"So, you and Butterfly Tattoo Chick, huh?"
"Huh?" I feigned pointless cluelessness.
"I mean, talk about opposites attracting, am I right?" she teased, her pencil-thin, tattooed eyebrows jumping suggestively toward her hairline.
"I hate you," I muttered, chuckling lightly under my breath.
"For real though," she said, standing from the chair. "What's going on with that? I thought you weren't sleeping with her."
"I'm not—" I cut myself short and thought twice about denying it. "I don't know what's going on. It's just ... going, I guess."
"But you like her," she assessed, bobbing her head slowly. "Like, really like her."
Incredulous, I asked, "How the fuck do you know that?"
Cee's smile teetered somewhere between rueful and encouraging as she said, "Because you never looked at me the way you look at her."
"The way I look at her …" I snickered, shaking my head.
"No, seriously, there’s something different about the way you look at her," she laughed. "And it's fine, Blake. We knew what we were."
"We weren't anything," I admitted, wondering if I should feel guilty for that as I pressed my forearms to the counter. "We were hardly a we."
"No, I know, but it was what we needed, I guess." Her knuckles clipped my arm. "And hey, it was pretty good."
I chuckled. "Yeah," I nodded, agreeing. "It was good."
"But not like her, huh?"
I shook my head. "Not like her."
Chapter Seventeen
THE LOOKS EXCHANGED between Shane and Celia were anything but friendly. Heated glances. Flirty smiles. If it wasn’t for her kids being at her place, I was certain he’d be spending the night in her bed. And as the place filled with pheromones and tension, I wished her ex would take them for the night.
“This is the best tea I’ve ever had,” Shane declared, putting his steaming cup of vanilla Earl Grey down on the table. “I’m not even normally a tea guy, but this shit is good.”
“Blake fanboys hard over Jolie’s,” Cee teased, glancing in my direction with a smirk.
“I like what I like,” I shrugged unapologetically.
Shane took a bite of biscotti and crumbs sprayed against the tabletop. He muttered a “shit” as he quickly used a hand to sweep the mess into his palm. “Totally making an ass of myself today,” he laughed nervously. A hint of blush swept over his cheeks as he quickly glanced in Cee’s direction.
That was putting it lightly.
Shane had been running late this morning, which had been fine with me. With Jake still giving me a hard time about Miss Thomas being out of commission, the extra time to convince him to go to daycare was much appreciated. Then, Shane had announced his eventual arrival by spilling what little was left of his energy drink on the front desk of Salem Skin. The incident was followed by him tripping twice on our walk to Jolie Tea, not to mention the countless times he’d fumbled on his words.
The fact that all of these mishaps had happened while in the presence of Celia wasn’t lost on me, and she wasn’t much better. The woman was a mess of giggles, rosy cheeks, and flips of her dreadlocks.
Someone needed to get these two a fucking room. But in the meantime, I was ready to tell Cee to get lost while we conducted the interview, just to keep the guy focused.
“Okay. Let’s do this,” Shane began, wiping his hands on his skintight black jeans. He then pressed record on his phone and placed it on the table in front of me. “So, Blake, tell me how you got into tattooing.”
I eyed the phone with uncertainty, feeling instantly on the spot, and Shane chuckled gently. “Pretend it’s not there, man. Just talk.”
“Easier said than done,” I chuckled awkwardly, scrubbing a palm over my beard. “But, uh, okay, so … I was a total art nerd when I was younger—”
“I’m sorry,” Shane cut in, laughing. “I have a really hard time believing you were ever a nerd.”
“Okay,” I relented, shrugging. “Maybe nerd isn’t the right word for it, but I was always into drawing. I drove my parents crazy, always filling up my sketchbooks faster than they could buy them. Then, when I was maybe twelve or so, my uncle came up from Florida. It was the first time I really paid attention to his tattoos. This guy’s arms are covered, right, and I remember just sitting there in my parents’ living room, checking ‘em out, and I just remember thinking two things. One, that it was the most badass shit I’d ever seen in my life, you know, to be a living canvas. And two, that I could do so much better than the drawings he had on his arms.”
