Marked

by Drew Elyse

  She brought the image back up, and seeing it again only solidified my resolve. This was it. It was this design or nothing.

  “He really nailed it, didn’t he?” Jess muttered to herself.

  “It’s perfect.”

  I couldn’t even look away. The nerves I’d been feeling were long gone. This was exactly what I wanted. I’d get it right that second if I could.

  “Thanks, gorgeous.” I heard, and my lungs seized for the second time since I’d been in there.

  Liam.

  He was right there, leaning casually against the desk. He had a sucker in his mouth, the stick coming from the corner. It should have looked ridiculous, but it made his lips and the dimple stand out. Both tattooed arms were on full display with the t-shirt he was wearing, and his long hair was pulled back. I’d never seen it that way. He must just do it when he was working.

  I took in all of this, but only passingly. Most of my focus was on the fact that he’d just thanked me for…

  “Looks like yours is the winner,” Jess told him.

  “Pretty sure I heard ‘perfect,’” Liam shot back on a grin.

  Locking the tablet screen with a huff, Jess reached over, grasping a clear wrapper from the top of the desk.

  “First, you aren’t perfect, you cocky ass. Second, those are for the customers. Third, don’t leave your garbage on my desk.”

  Liam kept right on grinning. “She loves me, really.”

  Wait. Were they together?

  I’d never seen them that type of close. Not that I saw them a lot. Or paid attention.

  Lies.

  No, go away, Joel.

  They’d be quite the couple though. All those tattoos, her accentuated femininity playing off his rough masculinity. Though, Jess would look fantastic paired off with anyone—not that Liam wouldn’t. It was hard not to wonder why she wasn’t gracing car magazine covers instead of working here.

  My gaze dropped to my yoga pants on its own accord. There was a stain on one leg. I hadn’t noticed that when I got dressed, but it wasn’t surprising when Owen had been causing a stink about wanting pancakes for breakfast when we had to leave in fifteen minutes. Then, it had been that the socks were too tight on his feet. Not to mention the battle to get his teeth brushed.

  Oh yeah, I was a mom all right.

  Joel would have liked it. He always did when I wore yoga pants.

  “I fucking love this ass.”

  I shook my head a bit, focusing back on everything around me to find Liam’s eyes on me. I looked to Jess and found she was bent over, reaching across the desk for something. It was quite a view, and I didn’t swing that way. How I had his attention over that, I couldn’t begin to understand.

  After a long moment of me avoiding his gaze—but not staring at Jess’s ass, because that would be weird—I saw from the corner of my vision as Liam moved. He grabbed the tablet from Jess, unlocking onto the tattoo he’d drawn up for me.

  “Is there anything on it you want to adjust?” he asked, coming to stand close enough to me to feel the warmth of him. He didn’t touch me, but somehow it felt more intense than if he had.

  Focusing in on the image was easy. Avoidance was my middle name these days. Ignoring the emotion seeing the tattoo I’d been thinking of for years brought to life, that was much harder.

  “No,” I responded. “No, it’s perfect like that.”

  I expected him to jump on me using the word “perfect” again, but he didn’t. There was an actual weight to his focus on me as he responded, “Good.”

  It wasn’t flippant or dismissive, a response showing he didn’t want to make adjustments. It wasn’t even the gracious response I’d give at the bakery. It was sincere. Like he was truly glad he’d nailed the design for me on the first go.

  “If you don’t have anywhere to be, we can start on it now.”

  And that was the first moment I realized that this didn’t just mean Liam had been the one to design my perfect tattoo—he’d also have to be the one to give it to me.

  Chapter Six

  Liam

  It said a lot of shitty things about me that I enjoyed the deer-in-the-headlights look I was getting from Kate so much.

  But hell, I’d drawn and redrawn that gypsy fifty fucking times trying to get it right. Sketch hadn’t kept it a secret who the tattoo was for. If she was going to come into Sailor’s Grave and get inked—and a fucking rational gypsy, no less—she was getting it done by me. No question.

