by Colt, Shyla
“Yeah, but you know how fast time flies. We’ll blink, and it’ll be our forties.”
“So?” she asked, shaking her head.
He shrugged. “Makes a person wonder what their contribution to the world is, or why they were brought here in the first place.”
“What about Jinx Tattoos? You guys are taking names and kicking ass. You just did an interview with the local paper. That’s not something a mediocre shop does,” she said.
“Yeah, I mean, business wise I’m doing okay, just…”
“Ahh, so we’re talking about an ailment of a spiritual nature, then?”
“Ave.”
“What? If it’s not logical, it’s of the heart. Why do you always get antsy when I mention this?”
“Because I don’t know if I believe in this shit. I mean, what kind of God lets all this crap happen to innocent people”
“One who believes in free will. He allows us to do what we choose, even when it’s soul killing and bat shit crazy acts.”
“Why?”
“Because, if He didn’t, we’d be nothing more than puppets. This forces us to be accountable for our actions.”
“You believe that? After everything?” he asked.
She sighed. “After what happened to my father you mean? Yes. He made bad decisions, and it cost him his life. Catalyst being, my mother got out of there and made a better life for us.” Her heart turned to lead as she thought about her father and his obsession with purifying Ireland. They’d lost him to a bomb. He lived by the gun, and he died by it. Her mother had distanced herself from his associates and casually applied for a working visa. The rest was history.
“I’m sorry.” He set his spoon down and placed his hand over hers. “That was shitty of me.”
She shook her head. “No, it’s okay. You asked an honest question. I try not to think about that too much, Enzo. It’s no use rehashing a past none of us can change. If anything, I used it as a model for what not to do. We can’t control the things that happen to us. But we can decide what to do with the rest of our life afterward.”
“You make it sound so damn easy, Ave.”
“Ack, I never said that. I’m a bag full of crazy on a good day and fully aware I’m a thirty-four-year-old comic book author who has a sorely lacking social life, a D.O.A. love life, and very few friends.”
“You’re brilliant, and you know it,” Enzo countered.
She laughed. “To you maybe.”
“More than me. I’ve watched you work your ass off to get where you are. I remember when you were pounding the pavement submitting your resume everywhere, doing any sort of pro bono work you could to get your name out there. You worked a bevy of craptastic jobs to support yourself while you went after your dream. Now, you’re well on your way to achieving them. Own that shit.”
Heat rushed to her cheeks, and she glanced away. She would never possess his swagger. Some days her plentiful contracts felt like a streak of good luck, though she had the work history to prove it to be anything but that.
“One day some man is going to swoop in and whisk you away from me. Then who’ll be here to call me on my shit?”
“Your mother, and come on, you know that’s never going to happen. I’ll always have time for you.” It could be you if you’d let yourself try with me.
“Even after you get hitched and pop out a few babies?” He met her gaze, pinning her to the spot with his thoughtful expression.
Something she couldn’t name crossed his face.
“Well, thank you for marrying me off and knocking me up.”
“What? We both know you’re dying to have kids.”
“With the right man…someday, yes. At this point, I’ve never had a relationship make it to the one year mark. I’m a lot to handle, and it’s going to take one hell of a man to get me even half as well as you do.” She willed him to finally see what was in front of him. They were a key and lock, made to fit and always working in tandem. It was a rarity.
“We’re not getting any younger, Ave. That day is coming around the corner.”
Unless you step up to the plate. She glanced out the window, afraid he would see the longing in her eyes. Maybe he’s trying to tell me we are never going to happen and I need to move on without him. And my ass is too stupid to realize it. “I don’t feel the crush of age the way you do. I think it’ll happen organically. Life has a way of putting you on the right path eventually. For now, I’m in love with my life. I love my vintage two-bedroom apartment in the charming historic building. The freedom of being a freelancer, and the point I’ve reached in my career. Why borrow trouble worrying about what may or may not happen?”