Shane nodded, a grin slowly growing across his face. “So, really, you wanted to be a tattoo artist to fix your uncle’s shitty tattoos.”
I laughed and canted my head. “Well, I mean, it’s all gotta start somewhere, right?”
“True that, brother. True that.” He quickly glanced at the sheet of questions in front of him. “So, your work is very distinct, you definitely have your own style. Were you influenced by anybody?”
I sipped at my tea as I considered the question. “You know,” I said, putting my cup down, “I’ve never really thought about that much. I’ve always just kinda done my own thing, you know what I mean? But now that you’ve asked, I think a lot of my style came from my love for this town and its overall eeriness, blended with some of the graphic novels I read when I was younger. I was a big fan of the gothic stuff. You know, The Crow, The Sandman … I loved that shit, and then when they turned The Crow into a movie, forget it. The grittiness coupled with gothic romanticism ... I ate that shit up.”
“Actually, now that you mention it, I can definitely see that influence in your work.”
“Yeah, man. I fucking love it.”
He laughed. “Although, dude, I gotta be honest. You mentioning romanticism is like a fuckin’ oxymoron.”
I couldn’t help the laugh that barked from my chest. “Are you calling me unlovable?”
Cee’s eyes shifted toward me as she smirked. “You are kind of a hard-ass,” she jabbed.
Shane laid a palm over her arm and I thought her eyes might jump right from their sockets at the touch. “Nothin’ wrong with being a hard-ass,” he told her before turning his attention back on me. But his hand didn’t move from her arm. “Nah, man. You’re just a, uh … You’re a badass, let’s put it that way, and hearing you talk about romance gives you a softer vibe. It’s not what I expected, but it’s not a bad thing.”
The interview continued with questions pertaining to my favorite artists and preferred ink brands. They were all innocent enough and nothing left my heart freaking out with bottled-up anxiety. When it was clear we were finishing up though, Shane threw a question at me that tensed my jaw and clenched my fists.
“Well, Blake, this has been awesome and really appreciated. Before I let you go, could you tell our readers what your plans for the future are? Any chance you’re gonna open up your own place, or go on tour?”
The obvious answer was simple enough, two little letters and one short, easy syllable: no. But as I sat in my chair, surrounded by Jolie Tea customers, Cee, Shane, and so many possibilities, I found that I didn’t want to say no. I didn’t want to slam that door shut on my future when I hadn’t even given it an opportunity to flourish. Would it kill me to be honest? Would it hurt me to admit what I wanted, without my responsibility to my brother getting in the way?
My heart raced as I shrugged. Sweat pearled at the base of my neck. “Well, uh, I’d love to open my own place someday. That’s always been a dream of mine. It was always the goal.”
Celia’s eyes darted from Shane’s hand, still on her arm, to my face in the matter of milliseconds. She hadn’t expected that answer—who would?
“Dude, that’d be fuckin’ awesome,” Shane answered, nodding.
“Yeah,” I agreed, nodding. I felt myself backpedaling, needing to close the window I’d let crack open. “But you know, we’ll see what happens. Plans can always change.”
Shane pocketed his phone and stre
tched his arm across the table, offering his hand. “Thank you for this, brother.”
I clapped my palm against his and shook. “No problem.”
“I’m gonna get my photographer up here this weekend to snap some pictures, and we’ll get this piece ready for the December issue. You’re gonna ring in the New Year with a shit-ton of new clients, I hope you realize that.”
I chuckled gruffly. “I’m looking forward to it,” I replied, only speaking half the truth.
“And that thing about opening up your own place …” He gripped my hand and lifted his mouth in a lopsided smile, before continuing, “That’s in the cards, man. Nothing holding you back, except you.”
***
I couldn’t get those words out of my head for the rest of the day. Nothing holding you back, except you. They played on repeat as I picked Jake up from daycare and cooked him dinner. They continued to circle, as I threw his soiled sheets from the night before in the dryer and made his bed with a clean set. They kept going and going as I tucked him in and got his new copy of Gremlins playing before heading home.
