by Jacob Chance
“No, that’s not why I’m here. I may be an asshole, but not to my own family members. I’m really here to get a tattoo of mom. I’ve wanted one since she passed away, but I knew no artist would ever be able to do her justice...until now. I’m sure you’ll surpass my expectations.”
Standing with my arms crossed over my chest, I study his face. He appears earnest and I hope for his sake he is. Blood is thicker than water and family is forever. Real family, not the MC he and my father belong to. Their so called “brothers,” earned that title by joining the MC. It takes a hell of a lot more than that for someone to be considered my family. With me, loyalty is earned over time. I don’t blindly follow any man and have no plans to ever do so.
“Give me like twenty minutes to sketch something up. I want to make sure you like it.”
“Josh, don’t bother. Just fucking tattoo me.”
“You want me to freehand a portrait of mom onto your chest?”
“Yep, that’s exactly what I want you to do. If it looks like shit you can tattoo over it sometime.”
I smile. “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”
“I’m pretty sure telling you to freehand a tattoo on my skin is enough proof I believe in your talent.”
“Are we doing color or black and grey?” I ask, already knowing which I prefer.
“I was thinking black and grey. What do you think?”
“I agree. I was hoping it would be your preference.” Moving over to the granite counter, I snap on some gloves and set everything I’ll need out. “Find a comfortable position.” I gesture at the chair with my head. “You’re going to be stuck there for a while.”
He sits down and leans back. “This feels like being at the dentist,” he says, drumming the arms of the chair with his fingers.
“The needle’s a lot smaller and less painful.” I turn to face him with a disposable razor in my hand. “Sorry dude. I gotta shave your hairy chest.”
“Yeah, good joke. Shave off all three of my hairs.”
“No, there might be four.”
I finish up all the prep and by the time I’m sitting down to start, my stomach is nauseous. I’m not sure if it’s because I’m nervous about tattooing Jam or if it’s because this is going to be a gut wrenching process for me. Seeing my mom’s beautiful face appear little by little isn’t going to be easy. She and I were extremely close. Her death ten years ago from Lupus turned my world upside down in more ways than one. My dad basically disappeared from our house. He inserted himself even more into club life and Jam followed. My mom was the tether holding him back from being with the rest of the Bastards twenty-four-seven. Once she was gone, it was like Owen and I lost two parents at the same time in addition to our older brother who we both looked up to. My grandmother on my mom’s side stepped in and became the adult in our lives, but it wasn’t the same. No one could ever replace our mom or even come close.
Sitting on my stool with my machine in hand, I slide the chair forward on its wheels. “Are you ready? Once I start it’s too late to change your mind.”
“Go for it, man.”
Pausing for a moment, I envision my mom’s smiling face before I begin to ink his skin.
I keep the lines softly curved as I outline the turn of her cheek and down her jawline to the tip of her delicate chin. I continue until I have the basic outline complete. Now it’s time to focus on her individual features - the thin straight line of her nose, the almond shaped eyes which would sparkled like precious emeralds and her soft, full lips that used to kiss all our hurts away. Man, I could use one of her kisses to cure my broken heart. I bet somehow, she would’ve made what I’m going through easier. At the least she would’ve offered me some helpful advice. These days I have no one to confide in. I guess I could tell Janny, but she’s got enough going on just dealing with being pregnant. I’m sure she doesn’t want to hear how I’m in love with her best friend or how we had hot sex and she walked out on me. It’s not one of my prouder moments to share with others.
“How you doin’, bro? Need a break?” I ask, never taking my eyes off the shading I’m working on. This is the most painful part for most people.
“Nope, keep going. I don’t wanna’ stop unless you need to. I can’t wait to see the finished product.”
“I guess you’ll either want to hug me or punch me.”
“Dude, don’t sweat it. I’m not worried. I’m sure you’re doin’ an amazing job. It’s who you are.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You’re the kind of person who gives one hundred percent to everything you do. You also succeed at whatever you try.”
