“Do you like it?” I pull the latex gloves off and run a hand through my dark beard.
Piper’s face splits into a wide smile as she angles the handheld mirror to take a look. “I love it,” she gasps cheerfully. Her friend, Beth, snaps a few pictures and squeals as they look at the stupid, happy dolphin. While they’re busy texting and posting pics of the new tat everywhere, I clean up my station and wipe everything down for the night.
I go over the after-care routine with her and cover the tattoo in a bandage. These are the days I have to remind myself that it’s their body and not mine. Besides, I’m sure not many people out there would want their bodies to look like mine. Full sleeves of various colors and shades cover my arms. There isn’t much skin left to tattoo on my upper back and chest. Each one has special meaning. Maybe the dolphin is significant to her in some way. Maybe she’s related to Flipper or something like that, but who am I to judge.
Okay, fine, I judged a little.
I chuckle lightly at that thought as I watch the two girls walk out of the shop. As the bell above the door jingles upon their exit, Ty, the co-owner of the shop, swats me on my shoulder.
“Another freshy picking from the board?” he laughs as he clicks away at the computer, checking over his appointments for the night.
Shaking my head, I lean back in the chair next to him. “Yep. But money is money.”
Ty laughs in agreement. “Damn, I’m booked up solid tonight,” he boasts, grabbing a few release forms from the file cabinet next to the front desk.
“Good for you, man. I’m done for the night. Gonna get out of here, maybe head down to the bar for a bit.” Lexie, the body piercer, is also on for the night. So even though Ty is booked through his shift, we’ll still be able to accommodate any walk-ins.
“Grab a smoke before you leave?” Ty grabs his cigarettes from under the front counter and tips his head toward the door.
“Sure.” I walk through the shop, admiring the business I’ve helped build from the ground up.
We plop down onto the small bench out in front of the shop. The sea breeze washes over us—briny and fresh; it’s perfect. In fact, pretty much everything about our location is perfect. When I relocated here three years ago, I never thought Long Beach would be where I’d stay forever. Now, I can’t imagine not being a part of this community. It’s trendy and hip—the ideal location for a kick-ass tattoo shop.
“Everything going okay with Nikki?” Ty asks after cupping his hand around his lighter.
Shrugging, I light mine and lean back in my seat. “She’s fine. Getting settled.” He must be able to tell I don’t feel like talking about it much because he doesn’t ask anything else. Instead, he turns the conversation back around to the shop. Supplies that need ordering, machines needing updating. Regular everyday shit that I just don’t want to deal with right now.
Ty stands and puts out his cigarette just as his first appointment shows up. “Hey, guys,” Ty greets Freddie and Simone. They’ve been friends for a while, repeat customers. “What are we doing today?” Ty asks as Freddie unfolds a piece of paper from his pocket.
“This,” Freddie explains as he hands over a piece of paper with a tiny footprint on it. “I was thinking right here on my calf.” Freddie leans down, drawing an imaginary circle around the area he’s planning on using.
“Sweet. Let’s get this started,” Ty says as he ushers the young couple into the shop.
Crushing the butt of my cigarette on the ground, I let the last puff of smoke billow out of my mouth, curling random shapes into the air. I know I should quit; it’s a nasty habit, but addictive as fuck. And honestly, with the amount of stress in my life, all the shit going on with Nikki, there’s only so much I can take. So quitting isn’t exactly high up there on the list of ‘things that need to be accomplished yesterday.’
Rounding the corner, I pull my keys out of my pocket. The glare from the sun off a building blinds me for a second and the keys slip through my fingers. When I kneel down to pick them up, someone comes crashing into me.
“The fuck?” I yell as some punk-ass kid rolls away from me on his skateboard.
Laid out on my ass, people walk around me on both sides, like I’m in their way.
“You okay, man?” A gruff voice asks.
