Brother's Keeper III_Luke

by Stephanie St. Klaire

  When Dace followed the obnoxious sound of his brothers drunk voices to the open room in the back of their favorite tattoo shop, Rose City Ink, he was greeted in unison.

  “DACE!”

  “You’re just in time bro!” Wylie cackled.

  Dace scanned the room, surprised by what he saw. “Yeah, looks that way.”

  “Drop’em man and get in line.” Liam cheered, waving his hand to Dace, inviting him in.

  “Drop my pants and get in line? You are so damn drunk – all of you.”

  “It’s great isn’t it?”

  “Really great, Liam. How about you stay on the table there, buddy?” Dace quickly reached out, pushing Liam back on the tattoo artists table before he rolled completely off.

  “Drop’em.” Liam fired again.

  With a side-eye glance, Dace questioned Liam while watching the other three snort and snicker. “Why would I drop’em?”

  “You’re getting one of these too, Dace.” Liam said, pointing the to the stencil about to get inked.

  “But…you’re all getting them on your shoulders, soooo…”

  “Oh yeah! That almost got weird.” Liam laughed, rolling off the table again, this time Dace didn’t catch him.

  “It’s already weird. Trust me, bro.”

  “C’mon man, we saved one for you!” Wylie patted the chair next to him, inviting Dace to sit.

  Sincerely perplexed, Dace had to ask as he wasn’t fluent in drunk brother lingo. “Saved what?”

  Liam laughed, as if the joke was on Dace, “A tattoo!”

  Dace looked around, hoping for some sort of punchline. “What does that even mean? How do you save a tattoo?” Were his brothers really this drunk?

  Luke sat back, legs stretched, arms crossed with one ankle over the other, and his eyes closed, “Yeah, you’re getting one.”

  “Man this shit hurts. It like really hurts how the hell did you do this…everywhere…” Liam was wide eye focused on Rip’s hand and the tool he used to leave his mark. “C’mon man, easy with that pen. You’re carving my arm!”

  Rip stopped and gave Liam a cross look that said what the fuck. “That’s literally what we’re doing, carving. It’s a tattoo not a color by numbers, Liam.”

  Dace snorted. He was the bad boy of the bunch, covered in tattoo’s and piercings, he didn’t feel the pain anymore. “This has got to be his first tat, man.”

  Rip nodded with understanding, “Makes sense.”

  When Dace leaned in to take a closer look, he pointed at Liam’s shoulder stencil and questioned, "Is that…is that a pot of gold?”

  Luke laughed, still stretched out in his chair in the corner, head back and eyes closed, “Isn’t it great, man?”

  Rip laughed, “This is why I called you. They wanted one big rainbow that spanned across their combined…groins.”

  Swiftly shaking his head, Dace asked, “I don’t get it…why the rainbow and…groins?”

  Biting his lip so he wouldn’t laugh, Rip pulled the tattoo needle away from Liam’s skin. Facing Dace with an amused smirk, he said, “So they could stand hip to hip and make one big rainbow.”

  Shoving his hands in his pocket, Dace immediately side eyed the guys, “You’re fucking kidding me.”

  “Nope, that’s why I called you. They got pissed when I said hell no.” Rip laughed. “It was almost a brawl in here when I said four men standing with their junk out, hip to hip saying taste the rainbow would probably land them in jail.”

  Clearly a trigger for the drunken stupor in the room, the four inebriated O’Reilly’s broke out in laughter. Impressed with their new credo, they shared a round of high-fives while shouting, taste the rainbow!

  “Jesus, they’re drunk.” Dace shook his head. “Shut up, are you five, or what?”

  “Nope, we’re twenty if you add us all up.”

  Amused, Declan finally chimed in, “Well, genius over there can still math, even shit faced. Twenty…that’s classic.”

  “Classic?” Dace whispered to himself. “You should have let them do it, Rip. It’d be a nice lesson on learning to hold your liquor.”

  “Uh, they wanted you to be the middle…of the rainbow.”

  “Shit, that’s cute, I’m not standing in the middle of that mess with my glory hanging out.”