Nothing holding you back, except you.
I wished I was one of those people, being held back by their personal qualms and a mental roadblock. If only I could simply power through, get myself over the proverbial wall, and continue the journey toward greatness. But what the hell was I supposed to do about the life forced upon me, the one that didn’t give me a choice?
Except I do have a choice, I reminded myself. My parents had given me one. If I stopped fighting their suggestion to put Jake into a facility, if I even helped them to find one, I could get the ball rolling in my own life.
“Fuck,” I moaned, laying my hands over my face and flopping back against my bed.
I felt like a traitor for considering it. Like a selfish piece of shit. This wasn’t supposed to happen. I wasn’t supposed to give up or give in. Was never supposed to steal from him and throw him away, like he was something to be used and trashed. But was it really giving up, if it was helping?
With a sigh, I grabbed my phone and dialed my mom’s cell number. She answered on the third ring and I wondered if I’d woken her up.
“Hey,” she said. “Did you forget something?”
“No …”
“Oh,” she replied curtly, then said, “I can’t remember the last time you called me.”
I studied the ceiling for a moment as I tried to remember the last time I’d called my mother and came up empty. “Huh. I guess you’re right.”
“Of course, I’m right. I’m your mother.” She used the tone that I knew she thought was playful but instead just came across as obnoxious and superior.
I forced a chuckle and wished I’d called my father instead. “Yeah …”
“Anyway,” she went on with a sigh, “what’s up?”
“Um, well, I was actually wondering how it was going with finding a place—”
“For Jake?” She cut me off, implying shock with her high-pitched tone. I couldn’t blame her for being startled. After my initial reaction, she’d been hesitant to bring it up with me again.
“Yeah,” I answered reluctantly.
“Oh, well, we found a couple of places we thought we’d look at. Your dad made an appointment to meet with the director at one of them next week, so I guess—”
“I’ll go.”
“You want to come?”
I nodded to the ceiling, affirming my resolve to go through with this. “Sure.”
“I was hoping you would,” she admitted. “You’re so close to him, I wanted to get your approval before we settled on a place.”
That word settle stuck out like a sore thumb and my brow furrowed with irritation. “We’re not gonna settle on a place, Mom. We’re going to find—”
“Blake. You know what I meant.”
Stop being so defensive. I fixed my jaw and nodded. “No, I know. Sorry.”
“Anyway, your father and I are going to watch a movie. So, I’ll see you—”
“What movie?”
“Oh, um … That new Stephen King one, I think? Which one is it, Paul?” I heard Dad mutter something from not too far away and Mom said, “It. We’re watching It. The remake.”
I nodded with startled approval. “You like horror movies?”
“Like them? Honey, I love horror. How do you not know this?”
My lips turned and twisted with question. “I don’t know.”
She huffed with laughter. “I mean, come on. Where do you think you get it from?”
With well wishes for a good night and good rest, we hung up, and I wondered about that. Where had I thought I’d got it from? I guess I’d gone through my entire life just assuming I was the bad seed of the family, a heathen in black, or a rebel with a tattoo machine. Assuming that something had simply gone awry in my DNA and I’d ventured on my own toward the dark side. I’d never even considered that maybe I could’ve picked up on some things from my God-loving parents. I’d never taken any notice.
Maybe I was more like them than I thought.
Chapter Eighteen
SHANE HAD ARRANGED the photoshoot for Saturday. While I was happy for it to coincide on a day when Jake wasn’t around, I found it odd that I still didn’t want to go alone. It was my first time being professionally photographed. Well, outside of the mediocre point-and-shoot sessions for school pictures, conducted by some greaseball moonlighting as a photographer, and I was nervous.
Cee would be there, I knew that, but she wouldn’t be there for me. She’d be hanging around, ogling Shane and waiting impatiently to get him back to her place. She’d be watching as ModInk’s photographer instructed me to stand this way and that, but she wouldn’t be there for me. And hell, I didn’t want her to be.
I wanted Audrey.
