by Rhys Ford
“I’m sorry,” Rob mumbled into Mace’s shirt. “And before you say anything, you should know that I’m sorry you didn’t get a chance to have a real dad. I mean, not like mine is a treat but… I’m just sorry. Okay?”
He leaned back into Rob until their bodies were pressed against one another and then let go another sigh. “You know what the hardest thing is?”
“No,” Rob replied, his words a soft brush of air on Mace’s neck. “What is it?”
“I don’t really know how to feel or what to think,” Mace admitted with a short laugh. “One minute I’m arguing with Ivo because he’s blown the kitchen up trying to cook tuna casserole with that pressure-pot thing Bear bought, and in the next minute, a man with a gold star comes by to say someone has killed my biggest nightmare, slayed my metaphorical dragon, and the man I might have to thank for that is the one who tried to kill me. And in the middle of all of that, I miss my mother.”
Rob turned him around with an insistent tug of hands on his waist, but Mace didn’t resist. Slouched slightly against the railing, he was nearly Rob’s height, and he parted his legs so Rob could nestle between them. The chilly air began to nibble at the still-healing muscles and tendons in his shoulder, but Mace didn’t want to go inside. Mace couldn’t stand another moment of brittle noise, churned up only to break the uncomfortable quiet as his brothers scrambled to think of what to say.
They held each other for maybe a minute or two, and then Rob heaved a shuddering sigh.
“Did you call her? I mean, does she know?” Rob asked. His eyes were cognac and stars, a romantic sunset hue in the oddly flattering lantern lights they’d installed on the anchor posts of the railing, and Mace could think of a million things he would rather have been doing that evening with Rob instead of sorting through the ramifications of his father’s murder. “Did the cops tell you they called her?”
“I left a message on the number I have, but it’s a work phone, so I don’t know if she’s even going to get it until tomorrow.” The distance his mother put between them stretched out to an impossible chasm, and Mace stared down into that dark abyss and wondered if his mother was as dead to him as his father was. “I’m always the one reaching out to her. We talk for a few minutes, and then she finds herself late for a meeting or has to run an errand. I think I have to accept that I have no place in her life, and I think that hurts more than anything. Thing is, she walked away from me years ago, and I’m still chasing after her. Maybe it’s time I let her go too.”
“Wait and see what she says. Not because you need her but because she’s missing out on someone who’s worked really hard and accomplished so fucking much. If she doesn’t see it, then that’s her problem.” Rob brushed his nose against his, a spot of warm on Mace’s cold skin. “And as clichéd as this sounds, you do have all of those assholes in there—not the kid, he’s cool but… maybe the dog counts—and me. Unlike the first time she walked away from you, you’re not alone. You have every single one of us.”
Rob’s mouth on the edge of his lips seared a line of heat that poured down Mace’s torso. He wanted to crawl into the comfort of Rob’s body, bask in the warmth of his golden skin and bright white smile. He loved the feel of Rob’s nails raking up his sides, and when Rob tugged at the hem of Mace’s shirt, he didn’t mind the cold bite along his ribs, because Rob’s fingers soon chased it away.
They were hidden in the partial shadows, cloaked in an unfamiliar privacy. At any moment Mace expected one of his brothers to come through the back door, a rolling gruffness to tease them apart. But from the sounds coming through the slight crack of the open kitchen window, it seemed that his brothers had settled down in the family room to wait things out.
He explored the back of Rob’s T-shirt and worked his hands under an oversized SFFD hoodie that Rob stole from the back seat of Mace’s car a few weeks ago. The gray fleece was ratty, and the patches stitched on the sleeves were slightly faded by sun and saltwater exposure from fishing down at the pier, but Rob apparently didn’t care. Mace got a curious delight from walking into the shop and finding Rob wearing it, its too-long sleeves rolled up past his sinewy forearms so he could work unhindered.
Now the hoodie was in his way, and Mace could only think of stripping it from Rob’s body, along with everything else he was wearing.
“Tonight was supposed to go a lot differently than you coming up here to hold my hand because… of my father,” Mace murmured into the crook of Rob’s neck. Then he ran the tip of his tongue across the strong pulse beating beneath Rob’s skin, blew on the wet spot, and bit it lightly when Rob shivered. “We were supposed to eat a good dinner here and then maybe go to a movie or, I don’t know, a bookstore or maybe the Irish pub down by the pier. I wanted to take you home and make love to you tonight. I wanted to spend the night taking care of you, and instead you’re here, and I’m not sure if I should be crying just so you have something to wipe away from my face.
“I don’t feel anything,” he admitted, his voice breaking. “I mean, I don’t feel anything for him. I feel relieved for myself, for Grandma Yu, and happy that I don’t ever have to worry about him coming after you, because I think I was burying the fear he eventually would.”
