by Avon Gale
But that wasn’t the worst of it. Oh no. That wasn’t what churned my stomach and raised clammy sweat on my brow and upper lip. That wasn’t what made me clench my hands into fists. That wasn’t what tightened my throat with paralyzing guilt.
What made me feel all that, what caused me to bite my tongue to keep from screaming in absolute fury, were the messy, jagged lines of spray paint that defaced the walls.
Because, see, I knew who’d done this. He might as well have signed it Azure like he did all his other work. This was a message. For me.
I’d recognize Blue’s style anywhere.
I didn’t say anything while the cops were there. I wanted to. Part of me wanted to send them right to Blue’s fucking doorstep. I wanted to make him pay for this. I wanted him to feel the rage I felt. I wanted him to hurt the way I did when I saw Jericho’s ashen face as he took it all in—including the graffiti.
I’d half heard his conversation with the police. I knew he had an insurance policy. I knew, in time, the damage could be fixed, glass reinstalled, art and equipment replaced.
That didn’t make any difference now. It wouldn’t make up for weeks or months of lost business. It wouldn’t change the fact that Jericho’s pride and joy had been vandalized. It wouldn’t take away the sense of violation. I felt it too—and this wasn’t my shop. It still meant something to me. If I was hurting to see it wrecked, Jericho had to be feeling it a hundred times as bad.
The sun had risen by the time we’d called the others. Zeek was in Chicago for the week, but everyone else was on their way to take stock of what had been destroyed or what was missing.
At some point, Aeryn from Perkatory appeared, bearing coffee and a bagful of chocolate muffins. She gave Jericho a long, sympathetic embrace and patted his bearded cheek when she leaned back. “I’m sorry, Jericho. I’ll bring over sandwiches for everyone later. My treat, okay? No arguments.”
Jericho didn’t look like he had it in him to argue one way or another. I kept waiting for him to explode, but instead he stayed eerily quiet. He wandered the shop, alternating between looking sad and stone-faced. Until, finally, my dad showed up.
Landon wasn’t the touchy-feely type, not even with me. But when he found Jericho, he clapped him on the back, then grabbed his nape and yanked him into a rough hug. They stood that way for a few seconds before my father let go.
Jericho stepped away, and in that unguarded moment, I caught a flash of his stricken expression.
My heart clenched, and the pain was so sharp I almost reached up to rub at my chest. I took a step toward Jericho, but as I watched, he got himself under control. He didn’t crumble. He squared his shoulders, lifted his chin, and the grief was gone like it hadn’t been there to begin with.
“Was anything taken?” Landon asked.
Jericho gave a jerky nod. “Both of my machines are gone.” He sighed. “It doesn’t really seem like it was about stealing, though. We have a small safe for when I can’t get to the bank to make a deposit before closing. As far as I can tell, it wasn’t touched.”
Landon’s brow furrowed. He looked around the lobby area, frowning as he inspected the scrawling graffiti. He cut a quick glance to me, and I wondered if he’d recognized Blue’s handiwork. He’d seen it before, of that I had no doubt. But he only narrowed his eyes and turned back to Jericho. “What did the cops say?”
Jericho lifted a shoulder. “Not much. They took pictures, filed a report, told me to give them a list of whatever’s missing. I have the security system but no cameras, and there aren’t any traffic cams nearby that might be useful. They didn’t bother to dust for fingerprints or whatever it is they do now. Said with the number of people we have coming in and out on a daily basis, it would be more trouble than it was worth.”
Landon grunted. “Pitiful.”
“It’s pretty much what I expected.” Jericho sighed. Glass crunched under his boots as he shifted. “I guess we’d better start cleaning up and boarding the windows.”
Landon squeezed his shoulder. “I have some plywood behind the shop. I’ll run and grab it.”
We spent the rest of the day cleaning.
I swept up the glass while Roxanne and Harriet searched through the remnants of the jewelry case to see if anything was salvageable. Landon and Jericho boarded the front windows. Pete tossed garbage and scrubbed the mess in the break room, where the contents of the fridge had been dumped on the floor.