  Jess could give me all the shit she wanted about that “perfect” comment, but we both knew it wasn’t about me getting cocky. She knew exactly how much hearing that hit me when it came from Kate.

  Clearly, I was pathetic as hell on top of being an ass.

  I thought all of this while we fixed and placed the stencil on the right side of her ribs, ending up with the design expanding from down on the top of her hip all the way up until about the middle of her breasts. I was a fucking professional and didn’t so much as glance to the side where she had her shirt rolled to cover herself. But that didn’t mean I wasn’t aching to.

  “That’s going to take some time. Two sittings, if not three, depending on how it goes,” I warned her.

  Her body turned to the side, she kept looking at the stencil in the mirror. “That’s fine. This is how I want it.”

  “Then that’s all that matters.”

  She met my eyes in the mirror and she looked vaguely surprised, like me saying that was somehow odd. What she wanted was what mattered. It was the end all be all for everything we’d do with that tattoo. It was the reason I’d never truly pursue her unless she gave me any indication she welcomed it. It was the most basic line in the sand, a line I’d never even think of crossing.

  “Thank you.”

  “Come on, let’s get you settled at my station and we can start cranking out this outline,” I told her, moving past that before she got uncomfortable.

  My station was like a second home to me now. We were all encouraged to leave our mark on the place. As with any shop, that meant displaying our designs around the space, but here it also meant painting. The walls as a whole at Sailor’s Grave were gray with accents of black and white. Each of our stations, marked off by half-height walls that Jess liked to call out “playpens,” were decorated as we saw fit. Most of us painted the half walls with designs that matched our style. Parker had gotten into art with graffiti and covered his in it. Grant did a lot of horror shit and had an homage to classic horror movies. Sketch, who could certainly nail a portrait even if it wasn’t his go-to tattooing style, had paintings of his wife and girls. As for mine, I’d decided on a mural of classic tattoo art.

  I sat on my stool and turned back to see Kate had stopped following me to inspect the colorful walls. She took her time, and though that work had been seen by countless customers, somehow it felt intimate. She didn’t just look and comment “that shit is badass” or “I love the colors.” She seemed to trace every curve and line with her eyes, stepping slowly along the length like she was in a gallery looking at priceless paintings. When she came to the doorway of sorts and saw what was on the edge, she smiled. And it was real.

  I swear to fucking God, the woman could get men to do just about anything for that smile.

  “What’s this?”

  I couldn’t keep from grinning myself. The lime green handprints were my favorite part, even if I couldn’t take a lick of credit for them.

  “My baby brother, Connor, did that.” I reached over to grab the frame from my drawing table and brought it over to her. “This is him and my sister, Tracy.”

  In the picture, Tracy was giving Connor a piggyback ride—or attempting to, anyway—and I was still able to comfortably wrap my arm around his neck. Tracy could bitch that she wasn’t a munchkin all she wanted, that picture was my proof.

  “He’s cute,” she observed. She didn’t bat an eye at the helmet Connor had on, something we all felt more comfortable for him to have on at times since he was prone t
o occasional seizures. “You look really close.”

  “We are. Always have been. Do you have siblings?”

  Her smile went somewhat tense as she sat. “No. Just me. My parents really shouldn’t have had kids at all.”

  “Well, maybe despite them, but you turned out all right.” Not wanting to get us into another tense spot, I changed topics. “I’m going to start the outline at the top, so how you’re positioned for that part is up to you. You can sort of straddle the chair and I can put up part for you to lean against, or you can lie down on your side. That’ll be how I’ll need you when we get farther down.”

  If my cock could talk, he’d be pointing out the list of ways he had to have her.

  “I’ll probably sit up first, then.”

  So, she went ahead and straddled the fucking thing like I’d indicated. I was a fucking creep for thinking about how I’d rather have her straddling me.