“There’s nothing wrong with feeling like that,” Rob consoled him and cupped Mace’s face in his strong, graceful hands. “You survived him in life. And you shouldn’t feel guilty for surviving him in death. The only thing good about him was you. I think I can safely say that. And as much as he tried to break you—even if you think he did—he didn’t. I mean, you can talk to Luke, because it seems like he’s got a whole bunch of degrees and some pretty long words to justify how you’re feeling, but I think it’s okay for you to be relieved he’s gone. Because he can’t lock you back in that closet anymore, even if it’s only in your mind.”
“Now you sound like Luke.” Mace couldn’t hold back his laughter. It started from the depths of his belly and then worked through his chest to break through the pressure built up there. Wrapping Rob into a tight hug, he breathed in the warm, masculine scents on Rob’s skin and hair. “Thank you for pulling me back together, or at least showing me how to get started on it.”
“Not a problem,” Rob whispered. He stamped his feet. “But I’m getting kind of cold here, and I don’t know where this is coming from, but I have a deep need to ask you if you’ve eaten and if you’ve taken any of your medication. Because I think with all of this going on, you were more focused on taking care of your brothers than what you needed. Am I right?”
“You might be,” he confessed with a wry grin. “Gus and Rey brought pizza with them. They’ve got Chris tonight, and it seemed like the safest bet. Apparently there’s not much difference in eating habits between a three-year-old and a house full of tattoo artists. So, if you like pepperoni-pineapple-jalapeno pizza, I’m pretty sure we have that and maybe something with a lot of meat. I’m going to guess they’re counting olives and onions as vegetables tonight.”
“I count olives and onions as vegetables every night. Even the jalapenos count.” Rob made a face at Mace’s disgusted snort. “I only keep in shape to fit into my jeans. You keep in shape because you have to drag people up and down stairs. For you, vegetables are a lifestyle. For me, they’re a garnish. So, let’s get some pizza and maybe some pills into you, and then let’s go back to your place. And if you need me to spend the night holding you so you can get some sleep, I will.”
“Might need you for more than one night,” Mace whispered.
“Yeah?” Rob tilted his head back and gave Mace a teasing sidelong glance. “How many nights do you need?”
“I don’t know,” he replied and then gave Rob a gentle kiss. “I’m thinking could be maybe a lifetime of them.”
Twenty
ON WEDNESDAYS Rob welcomed the jangle of the front door’s bells as much as he did his first cup of coffee in the morning after a long, hard night. Business was slow enough for Gus, worn out from staying up with his sick kid, to take a nap i
n the back room. Wednesdays were always slow, but the inclement weather kept people off of the sidewalks, so their drop-in traffic had been nonexistent all day. He had a couple of hours to go until the second shift walked in, and he’d made tentative plans with Mace to grab food at the pub down the street, providing Mace wasn’t stuck at the station if they had a call.
And the suckiest thing about a slow Wednesday morning shift was there was only so much art he could do, and Earl wouldn’t show up until about six, when Bear came in.
“Couldn’t you have at least brought the dog?” Rob grumbled, his complaint directed to Gus, who, being dead asleep and on the other side of the building, couldn’t hear him. “My brain is going numb from playing this stupid game on my phone all day. Next time, I’m bringing my tablet so I can at least read.”
He’d cleaned the shop in the first hour, to the point of having to open the front door to air out the bleach smell. Then he scrubbed the floor until he worried he was scraping some of the finish off the poured concrete. Organizing his stall took him another hour, mostly restocking and then fiddling with a tattoo machine he felt was sticking. When he glanced over at the other stations, he got an itch to rearrange things there, but he liked his fingers and knew he would be putting them in danger if he so much as breathed on Ivo’s equipment. Gus probably wouldn’t mind, but he wasn’t going to chance it, especially after Gus stumbled in looking like he’d gone on a six-week bender instead of spending the night wiping the sick off of his kid’s face.
Another bout of rain brought in a cold wind and the delightfully pungent scent of sea lion, fish, and bus exhaust, so Rob buckled down and closed the door, hoping he didn’t asphyxiate himself with the cleaning supplies. After about the third hour, he could see falling exploding jewels when he closed his eyes, and every single one of his tattoo machines hummed like Earl during a belly rub.
So when the bells jingled, Rob was ready to throw himself at the feet of whoever came in and give them any tattoo they wanted for half price.
He spun around on his stool and stood up to greet the shop’s first customer of the day, but his breath was stolen by the sight of Mace in a slightly damp white T-shirt, old jeans, and holding two steaming cups of Vietnamese coffee.
“Tell me one of those is for me,” Rob whispered, hoping Gus wouldn’t wake up so he could drink in both the coffee and Mace by himself. “Your brother’s passed out in the art room, so I can’t make coffee without going back there and making noise. He apparently had a rough dad night. Don’t take this wrong, but I hope the kid got food poisoning, because the last thing I need is the stomach flu. I’ve got a six-hour session on Saturday, and why are you here so early? It’s not even four yet. Aren’t you supposed to—”
“They cut me loose. Now, as adorable as you are, these little cardboard sleeves don’t do much to hold back the heat, so I’m going to need you to take one of these or I’m going to put it down,” Mace interrupted with a chuckle. “And from what I heard, Chris woke up bouncing off the walls and demanding Pop Tarts, so I don’t think it’s the stomach flu. Take a coffee, give me a kiss, and tell me why you’re looking so wild.”