  “I convinced them to do a pot of gold…heritage and all that. You’re welcome.” Rip said over his shoulder, still working on Liam.

  “You know we’re Irish, not leprechauns, right?” Dace asked.

  “Oh, me lucky charms and pot-o-gold” Luke said in an exaggerated Irish dialect, still leaning back, eye’s closed.

  Rip put hands up, before tossing a thumb toward the corner of drunks. “They ran with that whole thing, not me. I just said okay because I can turn it into a clover later when they’re sober and want to fix it, Dace.”

  “How do you turn a pot of gold into a green clover?”

  Rip smiled, and leaned Dace’s way, speaking quietly, “By telling them it’s a pot of gold, but really its clover.”

  Not said quiet enough, Liam chimed in, “Yeah, the golds underneath the clover you can’t see it, its brilliant.”

  “God, and he’s the smart one.” Dace muttered.

  “Try and steal my gold now, nasty little shits.” Luke shouted, earning a high-five and an Amen from Declan.

  “And they clearly aren’t the smart ones.” Dace finished.

  Boredom must’ve settled in with the three who weren’t getting inked because they engaged in a game of slapping each other’s tats to make each other cringe in pain.

  “Knock it off or you’re out of here.” Rip warned.

  Wylie stood, chest puffed out, “Who’s gonna make us?” Then he promptly tripped and fell, bringing another blast of roaring laughter.

  Rip shook his head and looked at Dace, “I already started the coffee, it should be done. I don’t want their monster asses wrecking my shop.”

  “Thanks man. I’ll get them out of here as soon as you’re done with that one.” Dace watched them sit in the corner arm wrestling. Luke was still reclined, eye’s closed, but engaging in the competition in a booze induced haze. “This shit’s weird. I can’t take them home like this.”

  “You scared of them?” Rip laughed.

  “Hell no, especially while they’re like this. I’m scared of their women.”

  “Myyy woman, I got a woman.” Liam sang.

  “Me too, I knocked mine up. Having a baby. A small one.” Luke shared.

  Liam popped his head up from the table like it was new news, and he was surprised, “So is mine.”

  “Holy shit, we’re having babies, Dace. I’m going to be someone’s dad. Poor kid.”

  “Yep, you’re all having babies. Bunch of dad ad material right here.”

  “You’re jealous. You want a baby, and a woman.” Liam reasoned.

  “Can’t have my baby.” Luke chimed in. “Or my woman.”

  “He wants a woman named Ivy.” Wylie added.

  Declan’s head whipped his around and he gave Dace a sharp look, “Are you going to make Ivy your woman?”

  “Let’s not talk about me and Ivy while you’re drunk.”

  In a loud whisper, Wylie informed his brothers, “Dace wants Ivy.”

  Still in the same spot and position he’d been in since Dace arrived, Luke added, “I think he’s going to punch you.”

  Wylie shrugged. “I’m bigger than him.”

  “You’re plastered, Wylie. I’ll kick your ass. Now shut up and sit down…coffee.” Dace ordered.

  “Why does everyone think Dace is the cool one?” Wylie questioned, coffee now in hand.

  “Because he’s a badass, or somethin’. I think it’s the motorcycle and tat’s.” Luke finally leaned forward, accepting a cup of coffee from Declan.

  After handing Wylie his cup of brew, Declan smacked the back of his head, “A butt hurt badass, ya pansy.”

  “Pansy? Me?” Wylie questioned. “He needs Ivy. Let’s call her.”<
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  Walking around the room with his hand out, Dace delivered some ass saving instructions, “Give me your phones – now.”

  “Hell no.” Luke protested. “I’m not callin’ her. I got a pregnant woman.”

  “So you keep telling us,” Dace said, taking Luke’s phone anyway, “You don’t even have her number, no one does. Not even…me.”

  Declan pulled his phone away from Dace’s outstretched hand, “Then what are you worried about, pansy.”

  “Uh, you drunk dialing Ma. She’ll be down here in no time and whoop your asses. Give me the phones and start dropping that coffee like you were dropping shots tonight.” Dace warned, “Or else…I won’t get my fucking four leaf clover.”

