by Austin Bates
"Get off me," Damien growled, trying to throw Mica's hands off. Mica didn't even twitch, effortlessly keeping his grip. "Get the fuck off. I don't need this bullshit today."
Tilting his head, Mica raised an eyebrow. "Fine," he said and let go.
Damien tumbled to the floor, landing hard on his hip. The impact of the concrete ground his scars into the old break, and he shouted curses at the top of his lungs. "What the fuck? What the hell do you think you're doing, asshole?" He kicked out at Mica's leg, his hip screaming, but the tall omega just stepped over him.
"You told me to get off you," Mica said, arms crossed as he watched Damien struggle. "And according to those conflict resolution seminars that you always have to attend, it's best to distance yourself from anyone being unreasonable."
"Fuck you," he growled. "I'm not unreasonable."
Mica sniffed. "Could have fooled me."
Damien kicked out again, petulantly, the toe of his boot scraping against Mica's ankle. The taller man just watched him, shaking his head. Slumping against the wall, Damien glared at nothing, the cold of the floor slowly leeching away the white-hot rage that had been driving him all day. "Sorry," he said a moment later.
"Are you?" Mica asked. He glanced at his watch and sighed. "You've only been here ten minutes. At least you came in the back. I'd hate to see what Olivia would have done to you if you'd run into her."
Damien grunted. In his back pocket, his phone buzzed. Tugging it out with numb fingers, he drew his arm back to throw it across the room. Slender fingers plucked it out of his hand. Fury washed down his spine, and he kicked out again. "Give it back."
Ignoring him, Mica tucked the phone away without looking at it. "There's about sixteen pages of paperwork you'll have to do if you destroy your only contact point during an on-call week. Remember the Reno fires?"
"Do you think I give a shit?"
"Maybe not right this instant, but you will," Mica said, his face so perfectly neutral that there was nothing to lash out at.
Sagging, Damien felt a wave of exhaustion wash over him. "I don't want to talk about it."
"You've been saying that for years," Mica said, settling down on the floor next to him. He leaned against Damien's side, warm and comforting, the scent of clean soap and coffee rising off his skin. "I'm starting to think it was never true."
There was nothing to say to that, so Damien let his head loll against the scratched paint of the door frame and closed his eyes.
"Is this about Tommy?"
Jerking upright, Damien cursed under his breath, his hand going automatically to his empty pocket. Mica wasn't looking at him, and it made it easier to admit. "It's always about Tommy."
"Did he give you those scars you kept trying to show me?" Mica kept his voice soft, but Damien could see the righteous fury in the set of his jaw.
"He never laid a hand on me," Damien said.
"That's not a no." Turning to look at him, Mica tucked his head into the space under Damien's chin. They fit together well, not as effortlessly as he and Tommy always had, but better than any other human being Damien had ever gotten involved with. He took a moment to mourn the fact that they were both too hung up on other people to make anything work.
"It's a long story," he said, his voice shaking.
"I have time."
There were words bubbling up in the back of his throat, tasting like bile and blood and fake turf, and he found himself unable to resist. The story came out in great heaving gushes of word vomit, the thoughts flowing together so quickly that he could barely draw enough breath to get the next one out. It drained everything from him, leaving him hollow and numb.
"I spent the last two weeks of the school year in the hospital before they transferred me to California for the reconstructive surgeries," he said as the words started to dry up. Mica was the only thing keeping him upright as his eyes drifted shut. "Coach is still in prison, but Alex got out on good behavior a few years ago. I never thought I'd come back to this fucking town."
"Why did you?"
Damien shrugged, the movement sapping the last of his strength. He slid a little lower on the wall, and Mica tugged him over until he was resting in the omega's lap. Gentle fingers through his hair made him feel safe, and he let his mind drift. "You go to your ten-year class reunion?"
"No," Mica said without hesitating. He was always good at following the guys' random trains of thought. Damien patted his ankle. "It was in the middle of that big wildfire up in Montana last year, and I couldn't get away."
