from Bella's face and she shook her head, hitching her purse up higher on her shoulder before grabbing her daughter's hand. "Come on, we've got to go. Sorry for bothering you E—McCarty."

"Hey, it's okay. You don't have to...leave." McCarty's words fell on deaf ears. Bella and Rosie-Rae were already fleeing through the door. He winced as the bell above the door chimed. "Something I said?"

Maggie scrunched up her face and shook her head side to side. "They'll be back."

Tilting his head to peer down at her, McCarty asked, "You think?"

"I've got a good feelin' about those two." She patted his chest and scuttled off to the kitchen, but not without a parting shot over her shoulder that left McCarty wearing a shit-eating grin.

"Did you see the way she was eatin' you up with her eyes? She'll be back, mark my words."

Sweat slid down McCarty's broad back as he slung his legs over the bed and scrubbed his face hard.

"Fuckin' nightmares," he grumbled.

They'd plagued him for...well, as long as he could remember. One or two a week for the last four years. Every one was the same.

As he shoved himself upright and reached for the bedside light switch, McCarty felt a shudder ripple down his spine all the way to his foot. Gazing at his lap, he sighed and grabbed the silicone lining from the end table, sliding it over the end of his thigh. The prosthetic leaning against the bed came next. It still took a few moments to get used to the odd feeling of standing with it on, but as McCarty stalked toward the bathroom, his nightmare played on a loop behind his bloodshot eyes.

"I've got your six, man."

McCarty raised a silent closed fist into the air above his shoulder to acknowledge his comrade's whisper through the radio, then pressed on, motioning ahead. The soft crunch of boots at his back comforted him even as he felt a trickle of unease slipping down his spine.

This doesn't feel right.

An oppressive breeze slithered through the alleys as they moved as a unit, checking streets until they made it to their check-in point. McCarty could see the relief on the other men's faces. He wouldn't relax until they were back in the barracks listening to Crowley's snores.

"Fuck, I can't wait to get back to the wife."

Riley slapped Embry on the back. "You weren't this whipped before you got hitched, dude."

The goofy grin on Embry's face made even McCarty smile despite his lingering unease. Embry and his wife had finally gotten married during his leave. By the time he got home to her, the baby she was carrying now would have been born and their older son would be starting middle school without his dad there to wave him off. It sucked, but they were into their last couple of months now—

A thundering crack sent the group into a frenzy. The two soldiers who'd been sitting on the dirt leapt to their feet while McCarty barked orders, his gaze sweeping around for the threat.

There.

A glint of steel catching the moonlight revealed the shooter's location. He was on top of a small apartment block a street over. "Riley, shooter at ten o'clock."

"On it," Riley hissed, quickly and methodically setting up his sniper on the hood of a nearby car. Swinging around to order his team to cover, McCarty stopped in his tracks for an endless second.

Crimson seeped soundlessly from a single bullet wound. Embry's body leaned at an odd angle where he'd slumped against the side of the building. His eyes were closed.

He was gone.

"Shit…" Turning as fast as he could without toppling over, McCarty stumbled to the toilet and dry heaved until his stomach ached and his eyes stung with tears he refused to shed. "It's just my fucked up imagination. It's not fuckin' real."

According to the field reports, the enemy bullet had killed Embry instantly.

The one that followed left a whole in McCarty's skull. The one after that shattered the bones in his right tibia.

By the time he woke up in the hospital in Kabul two weeks later, half of his right leg was gone as well as his best friend, Embry, and any memories McCarty had made in the past decade or so.

After almost a year in the hospital and more than eighteen months of visiting a psychotherapist specializing in Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, McCarty gave up on regaining the memories he'd lost. He packed his bags, said 'goodbye' to his parents in New York, and drove for more than two days before winding up outside Magee's where he met Garrett and Maggie. His mom and dad were gutted, but they supported his need for independence.

He'd lost so much to the war—his best friend, his leg, and his memories. They wouldn't deny him his freedom.