It took hours to put the place back to rights—or at least as close as it was going to get for now. So much needed to be replaced. The Mac we’d used at the front desk was a lost cause. The phone had been smashed to pieces. Hell, even the chairs in the waiting room had been slashed and covered in spray paint.
And every last thing was my fault. With every minute that passed, I felt more and more like running to the bathroom to puke my guts out. Except there’d be nothing to bring up but bile. It’d been a challenge to force down a bottle of water earlier. I hadn’t looked twice at the sandwiches Aeryn brought over.
All I could think about was Jericho’s grief and how furious Blue must’ve been at me to come here and do this. I’d known him for almost a decade, and I’d never seen him do this kind of damage. He was short-tempered, but he wasn’t destructive, not the Blue I knew. He loved to create, not destroy.
Anger had driven him here, but more than that, pain. In spite of my rage, I could see that. It was the only reason I hadn’t said anything to Jericho yet.
Blue had done this to hurt me. Because as he saw it, I’d hurt him. Betrayed him. Whatever.
This was him lashing out at me like a petty, pissed-off teenager.
This was Blue getting revenge.
And it was because of me. I’d been the one to bring this down on Jericho’s shop. Blue would never have done this if not for me.
My fault.
The guilt grew and grew until I could barely stand to look at Jericho. Every time he tried to catch my gaze, I tore my eyes away. I kept my attention on the task at hand. I didn’t talk to anyone, but especially not Jericho. Truth be told, I didn’t have the vaguest idea what to say to him.
I owed Jericho everything. He’d helped me find the path of my heart. How could I possibly make up for what had been done to Permanent Ink? How could I stay his apprentice when me being in that role had led to this?
One by one, the others left. Finally it was just me and Jericho.
I watched warily as he crossed the lobby and touched the dried blue spray paint on the wall.
“I’m so sorry,” I said, the words sounding strangled. Remorse had my throat in a choke hold.
Silence greeted the statement. For several minutes, Jericho moved around the space, once again surveying the damage.
“Was this what you guys were doing last night?”
Jericho’s voice was so unexpected, I jumped. Then I processed the words he’d said, and my guts turned to ice water. “What?”
Jericho turned to look at me, his lips thinned into a disapproving line. “Did you know he was going to do this? It was him, right? Blue? Is that what you guys fought about?”
I shook my head. “No, of course not! I had no idea he was going to do this. None. I swear to God.”
“But you guys did fight?”
I frowned, looking away, and toed at a scuff mark on the floor. “Yeah, we argued, and yes, it was about you and the tattooing, but—”
“Promise me you didn’t know he was going to do this.”
I jerked my chin up and met Jericho’s stare. “I promise. I swear I would’ve tried to stop him if I knew. I would’ve warned you.”
Jericho rubbed a hand over his face. Exhaustion poured off him in waves. His hazel irises stood out sharply in contrast to the bloodshot whites of his eyes. Normally, he looked younger than his age, even with the graying hair. Right then, I could see every single one of his forty years. “Tell me exactly what happened.”
“He wanted me to work on this heaven spot with him. The side of this building
near downtown, but we would’ve had to rappel from the roof. I changed my mind. It was too fucking dangerous. I didn’t want to risk getting hurt.” I huffed out a frustrated breath. “We fought, and I told him you and I were together. I said maybe he needed to find something else to do, like I did. You know, like, find his passion. But he didn’t want to hear it, and I was tired of arguing, so I left. I went straight to your place.”
“And that’s all?” Jericho asked. “He didn’t threaten to mess up the shop?”
“No. I told you, I would’ve stopped him.”
Jericho’s eyes narrowed. “So why didn’t you speak up when the cops were here? Were you protecting him?”
I turned my head, my gaze landing on the plywood Jericho and Landon had nailed into place. It was a stark reminder of exactly what Blue had done. My stomach cramped, and I swallowed thickly. “I don’t know. I—I guess, maybe? He’s . . . he’s my friend,” I said helplessly. “But I was going to tell you, I swear.”