His words, although a compliment, rub me the wrong way. “Don’t be too sure about that dude,” I say, my mind automatically wandering to Elle. I didn’t succeed where she’s concerned. If I did we’d be together right now, instead of not even seeing each other. “Yeah, I do give everything I do my all, but that doesn’t mean it’s all rainbows and unicorns. There have been plenty of things which haven’t worked out the way I hoped, but I don’t let myself dwell on them.” Until Elle. She’s the one failure I haven’t been able to move on from. Maybe I never will.
“Rainbows and Unicorns, dude?” He raises an eyebrow.
“It’s an expression. I didn’t come up with it.”
“Yeah, well no dude should be saying that. Don’t do it again,” he cautions in his older brother knows best voice. He’s used this tone every time he wants to educate me on something. I’ve heard it more times than I can remember.
“I’m secure in my manhood. I don’t need to act like a caveman to prove anything to others.”
“I’ll remind you when you get your ass kicked for saying dumb shit.” He smirks.
“Fuck that. I won’t get my ass kicked and if by some chance I do, I’m not going down without putting a hurtin’ on the other person.”
“This is true, bro. You gotta hurt them enough so they never forget it.”
“I don’t know how you do it, Jam,” I say, shaking my head.
“Do what?”
“Live with the threat of something going down at all times. Don’t you ever get tired of always being on alert?”
“I dunno. I think I’d be this way no matter what. Shit can happen to anyone at any time. You don’t have to be part of an outlaw MC for tragedy to strike.”
I think about his words. He’s right. Fate is a funny thing. You never know where it might lead you or what the outcome might be. The simplest thing can impact your life forever. Immediately, my thoughts move to the night five years ago and what I came upon as I roamed the city. At the time, I didn’t realize how much I would be personally affected by it, but I’m well aware now.
“Yeah I guess you’re right. Bad shit happens for no reason.”
“Of course, I’m right. I’m your older brother.”
“You know, I might be the younger brother, but I think I can educate you on the fine art of being modest. Arrogance gets old after a while, but people never tire of someone who’s humble.”
“I don’t know, I’m gettin’ tired of you right now.” He laughs.
I smile. “It’s something for you to think about, bro. You don’t have to be a conceited jerk all the time. There’s going to come a time when you’ll say jump and all the ladies won’t say how high because they’re all finally sick of your shit.”
“I’ll believe it when it happens. They all want a piece of me and I don’t see it stopping anytime soon.”
“Famous last words,” I mutter.
He laughs. “Don’t be jealous, Joshy. You could have the ladies after you if you’d give up your boy scout act.” His words sting more than they should, a side effect leftover from Elle. She thought I was a boy scout. I think she realizes now her perception of me was all wrong.
“I don’t need them all over me.” Just one and she wants nothing to do with me.
Thirty minutes later, I’m putting the final touches on my mother’s portrait. My stomac
h rolls as her caring face stares back at me. It’s a surreal sight to see on my brother’s chest. Wiping his skin with a damp paper towel, I clean all the excess ink off and take a long look at the final product. I’m extremely satisfied with the way it came out. I hope Jam agrees.
“Go take a look, I nod at the full-length mirror on the side wall of the room.
He bounds to his feet, excited to get a glimpse. I watch his face in the mirror for his reaction. He stares intently at the tattoo, his expression serious. I can’t tell what he’s thinking. Holding my breath, I wait for him to say something. A smile breaks out over his face and I exhale a sigh of relief.
“Joshy, you’re a fucking genius. I love it. I can’t believe you did this freehand. It’s even better than I expected.”
“I’m glad you like it. Get back over here so I can finish up.” I wave him over. Once he’s seated, I disinfect the area with some green soap and water I’ve sprayed onto a paper towel. Slathering vitamin A and D ointment over the top of the tattoo, I wrap it with a sterile pad and tape. “I’m sure you know the drill by now, but keep this bandage on for no more than three hours. When you remove it, wash it with warm water and a little antibacterial soap. Wash your hands first so you don’t contaminate the area.”