The sun is behind him, so I can’t see his face clearly. He extends his hand to help me up. As his fingers curl around my hand, warmth races across my skin. It could just be the early summer heat, but I really don’t think so. It’s the same feeling when I have the tattoo needle in my hand—buzzing with excitement.
When I’m back on my feet, I brush off my legs. “Thanks. That kid came out of nowhere.”
“Yeah, I know,” he says, running a hand nervously through his light blond hair.
His eyes rove over my body, from head to toe and back again, before settling on my arm and the tattoos covering it. “Nice artwork. Did they hurt?”
“Nah, a puppy licked this one on,” I joke, pointing at an intricate piece wrapping around my bicep. We both share a laugh. Realizing we’re still standing in the middle of a decent amount of foot traffic, we step to the side and move out of the way of the people filing around us. Lifting my sleeve up a little, I show him the piece on my shoulder. “This one killed as it healed. Moving was a real bitch. You don’t realize how much you do this,” I move my arm up and down, “on a daily basis.”
He leans in to take a closer look at the tattoo. His face is so close to my skin I can feel his warm breath on my arm. Reaching out to touch the skull that morphs into a woman’s face on my arm, he stops before actually grazing my skin. “Sorry,” he pulls his hand back. “It’s a great tattoo. I’m actually on my way to get one now,” he explains. “There’s a shop around the corner that’s supposed to be the best in town, at least that’s what I’ve been told.”
I know he’s talking about my shop and pride bubbles in my chest knowing that my work has built up a good reputation. “That’s actually my place. I’m Beckett, by the way.”
“Dax,” he introduces himself, jamming his hands in his pockets and rocking on his heels. “So, you do tattoos then?”
Scrubbing a hand over my beard, I pretend to think about his question before saying, “Yeah, I know a thing or two about them.” Playfulness fills the space between us, and my eyes could be playing tricks on me, but I’m pretty sure a light pink tinges his cheeks.
“Come on. I’ll walk over there with you.” Tipping my head down the street, a small smile pulls at my lips. Since we’re only around the corner from the shop, it doesn’t take longer than two minutes to walk there. Holding the door open for him, I let Dax walk into the shop first. A gesture of courtesy, not at all out of wanting to check him out.
But, hell, while I have the chance, I might as well stare my fill. He’s built, but not in that overly bulky way. More like he takes really good care of himself, without going over the top. His legs are long and lean, but still very muscular. I wonder what they would look like around my waist.
Shaking away those thoughts, I follow in behind him. Lexie walks up to the front counter to greet us. When she sees it’s me, she shoots me a perplexed look. “Thought you were done for the day?”
“I am. I mean I was, but now I’m not.” Stumbling over my own words makes me feel like a bit of an idiot. “Dax, this is Lexie. She’s our piercer.”
“Nice to meet you,” Lexie purrs, extending her hand to Dax over the counter.
They shake hands and then Lexie leans over the counter, pressing her tits together as she does so. Shaking my head at her overt display, I can’t help but laugh when she asks Dax if he’s interested in an apadravya.
Dax scratches his head as his face twists in confusion. “Um, can’t say I know exactly what that is.”
At his confession, Lexie reaches under the counter and pulls out her binder of piercing pictures. Rolling my eyes at her outward flirting, I lean against the counter and look on wordlessly. “Here. I’ll show you.” Her words fall
from her mouth like honey, seductively attempting to entice him into something about which he clearly knows nothing.
When she opens to a page with a few apa piercings, Dax’s eyes widen in shock, I think. It could be interest, but mostly I think it’s fear. “Uh, no thanks,” he chokes out, pushing the binder back to Lexie. “I think I’ll stick to the ink.”
“Suit yourself, but for the record, it makes women go crazy. They’ll keep coming back for more.” Lexie winks before putting her precious binder away. She must flip through that thing at least a few times a day.
The perv.
Though I can’t say I haven’t enjoyed more than my fair share of looking, too.
Dax shakes his head and holds his hands up in mock surrender. “Really, I’m good. Thanks.”