“Are you sure about that? Are you sure you weren’t pissed at me because I’ve encouraged you to give up the graffiti?”
Jericho’s soft words brought my head around. I stared at him, my hands sweaty and shaking at my sides. My heartbeat grew faster, a heavy, unceasing thud in my ears. “It’s not about that. I told you I wouldn’t have let him do this if I knew.” I searched Jericho’s expression, but he’d gone back to that blank, stony face. “I’m sorry. I never meant for any of this to happen, I swear. But if . . . If you really think I’d be okay with him doing this, let alone help him, you don’t know me at all.” The last word broke, and I chomped down hard on my lower lip to keep it from trembling.
He couldn’t really think I’d done this. Could he?
“Jericho?” My voice wavered. “Don’t you know me better than that? Don’t you know I lov—” I cut myself off. No way was I going to say that word when he was staring at me blank-faced and silent. Not if he could actually believe I’d knowingly let Blue come here and destroy his shop. My guilty conscience was eating away at me already. I couldn’t handle it if he honestly suspected I might be capable of going to his home, his bed, after having anything to do with wrecking Permanent Ink.
Jericho didn’t answer.
My eyes burned. Blinking hard, I struggled to shove the tears back down, to bury them deep where Jericho couldn’t see. “I’m sorry,” I croaked. “I know I should’ve spoken up earlier. I just didn’t know what to d-do.”
I staggered out the door before he could say anything—if he planned to.
I couldn’t suck in a full breath as I started down the street, not caring which direction. Away, just away.
It felt like a fist was crushing my chest.
Jericho
Jesus, what a fucking day.
I knew I should go after Poe. Of course he hadn’t known Blue was going to vandalize my shop, but my temper was as shattered as the glass I’d been crunching under my boots all day. I simply didn’t have it in me, in that moment, to deal with one more thing that was broken. And I was angry. Angry that someone Poe knew had done this over what I was sure was jealousy, angry that Poe hadn’t warned me that it was a possibility, angry that Poe would still consider this asshole a friend, or consider protecting him, when Poe knew how much the shop meant to me.
But that look on Poe’s face. It would be the penultimate mental photograph on the shitty slideshow of my day, with the last one being the sight of him slowly disappearing down the road while I stood there and did nothing to stop him. I knew that I needed to get myself together, though. Because I had an important decision to make here. It was clear that Poe had no intention of giving up graffiti—or his friends—and if that wasn’t something I could accept, then I needed to be prepared to end things.
The question was, could I accept it? If I wanted to be with Poe—and I did—then what other choice did I have? I wasn’t his father. Outside of work, I wasn’t his boss, either. If I wanted him to treat me like a partner, I had to be willing to treat him like one too.
And I couldn’t help but think how Poe had turned away from me and left. It reminded me of that goddamn story Landon had told me about the spaghetti pan. Was that how Poe felt? That we were a mistake and he’d rather throw away our relationship than try to fix it? Was I fucking fooling myself by thinking a relationship with someone so much younger than me could work, when he’d reacted exactly like he did with his father when something went wrong?
No. He didn’t give up on Blue, though he fucking should have. He’s upset and you’re angry. I told myself to calm down, and fixed my attention on the mess of my shop.
Most of the debris had been cleared up, and Landon had helped me board up the main window. Harriet had promised to update the shop’s Facebook page, and my staff had sworn up and down they weren’t going to abandon ship. Other than the thousands of phone calls I had to make, there wasn’t much I could do now but go home.
Instead, I stood there and watched the sun go down. I still couldn’t believe that my shop, my fucking shop, had been destroyed. All because of, what? Poe swore it was because Blue was angry at him for not rappelling down a building to tag it, but I wasn’t so sure. To me, the motive behind this was simple. Jealousy. And not because Poe was going to make money doing art. No, this was a far more personal kind of jealousy.
“You should get home.” The words came from Landon, who’d joined me on the sidewalk.
I glanced over at him and shrugged. “Probably, yeah.” I made no move to leave, though. As if staring at the wreckage of the shop I’d poured every last bit of my savings into would somehow make everything better.
