She usually tried not to allow too much time for regret. She’d spent significant time in therapy working through the notion that life was too short to spend doing what was expected of her instead of what she wanted to do for herself.
But she was second-guessing why she’d called Kenny. Ezra, a guy she’d recently dated, had said they were moving too fast, but they rarely spoke during the week, and if they did, it was to arrange weekend plans and that was it. What defined too fast, too slow, or even too needy in a Tinder world that seemed focused on instant gratification rather than relationships?
For some reason, she’d felt compelled to see whether the spark between her and Kenny was as good as she’d imagined. To confirm if their connection was as real as she remembered, or whether she was simply romanticizing the whole thing.
Was she being too . . . much? She couldn’t tell. But what she did know was how speaking to Kenny had created butterflies in her stomach and placed a smile on her face for the rest of the afternoon.
However, realizing that she hadn’t said anything of value, just inane ramblings about being called babe and the fact that it wasn’t a booty call, was slightly embarrassing, although Kenny hadn’t seemed to mind.
She moved on to the water, dipping her tattoo equipment into one of the blues she’d mixed in little ink pots. It had taken her a long time to perfect the stylized waves that American Traditional required. In the beginning, they’d looked too . . . frothy and foamy, more like the Japanese style. But now she had mastered the smooth curves and sparse detail, which was why her clients tended to return over and over. Though with Trent’s help she had become an expert in many more styles over the years, this was the one she was known for.
Noticing that the palette of colors was starting to run a little low, she tapped her client on the leg and waited for him to remove his headphones. “You doing okay? Can I get you a drink, maybe?” she asked.
“No, I’m all good. But thanks for asking.”
“I need to go top up the ink. I’ll be back in a moment to let you know when I’m about to continue.”
She walked back to the supply cupboard, where Trent was currently mixing some colors.
“Doing anything good?” she asked.
“Single line of text down the spine of a newbie.”
“Ouch.” Lia winced in sympathy. “Good luck with that.”
“Fortunately she wants some stars on either side of the text, so I’m gonna start with the ones at the top. I have a feeling this tattoo might be over real quick. But what can I do? I warned her that this really wasn’t the tattoo for a beginner.”
“You could just run the needles without ink and show her what it feels like. I’ve done that for people who are unsure or in cases where I felt like they might be more committed to the idea of a tattoo rather than the reality of it.”
“I suggested that,” he said, “but she wasn’t having any of it. And the client always knows best, right?” he added sarcastically.
“Hey, look on the bright side. At least it isn’t a tribal tattoo,” she said, laughing. It was Trent’s least favorite kind of tattoo.
“There is that,” he said, laughing.
Harper arrived through the rear doors of the studio and Trent grinned. He put his ink down and hurried over to her, sweeping her into his arms and kissing her like she was the most precious thing in the world. Lia sighed happily. The softhearted romantic in her thought their story was book-worthy. It was the kind of tale that great movies were made from. Hell, Nicholas Sparks should write it. Or Harper should. She was the English teacher, after all.
Lia shook the lovey-dovey musings from her head and focused on mixing the yellow ink that she would use for the finishing touches to the beams being emitted from the lighthouse.
She thought about her previous conversation with her dad and felt guilt wash over her. Was he right that she should be helping her mom? The smart side of her brain realized her father had cast a hook and she’d bitten. This was all about her father manipulating them into doing his bidding. He hadn’t spoken to her since. No messages or calls. Ironically, the day after their conversation, a small piece had appeared in the local Orlando newspaper about the expo featuring a large photo of her with examples of her work. It had led to a couple of job opportunities, which she had politely declined, and an offer for another public speaking engagement. Despite her father’s disappointment, her career was on a huge upswing.
The loud growl of a motorcycle roared up the street, and Lia couldn’t help but look outside. It sounded just like Kenny’s bike had as he’d pulled up behind her car on the road. Maybe she could convince him to take her out on it the next time she saw him.
The bike pulled into a spot outside of the studio and her whole body tightened in excitement, but she forced herself to blow out a breath. There were lots of blue bikes in the world, and she’d only spoken to Kenny a couple of hours ago when he was safely ensconced in his garage. Working. Which is what she should be doing. Right now.
But she couldn’t take her eyes of the rider. Just in case. Because everything about him, from the perfect fit of those jeans to the strong shoulders reminded her of Kenny. Then he turned, helmet still on, looked straight at her through the studio window, and crooked his finger at her, encouraging her to join him.
With a grin, she put down the ink she was mixing and hurried outside just in time to see Kenny remove his helmet. His dark brown hair shot off in all different directions and his unshaved jaw was sexy as hell. Relief trickled through her. He was her own personal knight in shining armor.
“What are you doing here?” She laughed, throwing her arms around his neck. He’d driven all the way here to see her on a whim without knowing whether she would still be at work. Excitement filled her.
“The call call with no booty in it just didn’t cut it, babe,” he said, his smile showing off a single dimple. He unzipped a pocket and dug inside before pulling out a tissue, which he carefully unwrapped. Her bracelet.
She squinted as she studied his dark brown eyes. “Did you just call me babe?”
