by Jacob Chance
“Whenever they’re running out. Use your best judgement.” He pats her hand and smiles. She bats her eyelashes at him and then pouts. “Are you teasing me?” she questions.
“No, I’m serious. Replace them when they need to be. I trust you to take care of it on your own.”
“I’m glad you trust me,” she says, beaming a smile at him.
Is this girl for real? How fucking hard is it to replace an empty tray?
He winks at her before she walks off and I can’t stop myself from rolling my eyes. All that’s missing is some baby talk and ridiculous pet names to make being around them even more painful.
I press my lips tightly together to keep myself from saying what I really want to. I’ll seem catty and he’s already seen enough of my bad side. I don’t need to add to it.
“Well, I guess I better let you get back to your guests. I just wanted to come by and see it for myself - show my support for a friend.”
He leans toward me. “Are we friends, Elle?” His voice is soft and deep. I have to watch his lips to be sure of what he said.
“I think we are. Whether we see each other every day or every two months, I’m always going to care and want the best for you.”
“I want the best for you, also.”
I nod my head. “I know you do.” We both stare at one another, lost in our thoughts - mine are regretful.
As the silence stretches out between us, I struggle to find words. “Uhm, I uh, I should get going. Maybe I’ll see you around sometime.”
“Sure, take care. Thanks for coming. I appreciate it.”
We’re like two fucking strangers fumbling for conversation. I never imagined we’d end up in this uncomfortable space. I thought we’d always be the best of friends, but there’s nothing like sex to fuck things up beyond repair. Stepping forward, I awkwardly wrap my arms around him. He goes stiff as a board before sighing and wrapping his arms around me. He pulls me close and I can feel his warm lips brush the top of my head. My heart pounds. Squeezing my eyes shut, I savor the scent of him and the sensation of being in his arms. His muscular chest pressed to my softer one, his large creative hand caressing down the back of my head. He draws back first and my eyes abruptly flick open. I don’t want him to know how much I enjoyed being held by him once more.
My lips lift in a small smile, but my eyes are filled with sadness. Not knowing when I’ll see him again guts me. “I’ll see you later. Good luck with everything.” I take a step backward, bumping into someone. The force jars me, knocking me off balance. Strong hands grip my arms to steady me. “I’m sorry,” I say turning around. When I see who I crashed into I can’t help the squeal of happiness from leaving me. “Sean. What are you doing here?”
“Elle, Oh my god. I didn’t expect to see you here today.”
“What are you doing back in Boston?”
“Josh called me when this place was in the works and I decided to move here. A change of scenery is good.”
“We should get together sometime. You still have my number?” I question.
“Yeah, I’m sure I do, but if not, I’ll grab it from Josh. I’ll call you soon.” He smiles and I can’t help but notice how handsome he is.
“Sounds good.” I flash him a quick smile and wiggle my fingers in a wave. My eyes move to Josh and find his angrily locked on me. He looks pissed Sean and I were talking. I’m not sure why he would be. He’s got a girl and what I do shouldn’t concern him. “See you, Josh.”
“Take care, Elle.”
Chapter Ten
Josh
The buzz of the tattoo gun is a familiar sound to me these days. Canvas has been open for two weeks and business has been great. We already have fully booked our schedule six weeks out and I’m considering hiring another artist to meet the demand.
When I helped design the layout of the shop I knew I wanted individual tattoo rooms for each artist. It’s a more personable experience for someone if they have your undivided attention. Not only for the tattoo itself, but for conversation too. Strange things get revealed and sometimes it’s heart wrenching stories explaining the meaning of the tattoo they’re getting. Either way, it’s a personal thing and each client deserves to have privacy.
There are six rooms total, one doubles as a piercing station. I can hire more help as we need it, but for now it’s Sean and me.
“Josh, your next client is here,” Tatum announces with a smile, poking her head inside the doorway to my space.
“Thanks. Send them back, please.”
She gives me a thumbs up before disappearing. I finish prepping the area while I wait and take a seat on my stool.
“No fucking way,” I yell, jumping to my feet to hug my older brother, Jameson or Jam as I call him.
He crushes me in his tree trunk arms and thumps me hard on the back before lifting me off my feet. His arms are wrapped so tight around me it feels like he’s going to break my back. He sets me down with a grin. “Damn, dude. You’re not the lightweight you used to be. You’ve been working out.”
“Goddamn, Jam. I think you broke my back.”
“Don’t be such a pussy. I barely squeezed.” He grins and looks me over. “You look great, bro. I’m glad to see you lost the skater look.”
I laugh. “Fuck off. I never looked like a skater.”
“It doesn’t matter now. Look at you.” He holds me at arm’s length. “You’re a goddamn man. I feel so proud. I haven’t gotten this emotional since Opie Winston died on Sons.”
“Dude, don’t even go there. I can’t tattoo with tears in my eyes.”
He laughs and shrugs off the leather vest with the Bastards patch across the middle of his upper back. Laying it over the back of the chair, he takes a seat.
“What are you here to get? Do you have a drawing or do you want me to sketch something up for you?” Glancing at his arms, I notice there’s no uninked skin left to tattoo. “Where are we putting it?” I raise my brow at him.
He tugs his white t-shirt over his head and pats the area over his heart. “Right here.”
“Okay, what am I inking right there?”
He stares at me for a moment, his eyes filled with unease, then rakes his teeth over his bottom lip. “Mom’s face. I want you to tattoo mom how you remember her. I’m sure you have a clearer picture of her than I do. Your eyes never miss a single detail. You’d make a great cop. Actually, fuck that. We don’t need any pigs in the family. You’d be a great asset to the club.”
“Bro, please tell me you’re not here under the guise of getting a tattoo to try and lure me into club life. It’s never going to fucking happen.” Frustrated, I run a hand through my hair. “Well?” I question.
“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 p
refer.
“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 stomach 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,” h
e 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.
Chapter Eleven
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.