"I did," Damien said, his words slurring together like he was back on the good painkillers. "I kept rehearsing what I'd say to him if I saw him. I even had a date, so he'd know I was doing great without him."
"He didn't go," Mica said.
"No." Damien sighed, burying his face in the soft fabric of Mica's sweats. "I had a whole speech prepared."
"Why don't you tell it to him now?"
"I don't remember most of it. I got really, really drunk that night."
"Do you want to talk about why you're so mad today?" Mica's gentle fingers ran through his hair, and he couldn't remember why he wanted to keep it a secret.
"Tommy ruined it."
"Ruined what?"
"Everything." Damien frowned, remembering the smell of Tommy's hair and the warmth of their bodies pressed together. "I was trying, you know? Then he has to go and say he's sorry."
"For what?"
Shrugging, Damien yawned so wide that his jaw cracked. "For what happened. It's all his fault."
Mica tensed, his muscles getting hard against Damien's ear. It was uncomfortable, and Damien tried to lift his head and see what was wrong. Mica shushed him, just like his mom used to, stroking his hair again until Damien relaxed. "What did he say?"
Damien hummed, drifting off into a place where nothing hurt.
"Damien, what did Tommy say?"
With a loud snort, Damien shifted around, trying to find a more comfortable position. "Should have run faster."
"You should have run faster?"
Frowning, Damien shook his head. He couldn't have run anywhere. He opened his mouth to say so, but only a yawn came out. Before he could remember what he'd meant to say, sleep dragged him under.
Six hours later, the alarm going off jerked him awake. There was a pillow under his head, and a blanket over his shoulders, but he was still stiff as hell from the hard concrete. His phone was next to his head with a post-it note stuck to it. “I think you should hear him out.” He balled the note up as he got to his feet, tossing it into the garbage without a second thought.
Who needed advice, anyway? He was going to forget that Tommy Laurence had ever existed. Again.
***
"What kind of tattoo were you looking for?"
"I'm not sure," Damien said, scanning the art hanging on the walls. "I was hoping for something original."
"Sure, man. No problem," the alpha behind the counter said agreeably, fussing with the jewelry in the display case. "You pick any design in our books, and we can customize it to your personality."
Damien looked out the door so the guy wouldn't see him roll his eyes. Twenty minutes later, he stepped out into the brisk January air, frustration seething under his skin. Five tattoo parlors in the last two months, and he still hadn't found one that was even half as good as he wanted.
Kieran liked to say he was too picky, but Damien knew that what he wanted existed if he was willing to go to La Junta. He hadn't been willing to before, but he was starting to wonder if there was a tattoo artist in the world as good as Tommy Laurence.
Climbing into his truck, he headed home. His phone vibrated as he pulled out onto the highway. He ignored it, but by the time he pulled off to get gas, it had buzzed three more times.
“schedule just posted – Kieran”
“#15 still nights – Kieran”
“Jeremy's raising hell – Kieran”
“Did u pick a tattoo place yet? – Mica”
Damien t
ossed the phone into the passenger seat, leaning against the passenger door as he filled up. Things had been strained over the holidays. Between Mica and Maria, Damien had been ready to scream from all the sidelong insinuations and helpful advice they'd slipped into casual conversations. He'd taken to avoiding the both of them, heading to Aspen for New Year's Eve. It had been crowded and overpriced, and he'd come home before midnight to drink on his couch and watch the ball drop.
“Jeremy's terrifying. #15 on swing starting monday – Kieran”
Grabbing the receipt with one hand and the phone with the other, Damien smiled as he started up the engine. Jeremy Brown was a lawyer with a reputation from long before he'd married Lucas. Kieran was right to be afraid.
Switching to swing wouldn't be as bad as going to days, but he'd still have to plan a little extra sleep into his schedule. He briefly considered going home, but he scrolled up through his texts instead. Five tattoo parlors in two months.
“Did u pick a tattoo place yet? – Mica”
He thought about purple roses climbing along the grain of old wood, done in permanent marker with the precision of DaVinci.