McCarty had to find out what happened to him from the only other guy who survived that night. He and Riley had been close before, but six months in hospital together made them brothers. When McCarty landed in Texas and opened his tattoo shop, Riley packed up his life in Tennessee and joined him. Together, they ran a successful business. They rarely talked about their last mission. They had on occasion, though, in the minutes when they shared a drink after a long day before walking home to their respective houses on the same street as the shop. Not so much recently, because Riley had a wife to get home to. He didn't linger around the shop after closing.

Flushing the toilet, McCarty moved back to stand in front of the sink. The reflection of his pale face and red eyes made him cringe. His brows furrowed. Something niggled at the back of his mind. Something had prompted this sudden spate of nightmares every damn night, he just didn't know what.

Hanging his head with an exasperated, exhausted huff, he found himself distracted by the ink staining his forearms and the little girl who'd stuck in his mind for a week now. Rosie-Rae. Just remembering her sweet lisp as she asked if his mommy had to help him with his tattoos took away some of the residual anxiety racing through his veins. He'd hoped to catch a glimpse of them around town. So far, nothing. They'd vanished into thin air. McCarty was starting to wonder if they were just passing through; he didn't want to accept that it was the most likely possibility.

After washing his face in the sink, he trudged back into his bedroom and decided it was useless trying to get back to sleep. The nightmares were familiar now. The ensuing routine, too. He'd toss and turn in bed for hours until the sun rose and he had to get ready for work. McCarty opted to skip the fruitless attempts to get more sleep and set about preparing himself for the day instead, but he'd be lying if he said Rosie-Rae and Bella weren't on his mind.

"Mornin'," Riley grunted as McCarty swung himself around on his rolling stool.

"Mornin', Ry."

Riley crossed the shop, making a beeline for the coffee maker behind the counter. "You want…?"

"No, thanks."

McCarty continued his inventory while Riley made his coffee. He was no kind of company until he had some caffeine in his system. By the time McCarty was putting the rolling cabinet back against the wall, Riley had just finished his first black coffee of the day.

"So, busy day today," he murmured, looking at the open appointment book on the counter.

McCarty nodded with a quiet grunt. "For me. Your one p.m. left a message cancelling and you rearranged the guy for this morning."

Riley grinned. "Sweet. Just walk-ins for me, then."

It didn't take long to get the shop in order and all set up for McCarty's first client of the day. Once he arrived, McCarty threw himself into the dedication piece on his shoulder and gave himself no time to wonder about Bella and Rosie-Rae or to think about his recurrent nightmares.

Three hours later, McCarty took a photo of the finished tatt and shook the guy's hand before watching him walk out of the door. Another happy customer. McCarty always got a rush from completing tattoos and knowing his clients were leaving McCarty Ink satisfied.

"I'm gonna go grab some lunch. You want anythin'?"

Shooting Riley a grin over his shoulder, McCarty asked, "Bored?"

Riley twisted side-to-side in his chair and grimaced. "A little." Out in the desert, Riley had been capable of sitting still and silent for hours upon hours. Since coming back, he struggled with being idle. The stress ball on the counter had taken the brunt of his frustration this morning, but Riley's attention span only ran so long before he needed to do something else.

As he refreshed his kit and stretched out his legs, McCarty pursed his lips. "You can head out, if you want. I can handle any walk-ins."

"You sure? Honestly, I could do with gettin' home to Bree."

Bree was Riley's wife of almost a year—and also eight months pregnant. They met Riley's first week in Texas when he'd pulled over to help her kickstart her broken-down car and been head-over-heels for each other ever since. A few too many whiskeys, a broken condom, and a shotgun wedding later, they were almost obscenely happy together. The hot Texas summer was "kickin' her ass," in her own words. McCarty chuckled at the memory of her whining she felt like a beached whale this past weekend.

"Go on, get home to your woman," he finally insisted. "You can owe me."

"Done," Riley agreed with a grin. "Thanks, man."

"Get outta here."

No sooner had Riley grabbed his cell and keys and headed out, did the bell above the door chime again. "Fuck's sake, Ry. What did you forget?"

"Uh…"

Shit. That definitely ain't Riley.

