by Elyse, Drew
My client that afternoon didn’t have to travel out of his way to get there, though.
I made it to the front of the shop, he was leaning on Jess’s desk with his usual shit-eating grin aimed her way. Daz wasn’t just a customer around here, he was part of the family.
Sketch and Daz both belong to the Savage Disciples MC. The club and the shop were all part of one big circle because of it. And when Liam, one of the other artists here, hooked up with Daz’s sister-in-law, it only pulled that circle in tighter.
The Disciples were good guys; a family, not a group of thugs. They didn’t necessarily toe anyone else’s line, and they’d do whatever they felt was required to protect their own, but they were respected around Hoffman rather than feared, and with good reason.
I stepped up to the desk and into what Daz was already saying. “Don’t get me wrong, I fucking love him, but I miss having the primary access to my woman’s tits. It’s hard to get in there when our son is always hogging them.”
Jess shook her head. “How has Avery not suffocated you in your sleep yet?”
“She’s made threats.” He shrugged, unconcerned.
“Just know, if she does it, I’d help her bury your ass,” Jess warned.
“Hardly seems like the kind of shit a woman that shares her bed with a cop should say.”
Jess smirked. “Do you really think Braden would let me go to prison?”
Daz’s eyes went down to the antique sapphire ring on her finger, then he snorted and answered, “Not a fucking chance. He’s as sunk as the rest of us assholes.”
He wasn’t wrong. Jess and Braden had only been together a few months, but they were solid. I wouldn’t have helped him hunt down that ring that was perfect for Jess if I wasn’t sure of it. My loyalty was to her first and foremost.
“Go get your ink and stop leaning on my desk,” Jess griped, but she was still smiling. She wasn’t an unhappy person in general, but in the two weeks since Braden had put that ring on her finger, the smile was near constant. It was good to see, given all that she’d had to go through over the last several months to get to that place.
Daz turned to me. “How’s it going, man?”
“Alright. How’s the baby?”
“Perfect,” he said with a proud smile. “A bunch of the women are over with Avery fussing over him. Hopefully, she’ll get some sleep. I love him, but he’s exhausting.”
Joel was just shy of two months old at that point. I didn’t know much about kids, but I knew Daz and Avery were far from out of the woods on losing sleep.
Leading him back to my station, I grabbed the tablet I had my designs on and pulled up what I’d put together for him. He’d wanted something to compliment the empty hourglass I’d done for him a while back, a commemorative piece for his late brother, who his son was named for. I’d worked out a pocket watch with hands at the time for little Joel’s birth in the same style.
“What do you think?”
He took it in. Daz was flippant a lot, and he talked a lot of shit, but the things he took seriously mattered. I’d tattooed him more than once before, and he always took his time and asked for the adjustments he wanted. It made my job easy not to have to reassure him he was allowed to do just that like I had to with some clients.
“It’s fucking perfect. Let’s do it.”
It took hours to get the tattoo done. Hours Daz managed to fill on his own, talking or just kicking back while I did my thing. Sketch and some of the other artists came by at times to take a look and chat, which meant I could do my thing without having to force myself to be social. I preferred not to, preferred to focus on my work and not bother myself with anything else. I’d always been that way, but I’d learned in my time at Sailor’s Grave to have a mind to what the person I was tattooing needed.
Daz, he didn’t need a thing. All the Disciples were big on “live and let live.” They were friendly with me whenever I was around the club or they were in here, and they didn’t expect me to turn that back around. I wasn’t a total prick to any of them, and that was all they needed.
When the last of the color was done, I cleaned off his leg and admired it for a second. I wasn’t some cocky asshole that needed to inflate his own ego, but I took pride in my work. I took pride in that fact that my work had earned me a spot at Sailor’s Grave and what that said. And when a piece meant what this did to Daz, pulling it off felt even better.
“Take a look,” I suggested, moving so he could get up and walk over to one of the full-length mirrors on the wall. The familiar unease moved through me, the way it always did when someone got their first look at a tattoo when I was done. The pressure of permanently inking someone’s body went away.
Daz took in the tat, turning to get every angle before he announced, “You’ve outdone yourself, Park. It’s fucking phenomenal.”
Just like that, the tension faded.
“Really, man,” he went on. “Just nailed it.”
Jess came strolling over and knelt to get a close look at it. “It’s amazing.” Her eyes came to me, as they always did when she wanted to make sure I was hearing her. She took it on herself to be the one-woman cheer squad around here.
“Avery’s going to lose it. She’s still hormonal as shit, cries at everything. Unless it’s something that gets her pissed, then she goes for the knife block.”
Avery was Daz’s match. It was possible she was the only woman who could put up with Daz and all his shit. That said, it meant she was a bit of a force of nature. Adding on having a baby, I didn’t doubt she would do just that.
Daz came back to my station to let me lube and wrap up the tattoo so he could get back to his family. After going over the aftercare routine he already knew, he leveled me with a look that lacked all his usual bravado.
“Thank you.”