Perched on my bike, one block away from the shop, I stared at the phone in my hand. For one desperate moment, I considered calling Dr. Travetti, to ask her to come down as my groupie. To cheer me on and pump me up. But how fucking lame would it be, to ask my shrink to come, and all because I didn’t want to call the girl I liked.
“Don’t be a fucking pussy,” I scolded myself in an angry grumble, as I hit her name in my contact list.
I almost hung up, but she didn’t give me a chance. “Blake! Hi!”
My groan was coupled with my smile. How could she always sound so happy, like every day was Christmas and every moment was a gift?
“Hey, Audrey.”
“How are you?”
“Um, good,” I answered honestly. “How about you?”
“Well, I mean, it’s Saturday and I don’t have work, so obviously that makes it a great day.” Her voice was full of smiles and laughter. “What are you up to?”
There it was. The opener. She’d given it to me, she’d made it easy, and I grabbed for it. “Actually, funny you ask. I had an interview the other day with ModInk—uh, it’s this big tattoo magazine, and—”
“Oh, that’s so cool!”
“Yeah,” I agreed, nodding. “Today, they’re doing a photoshoot down at the shop and I thought I’d ask if you, um …” I felt like an idiot, pursuing the pretty girl who was so completely out of my league, she was practically in a whole other universe. My hand raked through my hair, and I pinched my eyes shut, knowing it now looked like crap and would need to be redone for the pictures.
“I’d love to,” she answered, before I could ask. “I just need to do a couple things and then I’ll come down. Would twenty minutes from now be okay?”
“Yeah,” I replied in a voice so choked, I was surprised I could speak at all. “Yeah, that’d be fine.”
For two seconds too long, there was nothing but air passing between us. Whispers of the mind, secrets of the heart, and I wished I knew what to say to take the awkwardness away. Hell, forget awkwardness—I wished I knew what to say, period. But Audrey … She always knew.
“I’m really excited to see you,” she confessed quietly, making it seem easy to speak her mind.
The nature of my being wanted to scoff, insistent that there was no way she could possibly be excited about seeing me. But before I could give in to instinct, I found myself wondering what the good doctor would tell me to do. What would she tell me to say? Because it was Saturday, she wasn’t working, but if she was, I’d take my bike over there right now and ask her to coach me in how to talk to pretty girls. But I was left to my own devices, so I took a deep breath, focusing harder on the saint in my heart and less on the devil in my brain.
Then, I replied, “I’m excited to see you, too.”
***
“Okay, Blake. Stand just like that and look down. Right into my lens,” Toby, the cameraman, instructed, crouching to the ground at my feet.
I felt like an idiot, standing outside the shop with my arms crossed over my chest, but I did as I was told without protest. I let my lids droop as I looked directly at the camera and Toby nodded with approval as he snapped a few shots.
“Perfect, awesome,” he praised absentmindedly, shifting his heels and grabbing another shot from a different angle. “Look over here now—excellent. Great.”
A few more clicks of the camera and he rose to his feet with a directing wave of his arm. “Lex, this damn wind is killing me. Can you fix his hair again?”
Toby walked away to change his lens and Lex the stylist came over with her damned comb in hand. As she reached to fuss with my hair for the umpteenth time, I took that as my cue to relax my arms and push a disgruntled sigh from my nose. My eyes shifted toward the cluster of familiar faces standing off to the side. Cee and Shane watched with amusement creasing their eyes and pulling at their lips, and I felt the temptation to tell them they wouldn’t find it so funny if they were the ones with some strange woman raking their hair back. But I maintained my silence as my eyes fell on Audrey.
She had come by over forty minutes ago, when we had just started with the shoot, and I’d stopped everything to greet her with a sheepish grin. She had been so serious then, encouraging me to get back to work, but now, her pale blue eyes lit with laughter as she bit her bottom lip. Cee said something to her, and I saw Audrey’s mouth move with her reply. Dammit, I wish I knew what they had said, because Audrey doubled over with an eruption of giggles and Celia clapped a hand over her mouth. They were laughing at me, I knew that much, and not even the defensive part of my brain could stop me from basking in the glow of that sound.
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