  I adjusted the table for her so she’d have the surface to rest her arms on and lean forward and made my excuse to get out of there. “I just need to go sterilize everything, and then I’ll be back.”

  As I walked from my station and through the main part of the shop, I caught Jess’s eyes, bugging mine out so she’d get the hint. In back, I prepped everything while I waited for her to follow.

  “What’s up with you?”

  “I’m a fucking mess. Like Jesus Christ, I’m jealous of my goddamn table right now because she’s out there straddling the thing.”

  I was expecting her to roast me right off, but she said nothing. I glanced behind me to see her looking more serious than I expected.

  “What?”

  She rubbed the shaved side of her head, her tell that she was unsure.

  “Look, I know I’ve given you a lot of shit about your thing for her, but have you really thought about this? I remember when they lost him. She was a fucking wreck for a long time. And honestly, I have my doubts that she’s come that far from that. I worry—”

  I cut in there. “I know. I know there’s no chance. I’m not expecting anything different.”

  “I’m not saying that. Maybe she will be ready to move on, and you’re an ass, but you’d be a good guy for her to do that with. I just don’t want you to…” She shrugged.

  “Latch on way too soon and get my heart pulverized?” I provided.

  “Kinda.”

  “Trust me, I know all of that. I can’t say I’m not feeling a shit ton of pull her way, but I’m not going to get attached unless there’s something concrete to attach to.”

  Her tense expression told me she wasn’t sure she believed me, which was fine.

  I wasn’t sure I believed me, either.

  Whatever she was feeling, she let it drop. “Just keep it in your pants, Romeo. I’ve already got a spot in mind on the website for that tattoo, and I’m going to be pissed if you fuck it up because all the blood’s too far south.”

  “Have I ever fucked up?”

  “Tattooing? Not that I know of, but you haven’t been here your whole career, either.”

  She was already walking away, but I called after her, “That’s cold, babe. You’ll crush my spirit like that.”

  I got her middle finger over her shoulder as she went back to her desk.

  “I’m so fucked,” I muttered to myself, going back to the autoclave.

  I’d been tattooing for years. I’d put more ink in people’s skin than I could remember. But I knew without a fucking doubt, this was going to be my biggest challenge yet.

  It wasn’t just about controlling myself. It wasn’t about not getting in too deep.

  It was all about leaving my mark in whatever way I could.

  Chapter Seven

  Kate

  After talking me through the process a bit, Liam got to work on the tattoo. For twenty minutes, time passed only by the changing of the songs playing in the shop. I’d never experienced anything that managed to be so comforting and almost painfully uncomfortable at the same time. It just happened that neither of those things had anything to do with the needles. The tattoo itself felt more like an irritation than anything. A couple times when he was working right over my rib cage, it bordered more into pain, but even that was mild.

  No, the confusing war of emotions I was wrapped up in was entirely the result of the man doing the tattooing. I didn’t understand it, but Liam put me on edge. He made me feel jumpy and defensive and… awkward.

  The last time I’d felt so truly off balance around someone had been in high school when Joel started focusing his attention on me. Well, I didn’t feel that unsteadiness right away with Joel. At first, I was certain he was just trying to bang me and move on. At first, that might even have been true. That had been his standard M.O., after all. Maybe it was because I was a challenge, maybe it was just a matter of natural connection, but the shift in him didn’t take long. Suddenly, he was escorting me in the halls, making a point to bail on his myriad of friends to sit with me at lunch; he even changed classes at one point to be in the same study hall as me. The attention was intoxicating.

  And unsettling.

  The return of that feeling wasn’t welcome.

  Joel had been the only one to ever throw me off balance like that. The feeling of it belonged to him. I didn’t want Liam to touch that.

  “Any reason why a gypsy?”