“Yes – Damien”
Turning his phone off as soon as the text was sent, Damien turned his truck back onto the highway and headed south. He spent the whole time singing at the top of his lungs and refusing to think about where he was going.
He had to stop at a McDonald's off the highway to look up directions. He hadn't thought he'd been so out of it the last time he'd been down there, but he didn't see anything familiar as he turned down a slightly run down commercial street. There was a pawn shop on the corner and a hair salon halfway down, but the rest of the buildings were boarded up, labeled only with graffiti.
Vivid Ink was the nicest building on the street, and Damien pulled in across the way, staring at his hands on the steering wheel. It took him a moment to turn off the engine. It was only the thought of wasting gas that made him do it. He could always start it back up when he talked himself out of this.
In the daylight, the shop was cheerful and professional-looking. The sidewalk out front was carefully cleared of the slushy snow that piled in the gutters. On the window, the gold logo wasn't as luminous in the dingy winter light, but it still shone like a beacon. He could just make out the outlines of two people standing behind the counter in the dim interior.
Damien muttered under his breath, rehearsing half a dozen opening lines. He scrapped all of them. This one was too flippant, that one too angry. It's not that he wasn't angry. He was. He'd been angry for ten years, and it was almost comfortable to have the burn in the back of his mind. If he was going to get a tattoo from Tommy, though, he had to play nice.
He could pretend that he wasn't angry, that everything was normal and Tommy was just some cute guy he happened to know. He'd been mastering that skill ever since he came back to Golden. Sometimes, he even forgot he was pretending.
A sharp rap on the passenger window made him jump. He glared as Tommy leaned down, only his eyes and the tip of his nose visible behind a hipster beanie and scarf.
Reluctantly, Damien rolled down the window, the blast of cold air chilling the sweat on his neck. "What?"
"You've been sitting there for almost an hour," Tommy said, glancing at the big shop window. Anne and another woman were peeking curiously around the edges of the logo. When they noticed him looking, they ducked further into the shop.
"I didn't realize the time,” Damien said, glancing at the clock on his dash. His hands were stiff where they had gripped the steering wheel too hard.
Tommy cleared his throat, tugging his jacket tighter around him. "Did you want to come in?"
"No," he said, then looked away. "Yes. I want a tattoo, and nobody else in the state of Colorado is as good of an artist as you are."
Rubbing his nose, Tommy glanced at the shop again. "I have time for a consult if you want to get out of this cold."
Damien slid his hand to the key still in the ignition. He willed it to turn, but he was cold and tired. He got out of the truck.
Anne was behind the counter when they came in, and she propped her feet up on the glass as Tommy herded him into one of the smaller rooms. "Hey, Carlos. That guy I was telling you about came back. Come see." Her hair was a solid green this time, fading to blue at the tips of the pigtails on either side of her head.
"The drunk guy?"
Groaning, Damien pulled the chair Tommy offered him around and straddled it backward, thumping his forehead against the back gently. "I can't possibly be the only drunk guy who has ever come in here," he whined.
"Just the hottest," Anne said, leaning in the doorway.
"I'm on a consult." Tommy tried to shut the door on her, but she just looked at him with a raised eyebrow and refused to move.
"Come on, boss. Let me at least introduce him to Carlos." She batted her lashes at Tommy, and a broad shouldered omega appeared behind her. He had at least as many piercings as she did, and the family resemblance was unmistakable.
"That's the drunk guy?" Carlos leered at Damien, his dark hair falling in his eyes as he took a leisurely look. "You want a piercing, hot stuff?"
Damien threw his head back and laughed. "Unfortunately, I'd have to have it out more than I could have it in."
"Damien is a firefighter," Tommy said, trying to close the door again.
"Drunken firefighter tattoo," a female voice said dryly. "Sounds about right."
Tommy slumped against the door frame. "I'm on a consult here, guys." They all ignored him, a blonde woman elbowing Carlos aside to stand in the doorway.
