by Winters, KB
“I’m going to get lunch!” I shouted at the director, not pausing for an acknowledgment before storming out of the shop, nearly tearing the front door from the hinges.
The director, John, turned out to be a real dick. I hadn’t worked with him on the first season, and if I had, there would’ve been no way I would’ve agreed to a second. He critiqued everything from the lighting of the shop and the speed of my work, down to the color of my shirt. It appeared that no one was immune to his irritation. As I headed across the street, I was fairly confident that by the time I got back from lunch, there’d be a crime scene in my shop.
Not that I gave a shit—that would take one massive pain in the ass off my plate.
My eyes found Kat immediately, she had her back to me, taking an order, but turned as though she sensed my arrival, and my heart twisted into a tight knot in my chest at the small smile, that quickly fell from her full lips as she registered my arrival. I stalked to my normal booth and threw myself down on the seat. After staring at the menu for a few minutes, she finally came over to take my order, which I gave with no embellishments.
When she came back with the food, she set it down, and turned to walk away. I grabbed a hold of her arm. “Kat, wait.” She paused and looked at me expectantly, as though I were taking her away from her duties, even though only three of the other tables had customers. “What’s going on?”
She shrugged free of my grip. “Nothing, everything’s fine.” Her tone was clipped and my mind hit an internal rewind button, wondering what I’d done to offend her. I was about to ask, but she slipped away before I got the chance.
By the time I paid my bill and trudged back across the street, I was wondering what the hell I was doing—moving to this town, Kat, the show. At one point, for a very brief moment, it had all looked like it was going to make sense, but then something changed, and nothing fit together anymore.
It was beginning to feel like a waste of time—and the itch to cut and run was starting to nag at me somewhere in the back on my mind.
* * * *
“We need better clients, Jace. The audience isn’t going to connect with this shit!” John railed. He had just finished showing me some clips of raw footage from the first week of filming.
“And you think I have control over who comes into the shop?” I fired back, a hollow laugh slipping from my lips. John had cornered me on my way out of the shop, Saturday afternoon, and insisted we have a private meeting while the crew got lunch. Getting across the street to the diner was becoming harder and harder. John always managed to come up with some reason why I needed to stay back, and I knew it was because he wasn’t allowed to film in the diner. Every time I crossed the threshold, I felt like raising my arms and calling out, “Sanctuary,” as the doorbell chimed in the background.
“You might not hand select the clients, but you’re the one who moved to this town in the middle of fuckin’ nowhere!” He continued, undeterred by the sarcastic expression on my face. “Your first season had so much flavor. People from all walks of life, more stories—better stories! Not to mention your staff. You had a whole show just in that group of screwballs! But what do you have here? Nothing! Not one fucking thing! You have a mousy receptionist who doesn’t bother showing up most days, and when she is here, she runs outside for a smoke every ten minutes, so if she’s secretly interesting, we’ll never get her on camera long enough to find out!”
I shook my head, waiting for him to run out of steam. “Is this funny to you, Jace?” He asked, his fingers knit together on the desk, as though he had to keep them that way to avoid ripping off my face.
I leaned forward, matching his dark sneer. “Tell ya what, John. I wish I had a handful of fucking glitter to throw for you in celebration of that little shit-fit you just threw there,” I snarled. “At the end of the day, this isn’t my circus. My contract states that I’m here to do my job and let you follow me around with your crew. That’s it. The rest is your deal.”
John’s face turned a shade of purple that I didn’t even realize was physically possible. I was about to get up and walk away, when his face rearranged, and the color drained away. He cleared his throat, and when he spoke again, his voice was calm, almost pleasant. “You’re right, Jace. I’ll try to keep that in mind. Why don’t you go get some lunch, I’ll come up with a game plan on my own.”
I considered him for another moment, mesmerized by his transformation. The space between us was still sparking with tension, and the darkness in his eyes told me this was far from over, but I’d fired my shot, said my piece, and got up from the table and left—without another word.
I only had to wait until the following afternoon to find out what his return volley was. After taking a mid-morning break to run some errands, I returned to find a beaming John waiting in front of the shop. “Good news, Jace. We found some clients today that I think will make a fantastic episode.”
I studied him with a wary eye and made my way into the shop, stopping in the doorway when I saw three faces I never thought I’d see again.
Chapter Three — Jace
Sitting on the long leather couch were three sailors I’d served with side by side, in Afghanistan, a few years ago. All three had been injured on the same mission when an explosive had taken out their convoy, leaving one dead, and three in various state of injury. I’d seen them again after returning home from the war, but after I’d said goodbye to them that day—I never wanted to go back.
My eyes seared into John’s, wondering if he had known about it. I didn’t think it possible, he’d probably just figured it would make for good TV, but there was something heinous in his dark smile…
“Winslow!” One of them yelled as soon as I entered the shop.
I smiled as best as I could, taking in each of them in turn. Richard Lambert was in the worst shape, left without the lower portion of his legs and confined to a wheelchair for the rest of his life due to additional nerve damage. Carter McNeil’s face bore the scar from where he’d been grazed by a bullet trying to get Richard out of the line of fire after the explosion. And Kenny Lawrence, while healed on the outside, anyone who knew him, could see the deep scars he carried with him on the inside.
