by Gwyn McNamee
Then, when I became a Ranger, I had “sua sponte” inked into my right bicep. The ranger motto means “of their own accord” in Latin, and refers to the Rangers' ability to accomplish tasks with little to no prompting and to recognize that a Ranger volunteers three times: for the U.S. Army, Airborne School, and service in the 75th Ranger Regiment.
And most recently, he completed the massive back piece in honor of my regiment. The 75th regimental scroll extends across my shoulder blades over the unit crest. That took ten sessions to complete. Ten wondrous sessions where I was dead to the world and found safe harbor from the hurricane of unrest in my head.
The needle comes off my skin, and I check Jeremy over my shoulder, smirking at the damn Siracha t-shirt I’ve seen on him at least a dozen times.
He raises his eyebrow at me from under the newsboy cap he always wears, and I give him a little nod to tell him to keep going. I've been in the chair for six hours already.
This is a tattoo many people would've broken up into two or three sessions. Those people are fucking pussies.
Jeremy works until I can’t handle it anymore, and it hasn’t happened yet in the twelve years I’ve been coming to him. There have been times we haven't completed a piece in the first sitting, but that’s always been because Jeremy didn’t have time or was tired, not because I couldn't tolerate the pain anymore.
Today is the right rib cage.
This is what they mean when they say it hurts so good.
With the thousands of nerve endings in the rib cage, most people agree it’s one of the most painful areas to get tattooed—precisely why I chose to do it today.
I concentrate on the sound and the feel of the machine and let myself relax for the first time in what feels like months. This is better than therapy, although I’m not dumb enough to cancel my appointment with Doc. That could lead to a lot worse things than more ink…like another stay in the mental health ward.
It only happened once, shortly after my last deployment. Once was enough to convince me I needed to take better care of myself and that I couldn’t ignore my symptoms for what they were—PTSD. It’s the last thing I ever wanted to admit, that I wasn’t strong enough to handle what I did and saw over there. But being in the VA and witnessing what happened to the people who ignored it and let it get out of control, persuaded me that admitting you needed help was the lesser of two evils.
Doc came to me by way of a recommendation from a guy I served with. He said she was intelligent and compassionate, but also blunt, and assured me she wouldn’t let me bullshit her. I figured those were probably all good qualities for a psychiatrist.
I wasn’t wrong.
Her straight-forward, no-nonsense approach to therapy really helped me see what I was doing to myself and how fucking stupid I was for trying to ignore or brush off the nightmares and panic attacks. And while she doesn’t exactly support ink therapy, she understands why I do it.
“You sure you want to keep going, man?” Jeremy pulls the machine off my skin and glances up at me again.
“Why? You getting tired, old man?” I love giving him shit when he wants to stop. He’s only ten years older than me, but making him feel old makes me feel young.
He grins at me and shakes his head. “No, I’m just asking ‘cause we are hitting the eight hour mark now. I don’t think anyone has ever sat this long for me before.”
Eight hours?
Where did the last two hours go?
I examine the large clock hanging on the wall and confirm the time; it’s almost 10:00 p.m. “How much do we have left to go?”
He shrugs and contemplates his work. “Maybe an hour, hour and a half.”
“If you don’t mind staying, let’s just get it done tonight.”
“Whatever you want, man.” He dips the needle into the black ink and returns it to my skin.
I’ve been wanting a piece there forever but could never decide what to get. After what happened with Skye at my place this morning, and the phone call with my father, it just came to me.
A lone figure stands with his head tilted up toward the sky where a turbulent storm threatens.
A swirling mass of dark, billowing thunderheads occupies the sky and lightning cracks across the center, striking the ground and illuminating the figure, throwing a ghastly shadow.
Doc is going to really get a kick out of micro-dissecting this one.
It couldn’t be a more accurate representation for the way I have felt as of late.
I had let what happened with Abello throw me off my path of recovering my sanity. Things were good before that night. Life was livable. I hadn’t seen Doc in months, and I had gotten to the point where I didn’t need the meds she’d prescribed to help me sleep and get through the day. The nightmares were few and far between, and it felt like my life was finally back on track.
But killing those men threw me into a tailspin that has only increased now that I finally acted on my feelings for Skye.
And it’s only going to get worse.
There is no happily ever after here. There can’t be. Not when I know how Savage is going to react. I might as well be shooting him in the fucking heart.
The truth is, I’m getting this tattoo not only as a means of stress relief, but also as punishment. It will be a constant reminder of what fucking up the friendship with the only person who ever truly cared about me feels like. Every time I look at it, I’ll know that I put myself there through my own actions. I’ll know that the reason I’m alone in the world is because I couldn’t keep my fucking dick in my pants.
“Crazy Bitch” bumps through the club speakers while Renee wraps herself around the pole upside down. Her reddish-brown hair dangles down and brushes the stage and her huge, silicone breasts protrude out toward the eager face of one of the front-row patrons.
He’s a regular, and I know he won’t do something stupid like try to touch her, but I still keep an eye on her.