  “You’d do that to us?” Liam was offended, “But there’s five of us, one for each leaf.”

  Dace rolled his eyes, “It’s a four-leaf clover, four is not the same as five.”

  “You’re not a leaf.” Luke clarified, “You’re kind of a prick so you’re the stem.”

  Dace rolled his eyes contemplating whether or not he would get away with just having the stencil put on and not going through with the actual tattoo. He was done babysitting for the night and he’d only been there a handful of minutes. He wanted to leave before someone earned one of his fists to the jaw.

  Wisdom emerged through Luke, who seemed to be sobering quicker than the others, “The stem is the strong part that holds the leaves together though, we need a stem.”

  “Yeah.” Liam added, “That’s good shit, man. Dace is the stem. Be the stem Dace, it makes sense.”

  “Drink the coffee and I’ll be the…stem.” Dace lost his jacket and pulled off his shirt, ready for his fucking clover. “Jesus, I wish I was the drunk one – the shit I do for you boys.”

  Liam hopped out of the chair, “Stems turn.”

  “Don’t call me that.”

  “Ivy’s stalkers turn.” Wylie corrected.

  “Yeah, let’s not use that one either, asshole.”

  Luke tossed his hands up, “Sober…dude…with…combat boots on turn?”

  “His mama’s combat boots.” Wylie laughed, “Wait, his mama is our Ma. Nevermind.”

  “That’s it, I’m not getting a pot of gold under mine.”

  For the first time all night, it was silent. All eyes were on Dace when Wylie said, “Wow…you’re a dick. We won’t match. You broke bro code.”

  Dace shrugged with a pleased smile plastered on, he finally had them where he wanted them. Quiet. “Shut up and drink the coffee, or your leaf is cut off my clover too.”

  Finally, silence and coffee drinking.

  CHAPTER 17

  Luke woke up in a daze on his couch, the details as to how he got there not entirely clear. That was, until his shoulder ached and he was reminded of one event: he got matching tattoos with his brothers. When he looked at the unremarkable green clover, he sat up, leaning forward with his face resting in his hands. He was too old for this shit.

  There weren’t enough booze or a hangover grand enough to let him forget he was going to be a dad. That part of the evening was clear as day. He also learned something new about himself: he knew exactly how to be a first-class dick when he felt blindsided. He would have to remedy that before it was too late.

  Before the booze owned the night, his conversation with his brothers had cemented to memory. Even three sheets to the wind, their words had run through his mind all night, even in his dreams – that was, before the night turned to a blur and tattoos apparently happened.

  He slipped into their room on his way to take a shower and get his head straight so he could talk to Daisy. He had some apologizing to do and hoped like hell she could forgive him. Despite his behavior, the idea of losing her, or the baby, broke him.

  Over the course of endless shots of who the hell knew what, and pint after pint of local ale, he discovered who he really was and who he wanted to be. He also knew who he wanted to share that with. Wrapping his mind around the qualities his brothers shared was tough. It wouldn’t be an overnight process where he’d just accept everything they said, or what Daisy had said, but he would work on it though – he had a reason to work on himself.

  Standing under the warm shower, he prayed his guilt would wash away with the scent of stale booze. Daisy was his dream girl, though he never thought such a thing existed for him. She was perfectly made just for him. If her were being honest, he knew that all along, but he was just too stubborn to acknowledge it because he was scared.

  Loving that big meant he had something that big to lose, and karma didn’t play nice. That’s why guys like him didn’t have women like Daisy. He’d tempted karma with a life of sins. What he failed to realize was there wasn’t another shoe waiting to drop. He’d already paid the price for what he’d done with the guilt-ridden conscience he carried. This was the balance he so desperately needed to recognize. Sometimes the wrong thing is the right thing – the longer he let his brother’s words simmer, they made sense. Sometimes you do bad things for good reasons, and that could be okay.

  As he got out of the shower, he let those ideas sink in. He wasn’t fully subscribed to them, but he really wanted to wrap his head around it. He wanted Daisy and their baby. The only way that would work was for her to forgive him, and for him to forgive himself. He loved her, and he already loved that baby. The idea of becoming a dad pinched his heart in a good way. It was his clean slate, and his clean conscience. Maybe he deserved them after all.

