I scanned the sheet, seeking out the total. “A grand?”
“I didn’t mean to get so far behind.”
“Almost half of this is interest. Why didn’t you call me months ago? I would’ve taken care of it before it got to this.”
I had more than enough in my savings account. I’d been putting money aside to get a better place eventually, or maybe even buy Hayden’s old condo above the shop when his tenants rolled over. But every time I thought I was getting ahead, my mom would call, and I’d lose a little ground.
“You’d had the new furnace put in, and I didn’t want to ask for money again. I thought I’d be able to make it up with some extra shifts at the factory, but they’re not giving overtime these days, and then there was that cough.”
“Which you weren’t even going to get the prescription for.”
“I figured it would go away on its own.”
The things I’d hidden from for years came into sharp relief. I’d spent all this time trying to protect her from John, thinking I was keeping her from going without the necessities. In reality, I’d been giving her the tools to make a martyr of herself and a fool out of me. It was a painful realization, especially knowing the kind of damage it had done to Ivy—how it would impact the rest of her life, like it had mine.
My mom wasn’t a victim; she was a perpetrator of her own demise.
It was pointless to continue the discussion. Mom would protect John every time; it didn’t matter what was at risk—her kids, her health, her goddamn home. Getting angry wasn’t going to solve anything either. This life was the only thing she knew. There was comfort for her in the predictability of her circumstances. You couldn’t rise above what you didn’t truly want out of.
I shoved the bill in my back pocket. “I’ll pay this, but the money’s going right into the account. Do you have to work this morning?”
“I work at the factory at three, but I’ve got a few hours at the deli this morning.”
“You’re back on afternoons?” Last time I’d been by she was on days.
“This way I can pick up mornings at the deli a few days a week.”
“Let me guess, John thought it was a good idea. Does he pick you up at the end of the shift?”
“He’s not home much these days, and he had to sell the car to get the rig.” She shifted from one foot to the other, nervous in the face of owning her choices. She hated the conflict I brought with my questions, but reveled in the abuse her husband dished out.
“If I get off early enough, I ride my bike over and we go home together,” Ivy offered.
As if that made it better. My nineteen-year-old sister was riding her bike into an industrial park in the middle of the night to make sure my mother got home safe because her husband couldn’t be bothered to make sure she had a car.
“Why don’t I make coffee and some breakfast?” My mother scurried across the room. The kitchen was a mess, food-crusted plates and empty pizza boxes strewn across the counter. She opened the fridge door, but the inside was almost as empty as Sarah’s had been. “I have to do a shop.” Her tone was full of apology.
“I’m gonna take Ivy out with me to pick up some groceries.”
“If you get cream, I’ll have coffee ready for you by the time you get back.”
This was the way she worked: avoid and pretend the bad things weren’t happening.
She opened a cupboard and pulled out four pots. Checking to make sure they were clean, she filled them with water and turned on every burner. A memory from when I was a kid floated around in the back of my consciousness and broke the surface. That was what she used to do when I was real young. Before Ivy. Before John, even. So they weren’t the root of these money problems.
She’d made it normal. When the water wouldn’t heat up in the taps, we’d boiled it in pots until we had enough in the tub to wash with. It had never been more than lukewarm.
Ivy followed me out the door and took the helmet I passed over. Wordlessly, we got on my bike and stopped at the bank first. I paid the gas bill, and Ivy set up a new account, one that didn’t have anybody else’s name on it. We transferred almost all of what was left in the other account—which wasn’t much—leaving twenty-five bucks behind.
Then we made the trip to the grocery store. We couldn’t pick up much, only what would fit in her backpack, but I tried to make it count.
Outside, before I passed the helmet back over, I turned to her. “Is he beating her?”
“What?”
“Does he smack her around?”
“No.” The response was immediate, automatic. She pursed her lips. “I don’t think so.”
“Have you seen him hit her before?”
“It’s not like that.”
“Has he ever hit you?”
Her eyes stayed level with mine. “He only hits the walls.”
I wasn’t sure if I believed her or not.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Chris
A couple days later I found myself holed up in the private tattoo room with Sarah. There was no aboveboard business going on. I wasn’t putting a tattoo on her perfect, unmarked skin like she’d talked about fifteen minutes ago. Instead, I was taking full advantage of her pretty, convenient sundress and its accessibility factor. We were making out like teenagers expecting to get caught by our parents. Except our situation was much more comfortable, and no one cared what we were up to.
I sat in the tattoo chair with Sarah straddling my lap. I untied the thin halter strap behind her neck and pushed down the top on one side to reveal a perfect, perky breast.
“What’re you doing?” she asked in a hushed, slightly anxious, albeit excited, whisper.
“Kissing one of my favorite parts of you.” I pressed my lips to her collarbone, then forged a path over her breast until I reached the tight peak of her nipple. She gasped quietly and arched, shoving her fingers into my hair. My hat was on the floor since this wasn’t the first time she’d done that in the past five minutes.
“We should stop.” Her words in no way matched her actions. She pushed her chest farther out and ground up on me.