“You don’t think—” Landon broke off. “It wasn’t my kid,” he said flatly. “Poe wouldn’t do this.”
“Hell, Landon.” I raked a hand through my hair. “I know that. But I’m pretty sure he knows who did.”
“Ain’t hard to figure out,” Landon said. “Blue’s been bad news since the day he showed up.” He glanced at me, clearly wanting to know where Poe was without asking me.
I sighed. I didn’t want to explain the fight we’d had yesterday, or the conversation in which I’d basically accused Poe of lying by omission to the cops to protect his friend. “I might have said something harsh. Fuck, Landon. It’s my—it’s my shop, man. I worked my whole goddamn life for this. And I don’t understand how Poe— He says he didn’t know Blue was planning this, but how could he not have fucking spoken up and said something the second we saw this? Or, fuck, warned me that it might happen?”
My voice went tight and my eyes burned as I fought to keep it together.
“I know.” Landon’s hand landed warm on my shoulder. “And you got insurance, yeah? My first garage burned down ’cause I hired some idiot who didn’t know paint thinner was flammable and refused to smoke outside. My whole place burns down and all that asshole ends up with is singed eyebrows.”
I wasn’t anywhere near the point where I could laugh, but that did get a sound out of me that wasn’t miserable.
“People look dumb without eyebrows,” Landon continued. It was, I realized, something Poe would say. They were more alike than maybe they realized.
“Poe thinks he did this because Blue’s jealous of the tattooing,” I said.
Landon snorted. “Poe never has figured out that kid has a thing for him. You gonna press charges?”
“No idea.” I squinted at the shop, a dark, empty space covered by boards and spray paint. “Right now I want to find that punk and beat the shit out of him, even if he’s friends with my boyfriend.”
“Yeah, well, I’m not bailing your ass out of jail,” Landon said. “Even if you’re my son’s boyfriend.” He made a face. “Saying that out loud still sounds all kinds of wrong, but look. I saw my kid walking down the road like his heart was broken, so I’m kinda not sure if I should be pissed off at you or what. I mean, I get it. He’s a trial.”
“This isn’t his fault.” My eyes burned with tiredness and emotion, and I knew that I had to st
op sulking and go find Poe. The damage was already done, at least as far as the shop was concerned. “I know he thinks it is, but it isn’t.”
“He thinks you’re mad at him. And Poe hates disappointing people. Hell, I think maybe he thinks that’s why his mama left.”
My heart squeezed at that. Of course I knew that about Poe. And it had nothing to do with him thinking of me as his father. He hated thinking that he’d let me down because he cared about me. I sighed, reached into my pocket, and grabbed my keys.
“You asked me what I saw in Poe, why I wanted to be with someone so much younger than me.”
“Mmm.” Landon gave me an indecipherable look.
I closed my palm around the keys, feeling the metal edges bite into my hand. “I spend a lot of time covering up tattoos. It’s hard not to think about them as past mistakes that people want to hide. But something about Poe . . . it makes me remember that nothing’s permanent. Everything can be changed. I’d started thinking about life in terms of past mistakes that had to be covered up and changed into something else. I’d forgotten that what I do isn’t erase someone’s past mistake; I change it into something better.”
I looked up at Landon. “Poe’s young, and yeah, that’s maybe part of it. But he’s helped me realize that life isn’t static, and I’ve stopped thinking of things in terms of before and after. It’s a lesson I don’t think I knew I needed.”
Landon regarded me solemnly for a long time, then nodded once. “Pretty metaphor.”
From anyone else, it would sound flippant. From Landon, I knew what he meant. Something in my chest eased, and I slipped the ring of my keys onto my index finger and went to hug my friend. “Thanks.” I didn’t mean for helping me with the store. I appreciated that he’d kept his peace about Poe, had stuck by me as my friend and waited for me to figure my shit out.
He clapped me on the back. “I’m gonna get some dinner. So I’ll be away from the house for, oh, an hour or so. But I told Poe I didn’t want to see you walking around my house in your boxers, and I mean it.”