Swinging around to face the client he'd likely just scared off, McCarty felt his stomach lurch and his heart take off at a sprint.

"Bella."

She looked like something out of a dream. Her hair was piled on top of her head in some kind of messy knot and her lips were stained the same cherry hue as the last time he saw her. Cut-off denim shorts showed off her legs and she'd knotted a t-shirt above her belly button, so he got a good look at her midriff, too. A jolt of surprise shot through him.

"You have your navel pierced."

Bella let out a burst of light, surprised laughter, her hand coming to rest just below the simple silver bar topped with a ruby red stone. "You're observant. Good to know."

McCarty felt his ears heating; he had no doubt they were bright red. "What can I do for you?"

Humming quietly, she stepped in further, walking over to the wall where a host of McCarty's and Riley's designs were showcased. Some were just the first drafts, others were pictures of actual, finished tatts. "This is your shop?"

Amused by her avoidance of the question, McCarty decided to humor her. "Sure is."

"It's nice."

Looking around, he couldn't help but agree. He'd taken a run-down shithole and turned it into a thriving business. The walls were white and mostly covered in artwork—his, Riley's, and some from a local artist. He and Riley spent a whole weekend laying the shiny black floor tiles and replacing all the woodwork in the place, then made counters out of the same wood to match. Everything was clean and tidy. Professional, just as it should be. McCarty was proud of it.

"I think so," he murmured, watching as Bella perused the wall of designs. She finally spun and walked closer to him.

"I want a back piece. I have some ideas, but I can't draw to save my life." There was something there, in her gaze, which unnerved McCarty. Something like...understanding, maybe? Of what, he had no idea. The purpose in her voice distracted him.

"A back piece…"

"Yep. Like I said, I have some ideas, I just can't put them on paper."

"All right."

McCarty gestured for her to take a seat on the couch beside him. The decrease in space between them meant he could smell her perfume. Rich but sweet, he felt himself inhaling a little deeper with each breath.

"So, back piece. What's your inspiration? You said you have ideas…"

"I do." After fishing her cell from her pocket, she quickly pulled up a collage of images and turned it to face him. McCarty's breath caught. "It doesn't need to be exactly like this, but I'd like a dreamcatcher. Something feminine, but still bold and colorful. Is that...does that make sense?"

"Perfect sense," McCarty murmured.

How ironic that she'd come in and want a dreamcatcher, the exact thing he'd be desperate for if he believed in their supposed power.

Clearing his throat, McCarty asked, "Any particular significance?"

He wasn't really sure what he meant, but something about her shift in expression and demeanor made him pause. Her dark eyes seemed to stare right through him. She licked her lips; McCarty's eyes were drawn to the shiny red lipstick and the movement of her tongue. He'd always been a sucker for red lipstick. Something about it on this woman drove him slightly mad.

"Yes," she finally murmured. When she didn't follow it up with anything else, his gaze lifted again, finding her intense eyes trained on him still. They implored him, but to do or say what, he couldn't guess.

"I see. So, you want it on your back?"

"I think shoulder blades to sort of the middle of my spine, maybe? I guess it depends on the design."

"All right."

Heaving himself off his stool, McCarty took in a long, deep breath to clear his foggy mind. He caught a lungful of her sweet, fragrant perfume and savored it all the way to the counter, where he dug out a specific sketchbook. When he turned to call her over, McCarty grinned. She'd watched him go, her eyes decidedly south of his face. Her cheeks flamed as she realized she'd been caught.

"This book has some good examples you can look through. If you see anythin' you like or elements that jump out at you, let me know. I'll make a note so I can see if anythin' can be incorporated into the design for you."

Bella blessed him with a soft but wide smile, complete with dimples, as she swung herself up onto one of the tall stools at the counter. "Thank you."

McCarty briefly contemplated giving her some space and making himself useful around the shop, but he quickly dismissed the idea. He'd waited a week to see her again. He was going to soak up as much of her as she would give him while he had the chance.

"So, where's the little cake monster today?"

Snorting, Bella kept perusing the designs as she murmured, "Her brother is on babysitting duty. It's his punishment for sneaking out at the weekend."