Her ex won’t be back. Even he can’t be that stupid. Unless he physically can’t stay away.
Just like I can’t stay away from Skye. Sleeping in my bed alone last night fucking blew. By the time I got back from Jeremy’s, it was almost one, and I hadn’t heard from Skye. I halfway expected her to just show up again, but she must have known I needed some time alone.
But even my alone time was filled with her—her scent permeating my sheets and her whispered words echoing in my ears.
My cock stirs to life just thinking about it, and I have to shake my head to clear the images of her bent over the chair yesterday morning.
Knock it off, Gabe.
I should be figuring out a way tell Savage. What I absolutely, positively, shouldn’t be doing is picturing his baby sister naked.
Shit. Shit! Shit!
It’s Friday, I need to get my shit together and pay attention on such a busy night.
“What’d she do?”
Nora’s voice behind me makes me jump, and I turn from where I stand leaning against the wall backstage to face her. Danika’s sister is something else. The former pre-med student turned stripper stands in her stage uniform—a white thong and a ripped Led Zeppelin t-shirt knotted under her breasts—with one eyebrow cocked up at me, and I already know she sees too much. She always does. It’s like she can see straight through people to their cores.
“What’d who do?”
She grins and shifts her weight from one Lucite-heeled foot to the other. “Don’t play dumb, Gabe. What happened with Skye?”
“Why do you think something happened with Skye?”
“Because I’m not blind like Savage apparently is. The tension between you two the other night when she came with Storm was palpable. I could feel it from the stage. So, what happened?”
Fuck.
Nora sure has changed since she started working here. She was so quiet and deferential when she started, and Savage and I thought she couldn’t be more different than Dani. But the longer she works here, the more outgoing she’s become. And maybe it�
��s just because she knows us so much better now, but she doesn’t hold back anymore. While she’s still respectful, she speaks her mind just like she was a member of the family, which I guess she kind of is since she’s Savage’s sister-in-law now. Nora has become like a little sister to me, too. A little sister…like how I should be thinking about Skye…
If I spill, the chances of it getting back to Savage through Danika are pretty high, but at the same time, a female perspective from someone who knows all of us may be useful. But that doesn’t mean I have to come right out and tell her everything.
“What do you think happened?”
She laughs and leans against the wall while I take a quick glance back at Renee to make sure she’s still okay. When I return my attention to Nora, she has a knowing smirk on her face. “I think you two finally banged out all that sexual tension.”
“Jesus, Nora…do you have to say it like that?”
Her eyes widen in mock innocence. “Like what?”
I scrub my hands down my face and resign myself to the fact I need Nora’s help. “What makes you think we slept together?”
“Because you wouldn’t look so guilty if you hadn’t.”
Shit, am I that obvious?
I always thought I had a good poker face, but apparently, I’m a fucking open book when it comes to my feelings for Skye. “Yes, okay, we…well…you know.”
She grins. “I thought so. When are you going to tell Savage?”
Isn’t that the million dollar question?
How the hell do you tell your best friend you’re boning his little sister without ending up bleeding on the floor? I know he keeps a .45 under his desk, and I definitely don’t want that thing used on me.
“I have no fucking clue, Nora. I value my life too much to even consider telling him.” He’s going to come down on me faster than a hellfire missile when I finally come clean. I probably have a better chance of surviving that explosion than I do whatever Savage rains on me.
“So, you and Skye are just going to sneak around forever?”
“Is that an option?”
She chuckles and shifts onto her feet again as Renee’s song winds down. The DJ’s voice blasts through the club. “Thank you, Scarlett. Next, please welcome the beautiful Cashmere to the stage.”
“Look, if you want my advice, just come clean with Savage. Sooner, rather than later. He has a temper, but you two are too close for this to come between you. I have faith it will work out.”
With those parting words, she steps around me and struts out onto the stage as the opening riff of “Kashmir” explodes over the speakers.
Whoever said strippers weren’t smart never met any of our girls.
> Hey can we talk? <
I read the message from Lucas and chew on my bottom lip. I should probably talk to him. He hasn’t done anything wrong. He had every right to get angry over what I did. I owe him a conversation, a real one, not in the supply closet at the hospital. We spent four months together, so just walking away and letting it end like that isn’t right. It’s time to face the music and come clean about everything with him.
< Yeah. Meet me at Whiskey Bar? >
> I’ll be there in five <
Five? Whiskey Bar is just down the street from my apartment, but it’s at least fifteen minutes from Lucas’ place. He must be in my neighborhood already.
The jeans and tank top I’m wearing will just have to cut it because I don’t have time to change or clean up. It’s a good thing I showered right after my shift or I would have been meeting him still smelling like sweat and the office.
Threatening clouds greet me when I step outside. Rain falls steadily and is already creating pools in the dips of the sidewalk. I open my umbrella in hopes of keeping even remotely dry on the walk to the bar, but it’s a fruitless effort given the increasing winds. Driving would be pointless since I’d never find parking on the street near there.