“Just like that?” Enzo snapped.
“No, it’s a conscious choice I make daily. You know I live in my head. I’ve been in the dark before…really deep. I’m trying not to return there. I didn’t like it much the first time.”
Enzo nodded and shoveled a spoonful of oats into his mouth. He was a brooding thinker, her creative best friend. Most only saw the successful tattoo artist with a hot bod, and what they took for a short fuse. While he might have some anger issues about certain events, he never flew off the handle or did anything impulsive. He was a brooder. A deep thinking individual who camouflaged his sensitivity with humor, crassness, and walls.
She’d scaled them one by one over the years, but an unbreakable obstacle remained. She forced herself to eat her breakfast. Times like this, it was best to let the silence remain between them. His birthdate was always rough. She never really understood why he wanted her with him. He never went into detail, simply saying it made him feel better.
She was a sucker that way, not wanting to bring up painful memories of his past. Maybe I should practice tough love? How could she when the majority of his formative years had been hell? The things that happened to you in the first five years shaped your life forever, she knew that more than most.
They finished their meal, and she took the plates away, washing them by hand to give herself time to figure out how to best approach him.
“So what movie are we starting with?” she asked, wiping the kitchen island down. The horror movie marathon had grown legendary. People would show up with birthday offerings, popcorn, candy, and snacks. He celebrated the traditional way with family the day after his birthday. This day was just for them.
“The bloodier, the better,” he answered.
“Hmmm, classic or modern?”
He leaned in closer. “That depends on what you have in mind.”
“Dead Alive or Saw, the first film.”
“Hmmm. Dead Alive. I could use a bit of laughter with my gore.”
“Excellent choice. Morning margaritas?” she asked, quirking an eyebrow up.
He laughed. “Yeah right.”
She laughed with him and retrieved a bottle of scotch and two glass tumblers. Setting the personalized glasses onto the counter that she’d brought back from Ireland on a visit, she moved to the fridge for the ice. “You get the movie cued up, and I’ll be in a minute,” she said.
“On it.”
Aibhlinn then pulled out the plastic black ice tray and cracked the round ball of ice out of its mold. Setting one gently into a glass, she repeated the process, proud of the habits Enzo picked up from her. Her love of fine whiskey was another trait she’d inherited from her father. Back home, people took their drinks quite seriously. While her mother could drink with the best of them, she wasn’t as particular on her pick of poison.
She poured them both a healthy dollop and placed them—along with the bottle—onto a chocolate wood breakfast tray she’d bought. It was amazing how many of her touches she could see throughout his house. If she’d left it up to him, the place would still be a barren bachelor’s pad. The man could be his own worst enemy. It was like he didn’t believe he deserved happiness. She entered the room, set the tray on the black table in front of the couch, and sank onto the soft grey cushion.
“You ready?” he asked.
<
br /> “Let the horrorathon begin,” she replied solemnly with a nod.
He snickered and pressed play.
As the movie began, she tucked her legs under her and leaned into his side. It was the only time she could get this close casually. His body exuded heat, and the scent of something dark and delicious seeped from his pores. She knew the brand of body wash he used, but it was something about his chemistry that turned the scent into an indescribable buffet for the senses. Content, she let herself get lost in the movie.
“The nineties gave us such great one liners,” Enzo noted as the priest showed off his ninja assassin skills while claiming to kick ass for the Lord.
She laughed. “Well, yeah, but so did Peter Jackson. He’s a special kind of sick and twisted, though he hides it well these days. I mean, Meet the Feebles?”
“Truth. I’d like to see him do another horror movie.”
“It’ll never happen. He knows where his bread and butter lies,” she said.
“That’s the double edge sword of fame I suppose. When you’re just making a name, you’re not expected to do anything in particular. The world is your playground, and the only limitation is your imagination. Then you get recognition, get labeled, and wind up stuck in a box. He’s still making Lord of the Ring films how many years later?”