That was it. Simple, to the point, but that serious stare that was unlike him told the whole story. His tattoo, like so many, meant a hell of a lot more than just some body art. He’d trusted me with something that mattered, and I’d come through. In a job that had a lot of good aspects every day, that particular one never got old.
Hours later, after another client and helping Jess shut down, I walked into my apartment. Not for the first time, it struck me how quiet it was. It shouldn’t bother me. It’d never bothered me before.
Still, in the couple months since Jess had moved out, the quiet felt off.
It wasn’t like she’d lived with me all that long. It was only a matter of weeks after a fucking psycho broke into her place and assaulted her, but I’d settled into it more than I expected.
Dropping my shit on the coffee table, I found myself heading to the second bedroom. I’d meant to turn it back into an art studio like it had been before we converted it into a room for Jess, but it felt pointless. The studio at Sailor’s Grave was a better set up anyway. Having the room sit empty didn’t feel like a worthwhile use of it either, though.
Frustrated at the sight of it, I shut the door and went back to the living room. As I sank onto the couch and turned on the TV just for the sake of breaking up the silence, I wondered if maybe I ought to get a pet. I’d never had one, hadn’t lived the sort of life where taking care of something beside myself fit in before, but maybe the idea had merit.
I took out my phone, pulling up the one truly active text stream I had.
Me: I’m thinking about getting a cat.
Jess: I’m allergic to cats.
Me: You always make me come over there anyway.
Jess: I guess. You like cats?
Me: I don’t know. I’ve never really been around cats.
Jess: Then why would you get a cat?
She had a point.
I didn’t know the first thing about cats. Or pets. Or sharing my place with anyone but Jess.
Jess: Are you okay?
Was I?
Me: Yeah. I’m fine.
It was just quiet. I was a quiet guy. There was no reason for it to bother me.
And yet,
it did.
Chapter Three
Gwen
“I’m really, really sorry,” Caroline repeated for what had to be going on the hundredth time. “If I’d known he was such a prick, I would never have suggested it.”
“I’m fine,” I assured her, again. “It’s his problem, not mine. Him being a dick doesn’t have to bother me.”
And yet, it did.
Those types of reactions, the way people would stare or avoid looking at me altogether like I was contagious, the muttered comments about not being able to imagine looking like I did, those things always did, even though I told myself they shouldn’t.
“I know what you’re doing.”
Of course she did, she’d known me a long time. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You said ‘it doesn’t have to bother me’ not that it didn’t.” Her frown was more than sympathy. She was beating herself up for—in her mind—causing this.
“It’s not your fault.”
She heaved a sigh that said it all. It was going to be a while before she—or Steve, for that matter—let this go. “That asshole better hope he doesn’t run into Steve at the gym. There’s no telling what will happen.”
Knowing it was pointless to try to talk her or her overprotective husband down from this, I focused on the task at hand and hoped she would follow my lead.
“What was this new fundraising idea?”
Caroline and I worked at the Hoffman Area Animal Rescue. She served as the head of fundraising, while I managed the volunteer staff. Since her efforts typically involved a fair bit of specific coordination with me to get the help lined up to pull them off, we worked quite close together. In fact, we shared an office. Which made it a really good thing that we’d gotten along and became friends in the time we’d both been there.
“A friend of mine, Cassie, is married to a police officer. She’s involved with their fallen officer fund and suggested we might want to do a joint project. Another officer’s girlfriend apparently suggested one of those hot cop calendars. She took it a step further and thought we could have them photographed with some of the animals we have up for adoption here, then the proceeds could be split between us.”
The idea had merit. “It’s definitely been successful elsewhere. We’d have to see if we could line up a photographer that would do the shoot for free for the cause or at least at a discounted rate.”
Caroline nodded. “That’s the best part. Apparently, the same woman that suggested the whole thing used to be in modeling. She’s got a few friends she offered to call, and it seemed like Cassie was pretty confident they’d be able to find someone willing to do it pro bono.”
Wow. It was almost sounding too good to be true. A way to raise money for the shelter without having to do huge amounts of legwork. Those kinds of opportunities didn’t come along often.
“Will the cops be on board though?”
“From the sound of it, yes. I guess the fund has been running low, so they’re up for whatever needs to happen to change that.”
Now there was something we could relate to. The reality was that running a shelter wasn’t cheap, even when I kept us as stocked with volunteers as I could manage. It took all of the whole staff’s efforts to keep this place fully funded, let alone add to the pot for the expansion we wanted to build so we’d be equipped to house more animals.
“I think it’s a no-brainer then. Run it by everyone to be sure, but I doubt there will be any resistance.”
Before Caroline could say anything else, there was a knock at the door followed by Anne, one of our seasoned volunteers, popping her head in.
“Sorry to interrupt, but we could use a hand out here.”
Since we’d had two no-shows for hours they’d signed on for, this wasn’t surprising. Saving the schedule spreadsheet I’d been working on, I told her, “I’ll be right out.”