"Ah. The hooligan brother, I assume?"

"Hooligan is right." Bella blew out a long breath and looked up at McCarty. She seemed to contemplate something before finally admitting, "He's...struggled...since his dad died. We all have, but it hit him really hard. They were each other's shadow between tours.."

Shit. That hit close to home. McCarty himself had been an army brat. He knew how tough it could be—and that was without losing a parent.

"I'm sorry, Bella." There was no doubting the sincerity in his voice, but McCarty found himself on the receiving end of a slight frown. "I didn't realize...it must be tough losin' your husband and having to look after your kids, too."

Bella's expression softened. She turned her attention back to the sketchbook. "It's not the life I planned, but we get by okay. And Bo...he'll be all right. Teenage boys are hard without losing a parent, so I hear."

"You got that right," McCarty chuckled ruefully. "Sixteen-year-old me probably would have given your boy a run for his money if sneakin' out is the worst of his issues."

With a bark of sarcastic laughter, Bella shook her head and peered up at him from beneath her long eyelashes. "I'm thirty-three and I have to get my hair dyed every six weeks or I swear I'll be as white-haired as my grandma was when she died at ninety-two."

She sighed long and low and flashed him a smile full of exasperation coupled with fondness for her boy. "I've been in and out of his school more times than he has, and don't even get me started on the amount of times I've had to sit up watching so he doesn't choke on his own puke after sneaking out to drink with his asshole buddies."

"Damn."

"I'm no model citizen. Teen mom, right here. But he's still my baby and I love the kid to death. Literally, sometimes I could smother him, I love him so much." Before McCarty could comment further—not that he knew what to say—Bella gasped and pointed to a drawing on the page in front of her. He gently took the book, twisting it so he could see better.

Fuck's sake.

"You like this one?"

"It's beautiful…" she breathed, tracing the feathers hanging from the bottom of the circular dream catcher. "Did you draw this?"

"I did," he admitted softly. He didn't admit that he also had it inked on his ribcage below his heart.

"It's amazing." Gazing at him with open admiration, Bella smiled. "You're so talented!"

McCarty had never dealt well with praise. He didn't start now. Grumbling a "thanks," he pulled his tablet closer and created a new page to start Bella's design. "Are there any adjustments you want? Details, your kids' initials…"

For a long moment, Bella appeared lost in thought. Her brows pulled down and she tugged her cherry red lower lip between her teeth. "Three names, if possible."

"Of course." Sliding a piece of paper over to her, he asked for the names. "In block capitals, please. It's easier to read so I don't make any mistakes. You can have them lower or upper case, it's just simpler for this."

"That's fine," she mumbled, writing the first two names with no hesitation. McCarty grinned as 'Rosie-Rae' appeared on the page first, followed by 'Bo.' Bella paused and glanced up at his expectant face before closing her eyes for a beat, then adding the third name to the paper. McCarty couldn't pull his gaze from her face. She was so expressive, so open to his perusal. But she was unsure. Hesitant.

Hiding something, maybe?

Whatever it was, McCarty didn't care.

Her deep chocolate eyes lifted to meet his. They caught each other in a web that, for an endless moment, couldn't be broken.

Then the sudden, shrill blaring of Bella's ringtone shattered the spell. She mumbled a curse followed by an apology as she fished it from the back pocket of her cut-offs, then shook her head as she glanced at the screen. "What now?"

McCarty stepped away to give her the illusion of privacy, but he couldn't help but listen in to her side of the conversation.

"What do you mean, she's fallen down the toilet? Get her out."

There was no stifling his laugh at that. Bella shot him a withering look, but tempered it with a long-suffering half-smile as she mimed shooting herself in the temple and listened to whoever was on the other end of the line.

"I'm sure you've had your hands much worse places, Bo. Just get the bloody hamster out of the damn toilet before your sister blows all the lightbulbs screaming the house down. I'll be home in ten, aight?"

When she spoke quickly and agitatedly, McCarty could almost detect a hint of an accent in her voice. Brookly, maybe? He hadn't noticed it before, it was so soft. She was a fellow New Yorker.