He fastened the bracelet onto her wrist. “Definitely not,” he replied as he wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her toward him. She let the gesture warm her. “Kiss me, Lia,” he said. “I missed you.”
His lips, soft and warm, brushed over hers in a kiss that was both welcome and challenge. Large hands spanned her back, holding her tight, as he unknowingly helped her escape the thoughts that were crowding her head, taking her away to a place where she could be herself.
“I missed you, too,” she mumbled against him, unable to stop grinning ridiculously.
He set her back a little. “How long ’til you are able to break free?”
“I have another five, maybe ten minutes. I’m just finishing up a tattoo, then I need to write up the bill. Then I should be able to go.”
“Perfect. Are you in your car? Or am I going to get you on the back of my bike?” He grinned.
Lia looked down at her navy-blue pencil skirt. “As much as I like that idea, I’m inappropriately dressed for the occasion. And yes, my rental car is around the back. But I was just thinking how good it would be to wrap my arms around you and go for a ride, so can I get a rain check?”
“Anytime you want to wrap any part of your anatomy around me is fine with me, babe,” he said, sliding his hand down her back to grip her butt.
She slapped him on the arm playfully. “Don’t. Call. Me. Babe.”
“Never,” he said. “What does a guy have to do to get a cup of coffee around this place?”
“My boss is the biggest coffee fiend ever. We’ve got plenty in the kitchen. Come on in, and you can hang out while I finish up.”
Reid stepped off his bike and turned straight into the path of an oncoming fist.
* * *
Reid spun and grabbed onto his bike. Before he could regain his bearings or understand what the hell had just happened, his assailant was on him again. “Where the fuck were
you?” the man shouted.
There was no way in hell he was going to allow the shit to be kicked out of him on a Miami sidewalk, and he definitely didn’t want Lia embroiled in whatever craziness was going down. Reid found his feet, pivoted on the spot, and nailed his attacker in the stomach.
“Trent,” Lia shouted. “What the hell? Harper, stop him.”
Trent? Her boss? He looked at the guy, who was currently doubled over.
“Trent,” another woman shouted, rushing from inside the studio. He followed the voice, and all sense of feeling disappeared from his hands and feet, leaving his head spinning with confusion.
Standing on the sidewalk in front of him, a thousand miles from where he’d left her in the safety of their parents, was his sister, Taylor. That was as far as he got in assessing the parallel universe he’d just stepped into before Trent’s fist again made contact with the side of his face, sending him crashing into the studio window.
“No,” his sister screamed. “Oh my God! Reid. Trent. Stop it.”
“You’re an asshole,” Trent yelled, wiping the side of his mouth with the back of his hand.
“What the fuck?” Reid said, climbing to his feet. “Taylor, I don’t—”
Another guy barreled out of the studio, bigger than the two of them. He grabbed hold of Trent, but Trent broke free and attempted to throw another punch. This time, Reid was ready and blocked him, but he had to give the fucker credit. The guy had moves.
Trent charged him and sent the two of them flying backward into the window of the studio, splintering the glass.
“You want to can this shit?” he asked with an umpf as Trent’s fist made contact with his stomach.
“Can this shit? You fucking abandoned her, you asshole,” Trent said, kneeling over him. The big guy had grabbed hold of Trent again, but he continued to shout. “To be victimized. Again. To be stalked by a psychopath. Again.”
He looked over to where Taylor appeared to be rooted to the spot. Suddenly the need to win drained from him. “What does he mean, again?” He wiped blood off his chin and looked over to his sister. “What’s going on, Taylor?”
“Her name’s Harper.” Trent spat blood onto the pavement, and pulled her close to his side.
“Her name is fucking Taylor, until she tells me different,” he responded, gingerly standing to his full height and gripping his ribs.
There was a clear battle line. His sister was standing on one side of the sidewalk with Lia and their friends, and he was standing on the other. He’d imagined this moment many times. Mainly he imagined that he’d find her on social media and send her a message. Even in his dreams it had felt like the coward’s way out, but it would have given her the option, control even, of deciding whether to meet. Occasionally he thought about returning to Chicago and simply turning up on her doorstep, or finding out where she was teaching and waiting for her outside of school. The dream always ended with his father making good on his promise to report him to the police for the bad judgments he’d made. There had even been a couple of times over the years where he’d imagined Taylor would come looking for him. One day he’d be working under the hood of a car at Kenny’s, and she’d walk in. But never in a million years had he considered that it would happen like this.
His sister took a small step forward, and even in the heat of the moment, he was relieved to see the protective asshole let her go. “Trent’s right. I only go by Harper now.”
Reid rubbed a hand across his brow. It felt as though somebody had taken an angle grinder to the side of his head. Taylor . . . Harper . . . Whatever name his sister was using, she looked incredible, and strong. And those green eyes of hers always went so fucking wide when she was distressed. From the golden tan, he’d have to assume she was safe, happy, and there by choice. Trent stood on one side of her, his arm tightly around her waist. The other tall guy had stepped to his sister’s other side. Even though he completely deserved it, it was hard not to feel displaced. Once upon a time it had been his side that she would run to. Once upon a time, he would’ve been the one to defend her.