"You should be used to these two nosy Nellies by now," she said, and everyone turned to look at her. "I'm not nosy," she continued without pausing. "I'm just waiting for someone to come tell me where you want the camera out back."
"Wherever gives the best view, Em." Tommy pulled a little rolling stool out from under the drafting table in the corner and threw himself onto it. "But, by all means, get a good look."
Damien smiled at them, his nerves evaporating in the face of people with whom he had no history at all. "I feel like I should be selling tickets."
"We'll give you a discount on the consult," Anne said, waving her hand at him. "This is Emily. She's a tech genius, but her people skills need work. And this is my brother, Carlos. He's single."
Tommy growled under his breath, slumping on his perch with his arms crossed. No one seemed surprised by Anne's description, and Emily smiled as she stuck her hand out.
"Damien King," he said, winking at her as he stood up long enough to bend over her hand.
"That's enough," Tommy said, getting up and shooing them out of the room. "I'm on a consult, which means you all go act like professional adults."
Anne and Carlos shared a worried look. "It's always so sad when a loved one falls to delusion," she said.
Her brother nodded as the door shut in his face. "It's like he has no concept of reality," he said, loud enough to carry.
"Sorry about that," Tommy said, turning back with a professional smile. He faltered slightly as he met Damien's eye, looking away and wiping his hands on his jacket. "They're not usually that bad, but it's been slow lately."
"They're great," he said, surprised at how much he meant it.
"So..." Tommy swallowed hard, and Damien tensed. "What kind of tattoo do you want?"
Relief was like fresh air, and he sucked it deep into his lungs. "I have no idea," he said with a cheerful smile. "I know you'll find something perfect."
Chapter Twelve
"Okay," Tommy said, leaning back and wincing as his back popped. "That's the outline done."
Damien rolled his head to the side, his eyes hazy from the endorphins. "I don't think I can move," he said, the words slurring together.
Tommy chuckled, forcing himself to step back from the acres of dark skin on display. The tattoo Damien had decided on stretched from his hip to his ankle, a curling line of smoke and fire that covered six major scars. Da
mien King never did anything unless he did it big. Usually, he asked clients to talk about why they were getting the tattoo. The pain sometimes functioned as therapy as much as the cover up. Damien, he'd tattooed in silence.
"How does it look?" Damien squinted at the mirror.
Picking up the hand mirror he kept for getting a look at awkwardly placed pieces, Tommy held it out to him. "See for yourself."
Damien didn't take it from him, squinting at the lines cutting through the scar on his leg. "Do you think it'll take?"
He'd discussed at the beginning how difficult it could be to get scars to take ink, and Damien had shrugged. "I'll probably have to touch it up at your next appointment," he said, pulling out the supplies to bandage the site. "There's a couple things we can try if there are any particularly difficult spots."
Damien didn't move as he wrapped the bandage around his lower leg. They'd done the hip at the first appointment two weeks ago, and it was healing well. Tommy tore his eyes away from the soft, sensitive skin at the crease of Damien's thigh, focusing on covering the new work completely.
"It looks good," Damien said as Tommy tied off the last of the wrap. "I can't wait for it to be done." He shifted, the sheet covering his naked groin sliding precariously to one side.
Tommy jerked his hands back like he'd been burned, climbing to his feet and turning his back. "You've already got your next appointment scheduled for two weeks, right?" He busied himself with cleaning his work area, sorting the equipment for sterilization and disposal. "I'll let you get dressed. Don't forget your care pamphlet."
"Tommy," Damien said, his voice low and husky.
"I'm going to let Anne know to ring you up. Take your time. No rush." Peeling off his gloves, Tommy reached for the door.
Damien was faster. "Tommy," he said, wrapping a hot hand around the omega's wrist.
Staring at the contrast of dark skin against his own, pale and ink, Tommy tried not to think about how the sheet was still draped over the work table. He fought not to look, not to lift his head, but he'd always been too willing for Damien King. He tipped his head back, skirting his eyes around the alpha's taut abs.