"Quit whining and get on with it, please. Jesus."

Hanging up, Bella shoved her cell back in her pocket and slid off the stool in a graceful little hop. "I'm sorry, I've got to go. Bo's trying to drown Rosie-Rae's hamster and she's screaming the house down."

"No worries." Striding back over to her, McCarty leaned around her to take a McCarty Ink card from the holder on the counter. Her hair came tantalizingly close to his face, the fresh, floral scent overwhelming his senses. "Give me a call and we'll book you in. I'll get some designs drawn up over the weekend, so any time from Monday."

"Perfect." Bella hovered for a second before shaking off whatever she was thinking and flashing him a grateful smile. "Speak to you soon, McCarty."

"Bye, Bella."

McCarty watched her go, and it was only once she'd pulled away in her beat-up Beetle that he turned to look at the paper she'd scrawled the names on.

Rosie-Rae.

Bo.

McCarty's heart lurched, his leg suddenly weak. Leaning on the counter for support, he reached out to bring the paper closer to his face. However closely he looked, the name at the bottom remained the same.

Embry.

When Monday rolled around, McCarty was a bundle of anxious energy. He'd barely slept over the weekend thanks to never-ending nightmares. In every one, Embry died.

In some, Bella was there, too. She clutched the piece of paper with Rosie-Rae's, Bo's, and Embry's names scrawled on it and only vanished with the first crack of gunfire.

"Fuckin' hell, man. What crawled up your ass and died?" Riley bitched when McCarty grumbled a curse and tossed his tablet at the opposite end of the couch.

"Fuck off," McCarty growled, stalking out to the small bathroom as quickly as his bum leg would let him. The door slammed closed with a satisfying thump, shutting out Riley and his nosy questions and curious glances. Staring at himself in the mirror, at the heavy bags under his eyes and the red tint to the white of his eyes, he wondered if he should even be contemplating working. He was bone-weary and shattered to his marrow. Lack of sleep had never bothered him, but the nightmares.

They took it out of him in a way sleepless nights never could.

It has to be a coincidence.

There was no way the Embry he remembered could be the same guy Bella was honoring with her tattoo. It wasn't a common name, but it wasn't unique, either. There were probably lots of guys with that name. Hundreds. Thousands, maybe. Plus, there was the fact that Embry's wife was a month or two shy of giving birth to their son when he died. Bella had a daughter. It was a coincidence that his Embry had also had a kid who would be around the same age as Bella's Bo, but it was exactly that—a coincidence.

Frustration boiled McCarty's blood as he tried, in vain, to call Embry's wife's face to his mind. He knew he'd met her. She and Embry had a kid together as teens and split up only to reunite shortly before Embry shipped out the first time. Once, they'd double-dated with McCarty and his then-girlfriend. Back before that catastrophic third deployment they'd talked about vacationing together, but McCarty couldn't remember if it had ever happened. His memory cut off shortly before the end of his first deployment, and he had brief flashes of memories for the next couple of years, but nothing concrete.

He remembered meeting Embry on the first day.

He remembered Riley getting his ass handed to him by one of their commanding officers for being tardy.

He remembered their shared, youthful excitement and enthusiasm to serve their country.

He remembered that first tour out in the desert as they all had to struggle to adjust, because no amount of training prepared a person for war.

He remembered it all—but that was where it ended.

No doctor had been able to explain why he'd lost his memories up to that point, and some going back to his childhood. Nobody could explain when, or if, he'd ever get back the time he'd lost. There were times he was grateful he couldn't remember those years. There were also times when he hated his traitorous mind for wiping them from his memory.

Times like now.

"McCarty, man, there's a chick on the phone for you. Somethin' about a back piece?" Riley yelled through the door.

McCarty heaved a sigh and hung his head, staring at the spot where his prosthetic met his leg under his pants. The war cost him so much. His leg, over a decade of memories, his friends...his girlfriend. She hadn't wanted him to go in the first place. When he returned, a broken shell of a man, Irina couldn't deal with it. She packed her bags and left him a note ending their six-year relationship. McCarty had heard on the grapevine that she was married with a couple of kids now. Good for her.