“Hey you fucks!” I said as enthusiastically as I could. They were my brothers, and just by looking at them, I was overwhelmed with a landslide of emotions. Everything from guilt, shame, sadness, despair, and bittersweet memories of better times, bore down on me as I tried to keep it together. “What the fuck drug you squids all the way out here?” I asked, already knowing the answer.
Richard chimed up first, “We heard you could make us famous, bro.”
They all laughed and I joined in. I’d taken more than a little ragging for becoming a reality star after leaving the SEALs, but I knew it was all in good spirits.
John stepped in and cleared his throat. “Jace, these gentlemen are here to get a memorial tattoo for Ryan Peterson, and they would like you to be the one to design and do the honors. I think this will make a great, two-part episode, where we can really highlight our soldiers and talk about your background as a SEAL as well.”
Inside, I was growling like a hungry wolf, ready to rip him a new asshole, but on the outside, I smiled and thanked the three vets for the opportunity and honor.
* * * *
Six grueling hours later, as the last crew member shuffled out for the night, I released a pent up yell that carried off like steam releasing from a pressure valve, until there was nothing left in my lungs. I sucked in a harsh breath, and punched the wall behind the desk. I growled at the pain shooting up my arm from the impact, and after pacing a few minutes to shake away the sting, dragged myself back up to my apartment to get my tool kit to fix the hole I’d left in the wall. I didn’t need anyone asking questions about it the next morning when the rat bastards from production arrived.
“Come on Jace, don’t go there again,” I snapped at myself as I began the patch job. Seeing my brothers—the seamen—had been enough to shake u
p the ghosts from my past, but spending all day trying to fight those ghosts off until I was alone, had drained me of all energy, and I was too tired to try anymore.
The three vets had been in another unit while we’d been overseas together, but whenever something like the explosion happened, it sent shock waves through all of us. Everyone felt the terror, grief, and the guilt over not being able to stop it. No matter how illogical that might seem to others looking in from outside the situation. It was something only the sailors—my brothers in arms—could fully understand.
I heaved myself up from the floor after re-packing the tool kit, and went outside to get some fresh air to clear my head before the walls shrunk in around me even further. It was too late for the diner to be open, and as soon as I stepped outside, the dark windows confirmed my suspicion that everyone had gone home for the night. I turned and began walking down the sidewalk, when the soft chirp of the diner doorbell rang out into the street. I whipped around and saw Kat standing there, a brown paper bag tucked under her arm. I watched as she turned back to lock the door, and then started across the street towards my shop.
“Kat!” I called out, taking a few steps into the light.
She jumped. “Shit! Jace, you scared me!”
“Sorry,” I replied softly. I looked at the bag in her arms.
She shrugged it off and looked down the section of sidewalk I’d been following before her arrival. “Are you going out?”
“No.” I shook my head and pocketed my hands. “I just needed some air, that’s all.”
“Rough day?” She cocked her head sympathetically at me, her eyes wide with concern.
For a moment, I wondered if she’d missed me, but immediately dismissed the idea. She was the one who’d told me we couldn’t be anything more than friends, and then she’d put up even thicker walls than the ones she’d had up the first day we met. I hadn’t been the one who’d backed off, that was all her, and you couldn’t miss someone you were running away from, could you?
“Jace? Is everything okay?” She asked.
I snapped back to attention, wondering how long my mind had been drifting. “Yeah,” I lied. “Everything’s fine. Were you coming to see me?” I asked, wanting to throw her off track.
Her eyes followed my gaze as though she’d forgotten about the bag. “Yeah, um, you looked busy over here, so I thought I’d bring you some dinner. It’s not much, just some leftover pot roast and potatoes. The garlic ones you like.” She tucked her chin under, and I wondered if she was regretting her kind gesture.
“That’s really nice. Thank you,” I said. “Do you want to come in?”
“No, thanks, I should get going,” she said. “I have to go get Jax from his dad’s. If I’m not there on time, my ex will—” she stopped short, as though hearing herself and realizing she was giving out too much information. “Here—” she pressed the bag into my hands, “—I’d do the meat at 350 for thirty minutes and the potatoes on the stove. Or, ya know, just nuke it all, I guess,” she laughed nervously.
“Right,” I said, smiling—probably for the first time all day. “Thanks again. You knew just what I needed.”
Kat smiled, her eyes shining as she looked up at me. “Uhm, if you need anything…” Her words trailed off and I didn’t press any further.
Chapter Four — Kat
I left Jace standing alone under the dim street light, but the sad, distant look in his eyes haunted me the entire trip to pick up Jax. The pit in my stomach that had formed on Monday telling Jace we couldn’t be together had only grown and grown, and was now filling up with guilt at the shitty way I’d been treating Jace all week. The way he’d looked, out there all alone, wandering aimlessly down the street without so much as a jacket…something was wrong and I was beginning to wonder if it was all my fault.