“Dude, enough. I’ve done this a time or two,” he jokes, gesturing at both his full sleeves.
“Yeah, yeah. You’re an expert. Then again, aren’t you an expert at everything?” I thump his chest with the back of my hand.
“You know it little bro. I’m the older brother paving the way through life for you.”
I laugh. “Paving a dead end, maybe.”
“Hey, fuck you. I get it. You don’t want to be a part of the club, but that doesn’t mean you need to shit all over it. It paid for this place, didn’t it?” He looks around.
I scowl and shake my head. “No, it didn’t. I told Dad I didn’t want any club money being used or filtered through here.”
“Josh, don’t be naive. Do you really think any of Dad’s money hasn’t been touched by the club in some way? It’s impossible.”
“Dad and I talked about this, Jam. He gave me his word. Are you telling me our father’s word isn’t any good?”
He runs his hand over his stubble covered jawline. “No, I’m not saying that. I don’t think it’s as black and white as you think, though. Dad has good intentions, but that doesn’t mean things can’t change. Keep your eyes wide open, Joshy.”
I nod, my stomach now in knots. I have to believe my dad wouldn’t deliberately go behind my back. I won’t think the worst of him, until I have solid proof otherwise.
10
Josh
The grand opening of the shop was a month ago and the three of us have settled into a nice routine. Sean’s a solid employee and a hard worker. His tattoos speak for themselves. His talent is widely recognized and unmatched by few. Having him at the shop is a great business draw. People come from all six New England states to get inked by Sean and women practically throw themselves at him. They can’t get enough of his tatted up bad boy appearance. When you add in his mellow vibe it sends them into a flirting frenzy.
Tatum and I find their behavior to be hugely entertaining. She made up a game where we bet on whether each woman is a lip licker, hair twirler, arm toucher or if they’re really bold they’ll press their tits into him - a tit presser. The winner should buy the loser shots. She’s much better at guessing than I am. I’ve never been good at predicting what women do. I think my own relationship history proves this point.
“Okay, Josh. What do you think this one will be?” Tatum questions, elbowing me to get my attention. Raising my gaze from my phone, I watch as Sean approaches the front desk with his client.
“Number one,” I say, referring to a lip licker. “What are you going with?” My eyes dart to Tatum as she presses her lips together.
“Hmm,” she taps her black nails on the wooden top of her desk area and narrows her eyes. “I think she’s a strong four.”
“You think?” I run my eyes over the curvy blonde. She doesn’t look like a tit presser to me. “I think you’re wrong.”
She shakes her head, then looks at me with pity. “Oh, Josh. When will you learn?”
“Tatum, can you check Kelly out, please? She’d like to book another appointment,” Sean says.
Of course, she does. Sean has a great rate of return with female clients.
“Sure, how does the fourth of September at two o’clock work for you?” she asks in her most professional voice.
Staring down at my phone, I grin, but glance up when Tatum kicks my leg in time for me to witness Kelly press her tits on Sean’s arm as he reaches over the counter for a sheet with aftercare instructions.
Tatum holds out her fist for me to bump and then she opens her fingers while making explosion noises like I crashed and burned. Son of a bitch.
“What have you been up to?” I lean over to ask Liberty. We’re out at Tito’s. It’s become one of our go to places late night, when the three of us finish up. Tatum’s friends join us here more often than not. They’re chill and easy to hang out with. Liberty and I usually end up talking. We’re growing closer as friends, but she wants more. Even I can’t miss the signals she sends my way, but for whatever reason, I’m not ready to pursue anything more. I have a lot on my plate with the studio opening and the first six months are crucial. If I screw up, there won’t be any do overs. Making sure Canvas succeeds is the most important thing right now.
“Same old thing - school, studying and working.” She shrugs, avoiding my gaze. She trails her finger through the condensation on her glass. I can tell something’s bothering her.
“What’s wrong with you tonight? Is something on your mind?”