He'd often wondered if that would ever be him—settling down, having a family…

He'd briefly entertained the idea that Bella could be the start of that for him. He hadn't been attracted to anyone in a long time. Not since he woke up in the hospital four and a half years ago. She'd changed that, but now…

"Dude! Are you takin' a shit, or what?"

"For fuck's sake, Ry!" McCarty ripped the door open, snatching the phone from his hand like he'd been snatched from his thoughts. "What the fuck's wrong with you?"

Riley offered him a shit-eating grin and backed away with his hands raised in the universal sign of surrender.

McCarty shook his head and sucked in a breath, holding it for a moment before releasing it and raising the phone to his ear. "McCarty Ink. McCarty speaking."

"Hey, it's Bella." He could hear the smile in her voice; she'd obviously heard his exchange with Riley. Ordinarily, he'd have smiled, too. Not today. "You said to call...so I'm calling."

"Right." Clearing his throat, McCarty crossed the shop and dropped his ass on the stool behind the counter. "I've got some designs drawn up for you. I can email them over—"

"I'll come in and see them in person, if that's okay? I work at the restaurant down the street, so I can stop by during my break today."

"Sure, that works."

"Perfect. I'll see you in a bit, then."

McCarty grunted an affirmative, waiting for the click of the call ending before setting the phone down a little too hard.

Riley raised his eyebrows at him.

"If you ask what crawled up my ass and died one more damn time…"

"What's up with you today, man? You've been weird since I got here."

"Nothin's wrong. Quit motherin' me. If I wanted that shit, I'd go back to New York to my actual mother."

"Ouch." Despite the hand that came up to his chest, McCarty knew Riley was talking shit. His grin told him so. "Look, you don't have to talk to me about it, but have a word with yourself, all right? Sounds like you've got a lead there. Don't scare her off."

The double meaning was loud and clear. McCarty ignored it.

"Whatever."

Riley barked a laugh and shook off McCarty's shitty attitude, leaving him to stew. Years of experience told McCarty the reprieve would only last so long, so he got comfy with his sketchbooks and did his best not to compulsively check the clock.

"Ding, dong!"

McCarty's foul mood evaporated the moment the door flew open just after one, a sing-songy voice preceding Rosie-Rae's beaming grin stretching over the edge of the counter.

"Hi, Mac!"

She could only just see him, she was that short. She'd opted for braids today, her long blonde hair twisted in intricate, slightly messy plaits down her back. When McCarty rounded the counter to crouch in front of her, he couldn't resist giving one a gentle tug.

"Hi, Miss Rosie-Rae. I didn't know you were coming to visit me today."

Glancing up at Bella with more than an ounce of trepidation, McCarty found her smiling somewhat sheepishly over her daughter's head. "I hope this is okay? Her sitter bailed, so I had to take her to work with me."

"It's fine," he murmured, turning his attention back to Rosie-Rae, who'd gotten distracted tracing the letters inked into his forearm.

"What's this one say?"

Around the lump that had appeared in his throat the moment he looked up at Bella, McCarty murmured, "Honor." Pointing to the one that mirrored it on his other forearm, he read, "Courage." Then he tugged the neck of his tee down slightly to reveal the 'Sacrifice' written across the top of his chest. "And this one says 'Sacrifice.'"

"Oh...they're pretty."

Huffing a laugh through his nose, McCarty found himself smiling for the first time all day. "I don't think anybody's ever called them 'pretty' before. But thanks."

"You're welcome," she chimed cheerfully, turning her curious eyes to Riley, who was busy working on a new design over at his drawing table in the corner. "Who's that?" she whispered.

"That's Riley. He works for me."

"With you," Riley said without missing a beat or turning to face them. "I work with you, not for you."

Rosie-Rae grinned, flashing her dimples. "Do you draw inkies like Mac?"

Riley did turn, then. "I sure do. I happen to draw better, uh, inkies, too. D'you wanna see?"