“Fuck that,” I mumbled around her nipple.
“When’s your next client?” She punctuated the question with a hip roll.
“We got lots of time.”
“You should’ve come up to my apartment.” Sarah snuck a hand between us and palmed my erection through my jeans. “We could go now if you want.”
“This isn’t comfortable enough for you?” I pulled the left side of her dress down until the other breast popped out.
Sarah covered her nipple with her palm. She was still holding on to my hair with the other hand, though. “There are people on the other side of the door—clients, our friends.”
“Baby, you have the quietest orgasms in the entire world. Everyone’ll think we’re talking in sign language in here. Besides, the speakers are on. All they can hear is music.”
“You want to give me an orgasm? Here?”
“You don’t want me to?” I flipped her skirt up, revealing a pair of pale pink cotton panties. I fucking loved them. I loved that they were simple, and what I loved most was how damp they were when I slipped my finger under the elastic. “I think you want me to give you an orgasm.”
Sarah dropped her hand to cover mine, but it wasn’t to stop me. Her eyes closed as I brushed her clit with a knuckle. I eased the fabric to the side. I’d already planned to make a trip around the bases when I took her back to my place later, but no one said I couldn’t have a sampler now.
“Do you have a condom?”
Or maybe I was getting a full meal. “Weren’t you worried about someone hearing us a few seconds ago?”
“I think I can get over it.”
“Can’t wait until later for a piece of this?” I wagged my brows.
Sarah gave me a look that told me I was treading the fine line between funny and infuriating. I sat up and threaded my fingers into her hair, brushing my lips over hers.
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“I’m playing, baby. There’s one in my wallet, if you’re interested in using it.”
Sarah slid her hand into my back pocket. “You locked the door right?” she asked on a whisper.
“Fucking right I did.”
She got up on her knees and pushed her panties over her hips, removing them one leg at a time while I unbuckled my belt and popped the button on my jeans. Then she pulled her dress over her head and let it drop to the floor. Sarah’s body was incredible. She was the kind of beautiful that should never have been on display for the masses. She was too perfect for public consumption. Hers was a body to worship privately.
I rolled on the condom while she straddled me. If we’d gone to her apartment, I could’ve taken more time with her, but this was hot—and not something Sarah was usually up for. She was more of a get-it-on-in-a-bed kind of woman, which was why I appreciated even more that she was willing to do this right here, right now.
I ran the head of my cock back and forth along her slit a few times before I let her sink down. She dropped her face to my shoulder and exhaled a shuddery breath, along with my name.
I stroked down her back, palming her ass to pull her tighter against me. “No one’s gonna know. It’s just you and me, baby.”
She lifted her head, and I cupped her cheek, kissing her when she started to move—slow, easy circles that were going to send me to the edge a lot faster than I wanted to get there. Not that this was a bad thing, considering where we were and what we were doing.
“Later tonight I’m gonna kiss every inch of this perfect body.”
She bit my lip, muffling a sexy moan. The whole-body tremor that followed, along with the tight clench around my cock, told me she was coming.
“I got you, baby.” I held her hips, shifting her over me when she lost her rhythm.
I followed right after, having been holding off pretty much since the second I got inside her.
She rested her forehead against the crook of my neck and traced the lines of ink on my forearm. “One day we should use this room for its intended purpose.”
It didn’t take long for her to come back to that topic. “I’m not letting you near my tattoo machine.”
She bit my neck. “Don’t be a jerk.”
“I don’t wanna mar your perfect skin with something you might regret later.”
“You’re an amazing artist. You wouldn’t mar me, and I won’t regret it.”
“What if I fuck it up?” I didn’t want her to have a permanent reminder of me that she couldn’t erase. I wasn’t talking about the art.
“Every design I’ve ever seen of yours has been gorgeous. I can’t imagine you putting something on me that would be anything less than that.” Sarah lifted off me and grabbed her dress from the floor. “You could put it in a place no one else would see it but you.”
When she talked like that, it made me think there was something to this thing we had going on. It was one of the reasons I’d avoided putting any ink on her. Tattooing was an intimate process, regardless of the tattooist-client relationship. I’d seen Hayden and Tenley’s relationship consume him while he put the wings on her back.
It had worked out for them in the end, and that process had brought them together, but then Tenley’s tattoo had been symbolic of a massive loss. Sarah’s motivation for getting a tattoo was nothing like Tenley’s, but it would still be intimate regardless.
But I did want my art on her body, and the idea that it would just be ours made it seem a lot like I was someone she wanted to keep around. There was clearly an upside, but also a downside to that. With permanence came openness and honesty, and I wasn’t sure I knew how to share all my truths with her.
I removed the spent condom, tied it in a knot, and tossed it in the garbage across the room. Then I grabbed her by the waist and pulled her between my legs. “What kind of tattoo do you want? A little heart right here?” I tapped her hip. “Or maybe something sexy right here.” I brushed over her ribs.
“Not a heart, and not on my hip.”
“No hearts? Too cliché?”
“Totally cliché.”