“I don’t know, he has a cult film following, too, though. That’s something to be proud of. Plus, there was District 9. That was a step back toward those movies where he really flexed his creative muscles and stepped ‘outside of the box’,” she said using air quotes.
“Yeah, that’s true. I forgot about that one. I actually liked it a lot.”
“I know. I did, too.” She smiled up at him.
“Well, you do tend to have pretty good taste.”
“Shut up, I’m awesome,” she retorted.
“Yeah, you are. Thanks for hanging with me.”
“Hey, traditions are meant to be kept,” she replied, careful to keep things light.
They returned their attention to the movie, and she allowed herself to enjoy his closeness.
A knock sounded on the door halfway through the movie.
Enzo pressed pause. “Got to be Rhys. No one else gets up this early.”
“I’ll get it,” Aibhlinn said, eager to put some distance between the two of them. It was a little too easy to pretend things between them could be romantic behavior. She peered out the window above the door and grinned at the sight of the blond male with green eyes. The baby of the brothers, he had a lightheartedness about him. She opened the door. “Rhys.”
“Aibhlinn,” Rhys cried, sweeping her up into his arms.
“I told you about treating her like a doll,” Enzo barked from the couch.
Aibhlinn giggled.
“Should we royally piss him off, then?” Rhys asked.
She nodded her head.
“When are you going to let me make an honest woman out of you?” Rhys asked, loud enough for Enzo to hear.
“I don’t know. What do you have to offer?” Aibhlinn asked in a sultry voice.
“Okay, seriously?” Enzo grumbled.
She and Rhys laughed.
“What? I only came here to see Aibhlinn,” Rhys defended.
“No way, man, it’s my day. Get your own girl,” Enzo growled.
Rhys’ eyes widened.
Aibhlinn quickly looked away, ignoring the blood that rushed to her face.
“I am,” Rhys said.
“Pain in my ass,” Enzo stated as his voice drew near. He entered the living room and scowled at his brother who held out a bag.
“Don’t shoot the messenger. It’s from Mom.”
“And she told you to bring it to me at the ass crack of dawn?” Enzo asked.
“She said first thing, and then proceeded to call me to make sure.”
“What is it?” Enzo asked.
“No clue, bro. She gave it to me last night when I was over there for dinner. Happy womb liberation day.”
“Thanks,” Enzo grumbled.
“Well, I’ll let you two do whatever it is you do when you’re together,” Rhys said.
Enzo rolled his eyes. “I’m starting to think you have a crush on my girl for real,” Enzo accused, wrapping his arm around her shoulder.
“All I’m saying is, Netflix and Chill has led to many babies, so please be safe,” Rhys teased.
Enzo stepped forward.
Rhys moved back, laughing. “I’m headed to the gym now. I got an early appointment that’ll take a good chunk of my day up.”
“Where do they want it?” Enzo asked.
“A back piece. Luckily, it’s not their first. I always cringe when first times come in and try to do a back piece in one sitting.” Rhys shook his head.
Enzo snorted. “Call me if you need anything.”
“We won’t, and if we do, I’m calling Noah. It’s your day.” Rhys and Enzo fist bumped. “See you soon, pretty girl,” Rhys said, giving her a hug before he disappeared out the door.
She spun around. “Open the bag.”
He laughed and removed the red tissue paper. “Oh, man, she did good.” He pulled out a bulky box set. “We are watching Kill Bill next.”
She leaned in and read the description. It was a gift set featuring Quentin Tarantino’s best and bloodiest. “I love your mom. She’s so cool.”
“Trust me, the feeling is mutual with your mom. Come on, let’s finish our movie before we’re interrupted again.” Enzo led her back into the living room.
Once again, she was lost to her thoughts of what if. Enzo was the sun. She had no choice but to keep circling him.
We fight it down, and we live it down, or we bear it bravely well,
But the best men die of a broken heart for the things they cannot tell.