Of course she did, so the bouncy little girl hurried over to Riley and introduced herself with a curtsey. Just like she had with McCarty almost two weeks ago, she had him eating out of the palm of her hand within a minute.

Which left McCarty with Bella and no pint-sized distractions.

"I'm sorry, I can come back another time when she's not—"

"It's fine, Bella, don't worry. C'mon, let me show you the designs."

Frowning, she silently followed him over to the leather couches set aside for people waiting. He swiped his sketchbook from the counter on the way, setting it on the table in front of her once they were sitting down.

"If there's anythin' you don't like or you think needs changin', tell me. It's easy to do now. Not so much once you've committed and it's inked on your skin."

"All right."

As McCarty flipped to the right page in the book, he saw Bella jiggling a little in her seat beside him. He'd opted for the sofa, which had more room for him to stretch his awkward leg out. She'd chosen to sit beside him, her perfume an invisible but heady cloud around them. "Here we go."

A bolt of nerves raced through his veins as he handed over the book. He was confident in his art, but that was no guarantee she'd like it as a tattoo. Especially one that was obviously incredibly personal.

"Oh…"

McCarty winced. "So?"

"It's beautiful! So lovely. Gosh, McCarty...this is amazing."

Pride rushed through him. Relief, too. "I'm glad you like it."

"I love it," she corrected gently, tracing the feathers hanging from the bottom with her fingertips. Then she touched the three small circles at the bottom where the names were written in elegant scrawl.

Rubbing the back of his neck, McCarty hesitated before thinking fuck it and blurting out the question on the tip of his tongue.

"Embry...that's your husband?"

Bella's eyes leapt off the page to meet his; wide, dark, and bewildered, they shocked him into silence. "Yes," she breathed before falling silent, as if she were waiting for something. The expectant nature of her stare made McCarty fidget.

"Right. Well, uh, is there anythin' you want to change?"

Bella blinked.

"With the tattoo…"

"Oh! Oh, right. The tattoo. Um, no. Everything is perfect. No changes necessary. I love it."

"All right. Well, let's get you booked in if you want to go ahead?"

On the tablet, McCarty pulled up the scheduling app. Bella told him afternoons on Tuesdays and Thursdays were best, because Bo would be around to watch Rosie-Rae, so he scheduled her in for two, two hour sessions. "It shouldn't need more than that, really, but it depends on details, coloring, and your tolerance of the needles."

Just as silence descended and it started to feel uncomfortable, Rosie-Rae barrelled over clutching a sheet of paper. "Look, Mommy! Riley drawed me a picture!"

"Drew you a picture," Bella corrected gently with a laugh, dutifully looking at the picture. "Aw, it's you!"

McCarty leaned over a little, trying to ignore how close it brought him to Bella, and grinned. Riley had drawn a cartoon Rosie-Rae complete with big ol' eyes and her gap-toothed, double-dimpled grin.

"Can we put it on the fridge at home?"

"Sure, baby." Glancing at her watch, Bella sighed and shot McCarty an apologetic smile, admitting she'd be late back to work if they didn't get going.

"That's all right. I'll see you next week."

"Next week," she murmured, telling Rosie-Rae to say 'bye' as they headed for the door.

"Bye, Riley. Bye, Mac!"

McCarty waved, unable to stifle his grin as the little girl did a little hop and a heel click before getting in the car. Ah, the boundless energy of childhood. Riley sidled up beside his buddy and blew out a breath.

"That ass, man. You gonna hit that?"

Out in the desert, McCarty hadn't ever had a problem with the crass way many of his comrades spoke about women. He hadn't joined in, but he'd also never reprimanded them for it.

That was probably why Riley's breathless laugh was accompanied by an amused, knowing smirk when McCarty's balled fist socked him in the side.

"Don't fuckin' talk about her like that. She's not one of your random hookups."

Riley's eyes shone—partly from the hit, but mostly with amusement. "So is she one of your hookups?"

Grunting a curse, because now Riley smelled blood, McCarty hauled himself up. "She's different, all right? Leave it."