Chuckling at the interchange I’ve just witnessed, I bring Dax back to my station. “She’s harmless, really. A bit of a flirt.”
Dax laughs as he leans against the wall. “A little? Really?” he jokes sarcastically. Shaking his head, he folds his arms over his chest. I can’t help but gape at his arms—strong and sculpted without being ridiculous.
“So . . .” Clearing my throat, I pull out my sketch book. When I swivel back to face him, I try my best not to stare at his arms again, but it’s really quite impossible. “What were you thinking of getting?”
Dax pushes off the wall and takes his wallet out of his back pocket. He pulls out and unfolds a piece of paper. “This,” he says, handing me the simple, but bold design.
Turning the paper around in my hands, I can’t seem to figure out which way the design goes. Dax takes it from my hands and rights it. “It’s a Celtic knot,” he explains as he leans back against the counter. “Actually, it’s a family insignia.”
“Sweet. Yours?” Dax doesn’t really sound like an Irish name, but it could be a nickname for all I know.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see him stiffen at my question. Keeping my focus on the design, I let the bit of awkwardness fill the small space of my station.
When I think he’s not going to say anything, he clears his throat. “No, not my family. Just someone who was very important to me, that’s all.”
The tone of his voice, the thick sadness in which his words are covered doesn’t sound like anything that’s worthy of a “that’s all” kind of statement. Looking down at the piece of paper, I realize it’s an image he printed off the internet.
After a brief pause, he adds, “We served together, in the Army. I made it out. He didn’t.”
Something in the air changes. Dax seems a little more on edge, not relaxed and calm like when we were out on the street talking. Maybe he’s having second thoughts about the tattoo—that’s not too farfetched. People have doubts about something so permanent all the time.
With a few quick sketches on the paper, I add to the simple image he has in mind. Maybe a touch of personalization will help ease his mind. Moving to stand next to him, I show him the additions. We both lean up against the counter and it’s impossible not to notice the similarities in our builds. His scent and his heat don’t go unnoticed either.
As he looks over the enhanced design, I talk him through what I would do to the rest of it. “If you give me a few days to work on it, I can really make something out of it. It wouldn’t be some stock image. Plus, it’ll give you some time to think about whether you want something so permanent.”
“Yeah,” Dax agrees, handing me back the design. “That sounds like a good idea. Thanks a lot, man.”
A smile plays across his face. Right before he looks like he’s about to say something, Lexie rushes into the room with the phone in her hand. “Beck, it’s Nikki.” There’s panic in her voice, which immediately makes me think the worst.
Grabbing the phone from her hand, I walk out of the room before I even think to make arrangements with Dax for his tattoo. “What’s going on?” I ask with panic in my voice. Closing the door of the extra work station, I sink into the chair and wait for what I’m sure is bad news.
“Mr. Ridge, I’m Kelly Griffin, a nurse at the New Found Life Rehabilitation Center. Your sister lashed out at an orderly today when she was being transported from a treatment room back to her room. We had to sedate her and record the incident on her files. The orderly wasn’t hurt in any way, but since she had to be sedated, we needed to notify you of what happened.”
Scrubbing a hand over my face, relief washes over me. Lashing out is something I can deal with. Her hurting herself or relapsing—again—would be among the things I can’t deal with. “Okay, thank you for letting me know. I still can’t see her for two weeks, right?”
“That’s right, Mr. Ridge. As long as she continues to follow the rules and doesn’t have any more run-ins with the staff, she’ll be allowed to have visitors in two weeks.” The nurse’s voice carries an air of professionalism without sacrificing any compassion.
“Great. Thanks, and please let me know if anything else happens.” We end the call and it breaks my heart a little to know I can’t even talk to her, hear her own voice and have her tell me how she’s doing. I know it’s the best for her. I know she needs to be there in order to get better, but it kills me that she has to be there in the first place.
By the time I make it back into my room, Dax is gone, but his design sits on the countertop, a note written across the bottom.