“Things We Dare Not Tell” ~Henry Lawson
Translations:
A leanbuh (uh LAN-uv): My child
Chapter Two
Enzo
is mind had been on Aibhlinn all day. Their relationship was shifting, and he couldn’t put his finger on the catalyst. Last night, he’d noticed how well she fit into his side, and how full and firm her breasts were. It made him nervous. He’d placed her in a box and tried not to think about it for a reason. He finished up the color for the full serpent sleeve he was working on and wiped it down. He and Snake, a local biker, had been trying to complete the piece for the past few months.
“I think we got it, brother,” Enzo said, pushing away from the chair.
“Yeah?”
Pride filled him. The green was bright and the lines were crisp and sharp. The serpent slithered its way around his arm. The head rested at his shoulder, jaws open and ready to strike. He filled in the negative space with black and small references to his motorcycle club. Sometimes, the rougher crowd came in. He didn’t mind. As long as he gave respect, they returned it and their money flow was constant. He’d built up this shop on the money of bikers.
“Damn, man. I can’t wait to see it completed.” Snake unfolded his six foot plus frame from the chair and walked over to the mirror. He twisted his way to the left and right, examining it with shrewd narrowed eyes. “It looks fucking excellent. You always do good work. The boys appreciate it.”
“I appreciate you guys. You gave me a shot when no one knew my name, and kept food on my table.”
“No one else we’d trust more,” Snake said.
Enzo nodded his head, thinking of the times he’d gone to the club to do a tattoo party, or mark one of their women with the club’s emblem. It was a different world, for sure. “I know you know the drill. Take the bandage off in three to four hours, and apply a light layer of Bacitracin, three to four times a day. Keep your hands clean when you’re handling it, and if you have any issues, let me know.”
“Will do, Enzo. How much do I owe you?”
“Three hundred.”
“Well worth it,” Snake replied as he peeled off four hundreds, giving him a hefty tip.
“I appreciate it,” Enzo said. He smoothed a layer of Bacitracin onto the tattoo, wrapped it up, and sent Snake on his way.
Cheered by the money made, and the tattoo finished, his black mood lifted. He whistled to himself as he cleaned up his area and prepped for his next piece.
“Well good morning, sunshine,” Noah greeted.
“Morning?” Enzo responded, wondering why the man was greeting him hours after they’d started their work day.
“You finally look fit for small talk,” Noah noted by way of explanation. “How was the movie marathon?” he asked as they shot the shit between customers.
“Good, man. We threw some Kill Bill into the mix. I hadn’t seen that in a while.”
“Tarantino is a sick bastard, but a brilliant genius at the same time.”
“Right? Makes you wonder what the hell goes on in his brain if that’s what he puts down,” Enzo said.
“How’s my Irish sweetheart doing? I haven’t seen her around in a while,” Noah said.
As his former master, the older man knew Enzo—and those closest to him—well. The stars had aligned when Noah agreed to go in on a shop with him. He’d spent a lot of time freelancing, doing conventions, shows, and operating his own shop, Inked. This was a side-gig, he truly didn’t need. But they worked well together, and as a mostly silent partner who showed up one or two days a week, Noah earned a decent profit with little work.
“Doing good. She was holed up finishing off a deadline.”
“She works too hard,” Noah said.
“Yeah, try telling her that.”
Noah snickered. “Well, you can’t. That’d be the pot calling the kettle black. She still single?”
“Why? Are you looking to rock a cradle, old man? I already had Rhys sniffing around her,” Enzo grumbled.
Noah laughed. His mustache curved up and he shook his head, sending his dark brown ponytail swaying. “No, but if I did, it’d serve you right. I never could figure out why you ain’t scooped that girl up yet. Not only is she cool as hell and hot, but she truly loves your punk ass.”
“You know how love and relationships screw everything up. Sex makes things messy and not in a good way. I get my itch scratched, and I avoid the bitching, moaning, and deception.”