A million possibilities had whirled through my mind by the time I walked up the steps to the front porch and rang the doorbell.
Seconds later, Mitch pulled the door open and my mind shifted from worrying about Jace to a blast of sheer panic at the self satisfied look on my ex-husband’s face as he stared at me.
“Oh, I see you didn’t bring your thug with you this time,” Mitch said, his voice sharp as he sneered. As I stared at him, I wondered what on earth had ever attracted me to him in the first place. Either he’d changed significantly over the years, or my radar had been completely on the fritz when we’d first met.
I decided on the former, it was an easier truth to admit to myself.
“Mitch, as I’ve stated, my love life is not your concern anymore. I’m just here to pick up Jax, so can we move on?”
“It might be more of my concern than you might think,” he replied. “I’m not too sure what the courts would think if they knew you were hooking up with a tattoo artist with a party boy reputation. What do you think?”
I folded my arms, keeping my face frozen in place, even though my heart racketed inside my chest, shocked by his statement.
Mitch laughed, low and dangerous. “What? You thought I wouldn’t find out? Come on, Katherine, I’m not stupid. The answers were all a quick Google search away, and boy, what a goldmine…”
I didn’t dare to say a word in response. I had no way of knowing what Mitch had read, what he knew—or, at least, thought he knew. I took a defiant step forward and pushed past him into the house. “Where’s Jax?” I asked, unable to hear the echoes of his little voice as I wandered down the hallway.
“He’s sleeping. He had a very exciting day. Hannah and I took him to the zoo, and then out to dinner, and on the way home, we went to his favorite toy store and he got to pick out whatever he wanted.”
My heart sank. Mitch loved rubbing it in my face—the lifestyle that he was able to provide for Jax, knowing full well that even just one of those activities would have busted my meager budget.
Someday…I reminded myself. It wouldn’t be this way forever.
Mitch shut the door. “So, does Jax know who Jace is? Has he been inside the tattoo shop?” His voice was pleasant, and to an outsider might sound like innocent questions, but I knew better. Mitch was only mining information to be used against me.
“I think I’ll go wait in the car. I brought a book,” I said, going back to the front door.
Mitch blocked me. “I may sound friendly, Katherine, but if I catch even a hint of anything unpleasant—I’ll drag you back to court so fast your pretty little head will spin.”
The blood in my veins seared through my body, my pulse so loud it was ringing in my ears. “Let me out,” I growled.
He kept me locked in a silent standoff, only broken by the sleepy voice of Jax, “Mama?”
The rage spiked and then flushed away as I turned to find my boy running down the hall and into my arms.
“Come on, baby. We’re going home.”
I grabbed his backpack from the stair banister and hauled him outside, pushing past Mitch, leaving him to seethe on the front porch.
As I watched Mitch get smaller and smaller in the rearview mirror, I knew that the time had come to take control of my life. I made up my mind to stop living in fear of his constant threats, and live my life. The thought of going back to court, of having to fight to keep my baby boy with me, was enough to freeze my blood cold, but I was beginning to see that it was never going to end, and I needed to decide what to do in light of that revelation.
* * * *
Jace continued his daily visits, but each day it was like less and less of him was walking through the diner door. His eyes, that had been so vibrant and bright when we’d first met, took on a dull, listless quality, and although he was still friendly, he no longer tried to engage me in conversation, and spent the entire time eating his meal staring out the window at his shop, almost like he could see something that was invisible to the rest of us.
By Friday, I’d made up my mind that while it might be self-inflicted torture, I would invite Jace over for dinner once Jax was over at Mitch’s house for the weekend. I wasn’t
ready for Jax to meet anyone, even if it was just a friendship. Which, was the boundary I’d still fenced around Jace, regardless of how much my body might protest every time I saw him. Even though weeks had passed since our date—and hot and heavy make out session—my mind and body was still craving him. In fact, it almost amplified with each passing day. I resolved that a dinner was harmless enough—choosing to ignore the fact that a dinner was all we were supposed to have done before.
I took in a deep breath and went to Jace’s table to drop off his check. He smiled up at me as he lay a twenty down on the paper bill when I set it on the edge of his table. Just spit it out. “Jace, would you like to come over for dinner tonight?”
His face masked his surprise well. His eyebrows gave him away, lifting up at the question. “I would,” he answered a heartbeat later.
“Seven o’clock,” I instructed, swishing away before my bubbling panic could talk me out of it and revoke the invitation.
I hurried out of the diner, a couple hours later, ready to jet back home and take Jax to drop him off with Mitch and Hannah. Hilda offered to have me come over for dinner once I got back into town, something she did nearly every Friday, knowing how rough it was on me to leave Jax. When I declined, she gave me a questioning look, but thankfully, didn’t ask the questions that were brewing in her mind.
Jax dawdled while packing his little backpack for the weekend, which was more of a routine than anything, since he had more clothes and toys than he’d ever need already at Mitch’s house. But, he liked packing his bag, and on most days, I was fine with him taking his time and stalling, but I found myself rushing him, mentally planning ahead how much time I would need to drop him off, get back, shower and change, and pop something into the oven.