She presses her lips tightly together and doesn’t answer me, confirming my suspicions. “Liberty, spit it out,” I prod.
“Why won’t you ask me out?” Her blue eyes lock on mine. “Is there something wrong with me?”
I smile. “No, there’s nothing wrong with you. It’s all me. I’m in love with someone else.”
“Where is she then?” she questions, frowning.
“We’re not together.” I press the rim of the beer bottle between my lips and take a sip of the cool liquid.
“Is it the brunette you were talking to at the grand opening of the studio?”
My thoughts immediately bring up a vision of Elle. I can see her so clearly, from the black shorts on her long legs to the pink gloss on her lips I wanted to lick off. “Yeah.” I don’t need to describe her to Liberty. I’m sure she could tell by looking at my face, how special Elle is.
I only hope Elle couldn’t see it.
“Why aren’t you with her?”
“It’s a long story; one I don’t want to talk about.” My tone is curt. I gulp back a large sip of my beer and wonder what Elle’s doing at this exact moment.
Is she with someone else?
Does she have a boyfriend?
Fuck.
Goddamn it. I rub my chest where the deep ache caused by her has taken up permanent residence. It’s a good pain, though - a reminder of what Elle and I shared. A never-ending discomfort to keep me company through all the lonely nights. We may never have more, but no one can take those moments away from me.
Rising to my feet without a word, I head to the bar. Beer is not cutting it tonight. Once again, Elle has crept into my mind and I need something more powerful to drown her out.
Groaning at the pain in my head, I pull the covers over my head and breathe shallowly.
“Are you okay?” Liberty’s voice unexpectedly cuts through the silence of the morning.
Pushing down the covers, I’m surprised to see her even though she spoke to me. The sunshine coming through my windows causes a piercing pain in my head. Squeezing my eyes shut, I pull the comforter up once again. “What are you doing here?” I grit out between clenched teeth, rubbing a hand gently across my brow. Everything hurts right now.
/> “You asked me to come home with you last night,” Liberty replies, matter of fact.
Fuck. This isn’t good. Glancing down, I realize I’m only wearing my boxer briefs and I have no recollection of the night before. The last thing I can remember is thinking of Elle before I switched to shots.
Batting down the covers once again, my eyes take in Liberty lying next to me. Her blue eyes are clear in the morning light as she stares at me. Her hands are folded under her right cheek like an innocent child. When my eyes lower I’m surprised to find her tits exposed to my gaze in a pink lace bra. Looking away, I rake my teeth over my lip. What the fuck did we do last night? Why can’t I remember? In the past, I’ve never drank so much. I’ve never blacked out.
Sitting up, I grimace at the sharp pain stabbing my temples. “Did we do anything I should know about last night?”
“What do you mean? We did a lot of things,” she replies. Her noncommittal answer is as vague as the expression on her face.
Blowing out a deep breath, I run my hands over my face. “Did we have sex or anything close to it?” I study her reaction to my question.
She shakes her head. “No, we didn’t even kiss. You told me you were tired of sleeping alone and asked me to come back here.”
“Are you sure? You’re in your underwear and so am I.”
“Yeah, I’m sure. When we have sex, I want you to remember it and I definitely wouldn’t sleep with you when you spent the previous two hours at the bar talking about Elle.”
“Fuck. I’m sorry, Liberty.” I shake my head in disgust at my actions. “Last night is a blur.” Swinging my legs over the edge of the bed, I rise to my feet and carefully make my way to the bathroom. Closing myself inside, I move to the sink. Glancing at my reflection in the mirror, I notice bloodshot eyes and dark blonde hair sticking straight up. Turning on the cold water, I cup my hands and splash cold water on my face. I need to wake the fuck up. My head feels like it’s in a fog. Moving to the shower, I climb inside and turn the water on, blasting myself with cold before it quickly heats up. Soaping myself up, I inhale the invigorating scent. The combination of the steaming hot water and the fresh smell helps to clear my head. By the time I step out of the shower and wrap a towel around my hips, I’m almost feeling like myself.