Everybody was staring at him, waiting, he was sure, for him to say something profound. But all he could focus on was swallowing the lump in his throat that was threatening to choke him, and keeping his lunch down.
“Did you know about this, Lia?” Trent asked. For the first time since he’d been punched, Reid looked her way. Her face was pale, and he could see the cogs turning as she tried to figure out exactly what was going on. She walked to neutral ground, not with them, but not with him, either. He tried to recall whether he’d ever told her his real name was Reid.
She worked her hands up and down her arms and shook her head.
Voices rang out all around them.
Uncertain what her response would be, he walked toward Lia anyway and was relieved when she tentatively took the hand he offered.
“Can you all just shut the fuck up and calm the fuck down,” the tall guy said loudly, quieting the group. “As much as it was a ton of fun to see you guys shatter the front of the store, I think it might be best if we stopped providing YouTube-worthy moments to the residents of our neighborhood—who were already thinking, ironically, that tattoo artists lack class. Lia, you’re done, right?”
Lia nodded and squeezed Reid’s hand. “I just needed to finish a few details and take payment, but if you can do that for me that would be great.”
“Trent, you’ve got one of your regulars coming in with a half-finished portrait. Would love to step in and take it for you, but you know you’ve got to finish it.”
“Fuck,” Trent said, turning to face Taylor. He leaned forward and whispered something, and at first she disagreed with him, shaking her head before looking in Reid’s direction, but then continued to talk to Trent. Always playing the peacekeeper, the way she had between him and his father. Finally, Trent nodded in agreement. “I’m gonna go in and finish up, and Harper can stay with me. We’ll head over to Lia’s place when I’m done.”
Trent turned and took Harper’s hand, leading her inside the studio.
“Wait,” Reid called out. He couldn’t find her only for her to immediately disappear. “Taylor . . . I mean Harper. Can I speak with you alone for a second?” He needed to make some sense of what was going on. His feet were on sand that felt like it was continually shifting. He wanted . . . no, he needed . . . to know that they were going to be okay.
Taylor looked back toward the studio where Trent stood waiting for her, then back to him, clearly torn. “I need a minute,” she replied softly. “But we’ll come to Lia’s, I promise.” She squeezed her hands into fists. “It’s good to see you, Reid.” And with that, the sister who had suddenly crashed back into his life was gone.
“Lia, go get your stuff. I’ll wait out here with lover boy,” the tall guy said.
“Are you okay if I just go inside for a moment?” she asked Reid. “You aren’t going to do something stupid like drive off, are you?” In spite of the craziness, he liked that she’d checked on him. What he had to say to his sister was bound to have repercussions on their fledgling relationship. He’d have to face the reality that Lia might change her mind about him once she heard what he had to say. It was impossible to hide the guilty side of himself away from her any longer, and it stung that it was going to change how she saw him.
He nodded. “I’m good, but I really need a drink, babe.”
She arched her eyebrow at him, and he grinned in return. It was probably all kinds of wrong that he still checked out her ass as she walked into the studio, but hell, right now he’d take any moment of levity he could.
“Dude, just a warning,” the tall guy said. “You’re taking your life in your own hands calling her babe. I’m guessing you must be the missing brother.”
Reid nodded. “I didn’t realize she was missing, too.”
The guy looked toward the studio. “Not so much missing. She just had to come here to be found.”
“Is that some weird Buddha shit?
Because I am seriously not in the mood for motivational wisdom right now.”
“Nah. Not Buddha. That’s all me. I’m Cujo, and I’m a regular fucking sage,” he said, offering his hand. “Welcome to Second Circle.”
CHAPTER SIX
Lia opened the door to her condo and let Reid inside. He’d followed her home on his bike, so they’d been unable to talk, but he’d said nothing once they’d parked in the underground garage.
“Holy shit, Lia,” he said, looking out toward the water. “That’s some view.”
She dropped her keys on the side table, and placed her purse next to them. Sharing details about her wealth only seemed to cause problems. There had been at least two boyfriends who stuck around longer than they really wanted to because of her funds. So she’d never thought to prepare Reid for the reality of her life, nor had there been opportunity.
Lia walked over to the balcony doors and opened them wide. “Want to go outside for a while? I’ll get us some drinks.”
Reid dragged his hand along his jaw. “I don’t know what I want. My head feels like a car that hasn’t ever had an oil change. Overheated, poorly performing, and full of crap.” The smile he gave her was filled with sadness.
She squeezed his hand and headed to the kitchen. She grabbed a couple of beers from the fridge. Reid was leaning against the balcony, staring out into the distance. The deep blue rippling waters of Biscayne Bay had soothed her frayed mind on many occasions. She only hoped it was having the same effect on him.
The look on her best friend’s face had torn her apart. Harper had fluctuated between elation and disappointment. And Reid had looked shell-shocked as he started to put the pieces together, leaving Lia unable and unwilling to pick sides. But the look of abject loneliness on his face when he saw Harper standing with all her friends had forced her to break ranks and stand with him. No one in that situation should be left to stand alone.
The Darkest Link (Second Circle Tattoos) Page 10