Can’t wait to see what you come up with. Will call in a few days to set up an appointment. Looking forward to seeing you again.
Reading it over a few times, I wonder if the last line means what I hope it means. Because there isn’t a single part of me that isn’t excited to see him again.
“What’s going on with you, smiley?” Chloe jokes, making fun of the stupid grin I haven’t been able to wipe off my face since leaving Beckett’s tattoo shop a few hours ago.
“Nothing,” I deflect. After huffing out a “whatever,” Chloe drops a few grocery bags down on the counter. A twinge of guilt twists in my side over not having thought to do the food shopping while she was at work. Even though I’ve been here for just over two weeks now, I haven’t begun looking for a job just yet. The truth is I don’t know what I want to do exactly. On some days, going back to school seems like an exciting option. On others, the thought of being stuck in a classroom or in front of a computer is stifling. Those are the days my anxiety gets the best of me. The only way for me to calm myself down enough is to go for a run along the beach.
Listening to the sounds of the waves crashing along the shore, letting the cool sea air fill my lungs, those seem to be the only way for me to be able to soften the trauma of the war.
“You in there somewhere?” Chloe snaps her fingers in front of my face as she opens up a bottle of water.
“Uh, yeah. Sorry.” We sit at the small eat-in-kitchen table.
“So, what did you do today?” she asks as she begins to flip through a magazine.
“Nothing much. Found a tattoo shop.” She closes her magazine and folds her arms over it, sitting up straight in her chair.
“All right, I’m listening. A tattoo? You never mentioned anything about that.” There’s enthusiasm in her voice, like she’s excited about this little tidbit of information.
Shaking my head, I admit, “I don’t know. I mean I’ve thought about it a lot lately. That and a lot of other things, in fact.”
“Like what?” The corners of her eyes crinkle in concern at the change in the tone of my voice.
Stretching back in my chair, I lace my fingers together behind my head. A breath of frustration huffs past my lips. “There’s so much I haven’t done in my life–”
Chloe cuts me off mid-sentence, a look of disbelief twisting her face. “Dax, seriously? You’ve been to war, in more ways than one. How can you say you haven’t done anything?”
“I didn’t say I’ve done nothing. It’s just there’s so much more I want. There’s so much I don’t even know about myself. Every day when I go down to the water, I think about something else I want to
do while I’m here, something else that will help me figure out a little more about myself. I want to be more than a soldier.”
“And a tattoo is going to help you accomplish that?” she jokes, laughing at me softly.
“Well, not just that, you dork. But yeah, a little.” It’s not just any tattoo that will help me figure out a piece of myself. It’s that tattoo in particular. Delaney’s family insignia permanently inked on my skin just might be the first step in allowing myself some sense of forgiveness over what happened.
“Can I go with you?” Her timid voice wavers slightly
Arching an eyebrow, I shoot her a skeptical look—brows creased together and everything. “You hate needles,” I poke an accusing finger at her jokingly.
Shrugging, she rolls her eyes. “Yeah, I do. But it’s important to you, so I want to be there.”
Her words cut through me, illuminating something deep and hidden. Having hated myself for so long, for letting down my brothers in battle, for disappointing my family by not being the kind of man my brother is, for being dishonest with myself about who I am, I never felt worthy of someone else’s love and attention.
Knowing she wants to give me those things gives me hope for myself.
“Well, then, let me make the call,” I announce with more excitement than just moments ago. No, rather than excitement, what I felt was nervousness, but knowing Chloe will be with me, maybe I can face the demons that my tattoo represents.
Looking down at the card I’ve just pulled out of my wallet, I consider not calling. After all, I did say I would call in a few days. Yet, here I am, no more than a handful of hours later, my finger hovering over the numbers on the phone.
Fuck it! Coaching myself, I press the numbers and figure even if it is too soon, I’m sure a tattoo shop sees their fair share of spur of the moment choices.
“Tattoos,” a female voice answers, before saying, “This is Lexie. What can I help you with?”
On Solid Ground Page 2