Over the last several hours, the storm has intensified, the winds already starting to thrash the tree tops. The news says Hera is tracking northwest, and if it remains on its current path, will make landfall probably Tuesday as a category one or two hurricane.
Nowhere near as powerful as Katrina, but still dangerous and destructive.
It almost seems fitting the storm is coming at the same time this shit is happening with Gabe. I have a feeling the fallout from our relationship will have the same results.
The rain pelts my umbrella incessantly, and I race through puddles all the way to the bar. When I finally step into the building, I’m drenched despite my best efforts.
Shit. Drenched and fucking freezing.
I shiver and search the packed room for Lucas. He’s sitting at a high-top table in the back corner and grins when he sees me cutting through the crowd toward him.
“Hey.” He rises to his feet and pulls me into a hug, burying his face in my wet hair.
That can’t be comfortable.
Our embrace lasts just long enough to be awkward. Weird. I’ve never felt awkward around Lucas before. We always had such an easy rapport and now, it just feels…wrong.
Is it all because of Gabe? Or was it always like this, and I never noticed?
I feel awful about the way things ended with Lucas, and as he releases me from the hug and retakes his seat on the stool, a twinge in my heart reminds me how awful it would have been to be on the receiving end of the wrong name during sex thing.
If Gabe had said someone else’s name…shit…I would cut a bitch and probably remove his balls and shove them down his throat.
“How have you been?” Lucas’ question seems innocent enough, but I know it’s not what he really wants to ask. He didn’t meet me here to find out how I’ve been, he wants to know if we’re getting back in the sack together.
What do I tell him?
“Uh, busy, you know, working and keeping a watch on the storm.”
Not a lie.
His left eyebrow quirks up, and he takes a drink of his beer. “Is that all?”
“Pretty much.” I’m not sure what he expects my answer to be. Does he want a play-by-play of every moment of the last two days?
He nods and rubs the condensation off the side of the glass. “Well, I hope the time I gave you to think has helped.”
Time to think?
Does he really believe I’ve changed my mind in forty-eight hours?
“Lucas, that was only two days ago.”
His eyes widen. “So, you need more time?”
He seems genuinely surprised. How can he actually expect for something to happen in such a short amount of time? Maybe I’m just really, really bad at reading people and this relationship stuff, but it seems to me that if someone says another name during sex and then tells you they need time to think, it would be obvious, and probably prudent, to give them more than two days.
I don’t even know how to respond to his question without sounding like a complete bitch.
His hand snakes over the table and grasps mine.
I scrutinize our hands twined together on the wooden tabletop, and then his warm, brown eyes. There’s nothing but affection there, yet his touch is making me uneasy. After having Gabe’s hands on me, another man’s just feel plain fucking wrong. It’s strange, because Lucas’ hands have given me countless hours of pleasure and more orgasms than I can count, but all I want is to have them off me now.
“Skye, I wanted to tell you the other night. I tried to tell you…”
Oh, hell no! I try to tug my hand out of his, but he holds it tightly.
“…that I’m in love with you.”
Shit.
My casual dating situation has just turned really complicated, really fast. I can’t give him any reason to believe there’s a chance of anything between us in the future. I was stupid to think I could get away with casual sex with someone for so long without him developing stronger feelings for me. I was clueless to not notice it sooner and end things before they got this out of control.
/> If I’m not honest now, it’ll only hurt him more in the end.
“Lucas, look, I’m really sorry, but I told you I wasn’t looking for anything serious—”
He shakes his head and leans forward across the table toward me. “Don’t try to tell me you don’t feel the same. I know you do.”
Being blunt is the only way to go right now. Good thing I excel at that. “I’m sorry, Lucas, but I don’t. I really liked spending time with you, and we had fun, but it was never more than that for me.”
His eyes narrow and flash with anger momentarily before he takes a deep breath and relaxes back with a forced smile. “You’re just confused.”
No. I am most certainly not confused, but maybe I did something to make him think there was more going on between us? Mentally cataloguing the last several months, nothing immediately comes to mind. We hung out. We ate. We fucked. We never did anything romantic or coupley that I can recall. And I most certainly never said anything that would have made him believe I had stronger feelings for him.
“I never meant to lead you on. I thought I was being clear about what this was.”
He shakes his head, that plastic smile still plastered on his face. “Nah, we just need to spend more time together, that’s all.”
Is he for real?
Does he have some mental deficiency I’m unaware of?
I take a deep breath. How do I handle this?
He just isn’t getting it. Maybe it’s time to be as direct as possible. Rip the Band-Aid off.
“Lucas. There’s someone else.”
His hands clench into fists, turning his knuckles white. The brown of his eyes darkens to an almost black, and I can physically see the anger rising.
Aww. Shit.
“I’m sorry, I—”
“Is it Gabe? Whoever the fuck that is. Were you cheating on me with him the whole time?” His booming voice draws the attention of the couple at the table next to us, and I smile at them awkwardly.