“You think about it, and when you come up with a design and a location, we can talk.”
“I already have some thoughts.”
“Oh, yeah? Like what?”
“I’ll tell you later, when I have designs I can show you.” She ran her fingers along my jaw. “You’ll come get me as soon as you’re done with your last client?”
“If you still want me to, yeah.”
“Didn’t you say something about kissing every inch of me?”
“I did. You wanna be my late-night snack?”
“And breakfast.” She leaned in for a kiss at the same moment my phone buzzed on the tray beside me.
I reached over and grabbed it, checking the number. “Hold that thought. I need to get this.” I answered the call with, “Is everything okay?” It had been a few days since I’d taken Ivy to the bank, and she’d texted a couple of times since then, but we hadn’t had a phone conversation.
When I got calls from her, it was usually because something was going down.
“It’s my sister,” I explained to Sarah as Ivy’s high, panicked pitch made me pull the phone away from my ear. “Whoa, hold up. What happened?”
“Dad came to my work looking for me, but I was on a split shift, so I’d gone to see a friend. One of the girls I worked with said he was super mad about something, asking about my paychecks and whether I was getting them. I think he knows about the bank account. It’s the only reason I can see him doing something like that.”
“You didn’t tell him, though, so how can he know?”
“I don’t know. Maybe we shouldn’t have emptied the account. I should’ve left more in there.”
“How often does he take money out of your account?”
“It used to be once in a while, but it’s been a lot more lately.”
I glanced at Sarah, who looked concerned. All the most important women in my life were controlled by men whose only intention was to take from them. It made me feel like I was constantly failing. I gave Sarah an apologetic smile.
“You want to come to my place tonight, until the dust settles?”
“I can’t leave Mom here to deal with Dad alone.”
“You’re not responsible for her. It’s supposed to be the other way around.”
“I know that. It’s just hard, Chris.”
We went on like that for a couple of minutes, me trying to get her to come to my place, her feeling like she needed to stay to make sure Mom was okay. I hated that she felt like that was her job. In the end, she wanted to be home to make sure Mom was okay when she finished work.
“What happened?” Sarah asked after I hung up.
“Family shit. My sister’s caught in the middle, and she doesn’t know how to get out of it.”
Sarah swept her fingers up the length of my arm, tentative and uncertain. “If you need to be with her tonight, I’ll understand. And if you want to talk to me about it, I’m here.”
Her tenderness made the whole thing more difficult to manage. Sarah didn’t know how bad my family stuff was. Part of me wanted to tell her about all the crap I’d learned over the last few months with Ivy, but then she’d know exactly what a mess my life was. Inked Armor and my crew here was only part of the package. The rest was seriously fucked up.
I’d been trying to keep the women in my life safe from the things that could harm them, and now I’d become one of those things for Ivy. Again.
“She’s gonna keep in touch, let me know if things get any worse.”
Maybe I was the common denominator. Maybe despite my best efforts, I only made things harder for everyone.
* * *
Ivy was fine. Or that’s what she said when I called back a while later to check on her. I offered her a spare key to my apartment, in case she ever needed somewhere else to go. She said it wasn’t necessary, and if things didn’t look good at home, she had a fr
iend she could stay with. But she remained committed to running interference for Mom. Which I continued to hate. However, forcing things only made them harder for Ivy, so I went back to my standard operating procedure: keeping my mouth shut.
I still felt unsettled, though, so after the shop closed, Hayden, Jamie, and I drove over to my mom’s to check things out. I’d figured it would be a quick stop, and then I could go back to get Sarah and spend a few hours with her. It had been a lot of years since we’d driven by the house I grew up in, and they’d only had the pleasure of meeting John once. It’d been pretty easy to keep that part of my life separate since I mostly wasn’t allowed to come home.
I could’ve gone on my own, but it wouldn’t be good if John was there and I didn’t have anyone to back me up, or hold me down and keep me from making bad choices. Like kicking John’s ass. Now that Ivy was involved and I had Sarah in my life, the stakes were a lot higher. I couldn’t afford to be arrested. I had too much responsibility.
“This looks different than I remember.” Hayden rolled to a stop at the curb.
I could see very clearly the changes that had taken place over the years through his eyes. It had never been a nice house, not like the one he’d grown up in, or the one he’d recently renovated for him and Tenley. And not like Jamie and Lisa’s funky little apartment in Pilsen either.
“I’m gonna see if my mom’s home yet.” I checked the time. It was past eleven. If she took the bus, she’d be here already.
“You want us to come with?” Hayden asked.
The rig wasn’t around, which meant John probably wasn’t here. “I should be good.”
I made sure to avoid the hole in the porch on the way up the steps. I knocked and waited, listening for movement inside. The lock turned, and the door opened. My mother’s tired eyes appeared in the crack.
“Chris.” Her voice held a nervous waver.
“Hey, Moms, can I come in for a minute?”
“I’m not sure that’s a good idea. John might be home soon.”
“I wouldn’t mind talking to him. Apparently he stopped by Ivy’s work looking for her paychecks. You know anything about that?”
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