  If I hadn’t been so focused on remaining still while he worked, I probably would have jumped. Which was ridiculous. He was sitting a foot away, literally touching me as he worked—the sensation of which after so long of barely having any physical contact with anyone but Owen, I wasn’t even going to begin to get into. It wasn’t a stretch to think he might spark up a conversation rather than working in silence for however long I was going to be there.

  See? Off-balance.

  I cleared my throat, searching for a way to answer that didn’t get too deep. And yet, when I opened my mouth, I dove right in.

  “The first time I went with Joel while he got a tattoo, one of the artists had a drawing of a gypsy on the wall. I’d seen the same sort of tattoo before, but it just stood out that day. My whole life until I was eighteen, all I wanted was to go. Never an actual place, just not there. I never felt like I had any roots until Joel and I made our own little family, but even then I was only rooted to my boys. It wasn’t a location or a house. And now… without him… I’ve felt lost. I guess this is my reminder that I still have my boy, and that means I still have my home, even when it feels like I’m just roaming endlessly.”

  Even as I said it, I couldn’t understand why I would share all of that. Sure, it was normal to tell a tattoo artist the significance behind the piece they’re putting on you, but Liam and I knew each other beyond this, however little. Getting this piece done wasn’t the only time I’d see him.

  He gave a hum that I took as understanding, and then tacked on, “So not because you have secret fortune telling skills no one’s told me about.”

  The laugh slipped out of me naturally, and still it felt foreign. When was the last time I laughed for someone besides Owen?

  “Oh, no. That’s definitely part of it. Tell you what, why don’t you forget about cash? You do this, and I’ll tell you what’s in store for your future.”

  “Incredible, perfect artwork, meatball sub, cupcake, couple hours of TV, in bed and out before midnight,” he recited.

  I ignored the bait on the “perfect” thing. “Those wouldn’t be grocery store cupcakes, would they?” I hadn’t seen him since the awkward encounter we had almost two weeks ago now. “I’ll tell Avery you’re sinking that low.”

  “Never. That woman has a piece of my heart no one can take back. I’m a commitment type guy, and I’ve sworn fidelity to Sugar’s Dream.”

  “As you should. No one can give you what we can.”

  I felt the tattoo gun follow a line, lift, and then stop. I looked over at him to see a wolfish grin on his face. “I’m well aware of that, gypsy.”

  That was a good line.
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br />   Why was the Joel voice so active today?

  Liam went back to work, letting the quiet settle between us again. A few minutes stretched on of me feeling like he’d gotten the upper hand before I felt compelled by the need to break it. I danced around us, looking for the first thing to incite a conversation about when my eyes hit the picture frame.

  “I don’t want to overstep, but—”

  He chuckled, and I felt the air across my back, forcing me to hold back a shiver. “I was wondering how long it would take you to ask.”

  “I’m sorry?”

  “Connor,” he replied simply, proving he knew exactly what I was about to say. “It’s not rude. I have a picture of him on display that raises those questions. I’m happy to answer them. What’s rude is when assholes stare and don’t try to understand that he’s just a little different.

  “Connor suffered a severe brain injury when he was young. It impaired his development and cognitive ability. It also impacted a mess of other shit like his fine motor skills and caused him to have occasional seizures—hence the helmet. He leads a full life, but in many ways, he still is and will probably always be a child. He’s got that light to him that we all lose when we grow up, but he can’t rationalize things the way most twenty-two-year-olds can. He can’t take care of himself, so he’s still at home in my mom’s care. Still, we know more intimately than most how much worse it could have been.”

  “I’m so sorry that happened.”

  I watched over my shoulder as Liam turned to dip the tip of the gun in more ink, then went back to work, no sign that this conversation was impacting him at all. It was just his life.

  “If there was a way I could undo what happened, I would in a heartbeat so Connor could do all the things he might have wanted to. But I love my brother as he is just the same. When you know him, it’s impossible not to.”

  I knew exactly what he meant. If something had happened to Owen in the accident, I would have done anything possible to undo it, but I’d still be thankful every day that I had my baby. The same way I felt now.