Out front, it was obvious why I was needed. The entryway was full of people waiting. Anne was behind the desk, walking a family through the adoption application. Jumping right in, I approached a couple that seemed to be the next ones up.
The two were quite a sight. While they were both heavily tattooed, the similarities stopped there. With her pencil skirt, red lips, curled hair pinned back behind a large, fake rose, she looked like she should be reclined across the hood of a muscle car for a magazine cover. She was a bit intimidating in her beauty but didn’t seem standoffish in the least. Her partner, however, was the opposite. It wasn’t that he seemed threatening, just that he reminded me a bit of some of the animals we’d get in here. No matter how cute they were—or in his case, breathtakingly hot—I knew on instant that they preferred their space.
“Good afternoon. Have you been helped yet?”
The woman’s attention popped over to me, and she smiled big. “Hi. No, we haven’t yet.”
Trying to not let myself be intimidated by her appearance, I said, “Well then, I’m Gwen, I’m one of the staff members here. What can I help you with today?”
She looked to the man at her side, waiting, and I did the same. After a moment, he answered in a low voice, “Looking to adopt a cat.”
“Of course. Have you had a cat before?” I looked between them both.
“No,” he answered, his expression turning unsure.
“That’s alright,” I assured. “We have a lot of resources for first-time pet owners. We even have an on-site store where you can purchase all the starter supplies, you’ll need and all of the proceeds go to providing for the animals in our care.” Reaching for one of the clipboards on the counter, I handed it out toward them. “If you could just fill this out. It’s a basic questionnaire that helps us match you up with the right pet. We just need one per household, so you both don’t have to do one.”
The woman shook a hand in front of her. “Oh, we aren’t together. I’m just here for moral support.”
He took the clipboard from me, saying, “She means she’s nosy.”
The woman just shrugged, not refuting his claim.
While he filled in the form, I handed out the same to a family waiting behind them, promising that someone would be able to help them soon. As I returned, I couldn’t help but look him over closer knowing now that he wasn’t taken like I’d assumed. His black hair, dark eyes, and the warm depth of his skin beneath the bright colored tattoos made for a devastating combination. His lean build was not for lack of muscles, as was evident by his arms that were on display with the dark navy Sailor’s Grave t-shirt he had on. Even with the obvious broody vibe he had, I was tempted to get close, to see if I couldn’t break through that barrier he seemed to have up.
Or I would have been tempted, if I weren’t still nursing my wounds from my last catastrophic attempt at dating.
Taking the clipboard back from him, I nodded to his shirt. “Have you gotten a lot of your work done there?”
He looked down, as if he wasn’t sure what shirt he was wearing, then back up at me. “Yeah.”
The woman rolled her eyes. “He also works there,” she informed me. “We both do. I’m Jess, I’m the shop manager and the only reason all them get anything done,” she added, offering a hand.
I took it and said, “Yes, we spoke on the phone once. I’ve actually got an appointment next week.” An appointment I was still freaking out about. I didn’t have any tattoos yet, but I was done being scared and putting it off.
Her smile widened. “Really? Who with?”
“Parker.”
She laughed. Driven by instinct, I looked down at the form he’d just handed me to see ‘Parker Coleman’ scrawled across the top.
Oh, god. “Well, now I feel awkward.”
With laughter still in her voice, Jess said, “Don’t. It’s not your fault all the guys are weird about putting up pictures of them instead of just their work on the website.”
This was true, but it didn’t alleviate the touch of warmth I could feel in my cheeks.
Extending a hand in hopes it migh
t make me look a little more composed, I offered, “It’s good to meet you. I love your work.” Like the tattoos on him, his work was vibrant and colorful even when it wasn’t altogether cheery. He also happened to be an expert on tattooing scar tissue, which was the big reason I’d wanted to have him do mine.
He took my hand in his, and I managed to contain a shiver at the warm, rough feel of his. “Gwen,” he said it as if he were considering my name, not greeting me. “Four seasons design, right?”
“That’s it. I’m sorry I had to cancel the consultation. We had a power outage here and it was a nightmare.”
“Don’t worry about it. We might not be able to get as much done in the first session, but we should be alright. I’ve got a couple preliminary designs drawn up already, I can show them to you before we leave rather than email you so I can get your thoughts.” His voice, now that I could really hear it, was like strong whiskey and silk.
I noticed his eyes hop to my scar for just a moment, but they settled back on my full face quickly and without any apparent reaction. He’d know from when I reached out about the tattoo I wanted that it was going over scar tissue. It was only natural he’d consider what he could see in thinking about the appointment we had coming up. Still, I couldn’t help but wonder what was going on inside his head seeing the scarred part of my face.
“That’d be great.” I managed to keep my voice from shaking with the nerves, or the self-consciousness, or the tingling sensation that was spreading through my body the longer I focused on him.
Dropping my eyes, I took longer reading over his survey than necessary so I could catch my breath and get myself together. Everything seemed fine from what he put down, nothing so far indicated he’d be someone we would not or could not adopt an animal out to, so I focused myself back on my job and offered, “Shall we go meet the cats?”