  Standing in front of mirror, towel around his waist, he stared back at himself. He wondered who he really was or was meant to be. He knew who he wanted to be. Stroking his beard, he decided he wanted to be the man Daisy deserved and the father his child needed. He could do that, and if he sucked at it, he would try harder.

  He was once a soldier – the harder a mission, the harder he fought. This was his biggest battle yet, and he would fight harder than he ever had before, because they were worth it, and he deserved it. He would protect them both through their circumstance, find that which threatened her and put it away forever so they could start their life – together. When the door opened behind him, he stilled. Daisy.

  Daisy woke up to subtle noises in the bathroom. She looked at the empty side of the bed to her right before noticing Gibson laying outside the bathroom door. There was a pile of clothes next to the hamper, not in the hamper. Luke came home. She wandered to the living room where she found more clothes and a blanket on the couch where he’d slept. She picked up the shirt and immediately cringed at the odor. Smoke and booze. He’d been out at the bar, with his brothers, it seemed.

  After Luke left, City had called in the troops. The ladies each brought a dessert to share and tissues, then cried with her over ice cream, brownies, and chocolate milk until well past midnight when she finally convinced them she’d be fine alone. Though she felt awful, they’d made it better, and she’d felt better having them to lean on.

  Half a dozen brownies in, she’d decided she wasn’t going down without a fight. Convincing Luke he deserved this, and was a good man, was the plan. Their baby would be lucky to have him as a father. She would fight for them. Luke was always protecting everyone else – it was time someone did the same for him. She would gladly do so. She loved him.

  The pain in his voice and sting of his words weren’t for her the night before. He was punishing himself – trying to convince himself he wasn’t worthy. He wanted to believe awful things about himself because the truth was more than he could reconcile. He wanted that baby, he wanted her…he wanted to be a family, because that was the real Luke. He wanted normal – to bury his demons. He just didn’t know how. She’d help him.

  As she walked by the hamper, she dropped the shirt in before scooping up the rest of his clothes to toss in too. She startled when she noticed blood on the sleeve of his undershirt and worried he had fought or that something happened to him. Without hesitation forgoing the courtesy knock, she opened the bathroom door, a sudden urge to see him.


  Wearing only a low-slung towel around his hips, she drank him in. Their eyes locked through the mirror, and she moved in closer, but didn’t say a word. The new tattoo on his shoulder made sense of the blood on his shirt, putting her more at ease. He was fine.

  But were they?

  Daisy gently stroked the skin around his new art as she looked it over, offering a soft, barely-there smile.

  Leaning her head against his arm, they continued gazing at each other through their reflection, and without a word spoken, so much was said in that moment. Luke’s expression was sullen, full of regret, and his shoulders slumped forward. He was vulnerable.

  His beard looked different, and that was when she noticed the straight edge and shaving cream on the sink.

  Daisy picked up the shaving cream, dipped the brush inside, then gestured for Luke to take a seat on the edge of the bath. Shaving cream applied, she placed a folded hand towel over his shoulder and picked up the straight edge. Silence still lingering between them, she carefully removed his beard, one long stroke at a time, until his face was bare.

  With a gentle touch, she wiped away any remnants of her work before cupping his chin in her hands and tilting his head back so she could see him for what felt like the first time. This was the real Luke – the man who had been hiding behind his beard and every other façade he’d erected over the years. His vulnerability was visible — he was a broken man finding his way home.

  Something new danced in his eyes. They were lighter, and there was clarity where there was once a darkness that held him hostage. She sweetly smiled, and he smiled back, albeit subtly. In their silence, through the intimacy of the moment, they’d discovered something words could never define.

  His hands slid up her legs, disappearing under the oversized shirt – his shirt – she’d slept in. With his hands resting firmly on her hips, he pulled her forward, leaving a soft but sweet kiss on her belly. He rested his head there as his arms snaked around the small of her back, holding her firmly against him.

  With his forehead to her belly, he whispered, “I love you.”