The coffee was warm, but Mace’s hug was warmer. Rob liked that they were close enough in height so he didn’t feel like an Oompa Loompa, a significant change considering the last few guys he dated had towered over him, and he never felt awkward about not having a perfectly cut body or classically beautiful features. Mace made him feel comfortable and appreciated Rob for who he was and what he did.
Standing in the middle of the tattoo shop, Rob realized Mace gave him something no other man had done before—respect. Dating another artist was an exercise in battling egos, a lot of one-upmanship about art and money. Since he’d come into the game older than most, Rob had to work extra hard to carve out a place for himself, and even now, he swallowed down a lot of attitude when Ivo or Gus told him how to do something. Still trying to find his place and his style, he needed a solid home life, but Rob hadn’t wanted to tie himself down to a volatile dating situation until Mace shoved his way into his life.
Then Rob’s brain seized the words Mace had so casually flung out between them, and his heart clenched. Adorable was an admission of fondness, an almost confession of Mace liking Rob in his life. Hearing the bemused humor in the poured heat of Mace’s melodic voice pulled Rob up short. They’d come so far from the place they started, and stopped along the way to christen the shop’s floor with a bout of hard, hot sex that Rob still jerked off to. It was as though they built their relationship backward, getting the physical out of the way and then scraping down through the layers to discover the men inside.
He liked Mace. Rob would have committed to an even stronger emotion, but he didn’t know where he stood. There was so much between them—a convoluted tangle of blood, tears, and a violence so horrific Rob couldn’t accept that Mace had been raised in it. But they’d come through the horror of it all to a tenderness and honesty Rob never imagined he could share with another man—
Much less Mace Crawford—someone he now felt very comfortable teasing.
“Did you just say you think I’m adorable?” He took the coffee cup and silently agreed that the zarf was purely for show. “Dude, you just don’t drop that and then hand a guy his coffee. Adore is a word you use for kittens and puppies, and you just used it on me.”
“Yeah, I think I did. It just came out.” Mace grinned at him and then gave him another quick kiss—again with a nonchalance Rob didn’t know how to take from someone who usually spent his life wound up a bit tight. “I know Gus had a rough night. Rey told me all about it today when he came to start his shift.”
“Is it one of those things you just say? Like in the South when someone says ‘bless her heart’ when they really mean ‘Jesus, when is she ever going to screw in that lightbulb in her brain?’ I’m adorable? I’m not sure how I feel about that.” Rob grabbed Mace’s coffee and easily found an open spot on his station to set both cups down. “Never mind. Don’t answer that. I don’t think I’m ready to have a conversation just yet. Maybe in a couple of hours, because I need time to absorb and—”
“I don’t know where it came from. Look, I have a hard time saying ‘you’re cute’ to the dog. But it just sort of slipped out so… I don’t know. I just realized when I came to the door that I really missed you and I was happy to see you. It’s not like I said you were precious or anything.” He looked around the empty shop. “Do you think you have time to do some work on me? I don’t want to take you away from your busy schedule.”
“Okay. Did you get hit on the head?” He stood and stared at Mace, not sure if he heard correctly. “Did you just ask me to ink you? On top of the ‘you’re adorable’ shit?”
“You really are having a bad day. Yeah, I’m asking you to work on me.” Mace stripped off his T-shirt and slowly revealed a long stretch of mouthwatering muscles and golden skin. His jeans hung low on his hips, and the cut of his abdomen disappeared beneath his waistband, along with the light line of hair that trailed down under his navel. “I asked the doctor if it was okay to repair the damage from that gouge I got way before, and he said it should be fine. It shouldn’t affect the healing on the other side. So, do you have some time?”
The adorable thing was funny, but Mace asking him to work on his skin was something totally different—it was serious in a way Rob didn’t know if he was prepared for. He never—ever—imagined putting ink on Mace. He had three experienced, amazing artists for brothers, and he wore some of their best work. Even though the Neo-Traditional knight on his shoulder appeared to be simple, Rob knew better. The balance of the elements and the saturated gradation of the piece were so clean, and they were done when Bear was just starting to ink. If anything, that piece alone marked the standard of ink on Mace’s body.
Being asked to touch up anything on it or even to add to what Mace already had was mind-blowing. He’d been cocky when Mace came in the first time, working off steam about something he thought he woul
d never be allowed to do, but there Mace was, shirt off and showing him what needed to be repaired.
“It’s that tattoo you have over… that scar. You never got Bear to fix it?” Rob stammered, his tongue tripping over the words. “You don’t let anyone but family touch you. And you’re asking me?”
“Yeah,” Mace replied softly and turned around so Rob could see the spot on his powerful back. “I think it’s healed over smoothly enough that you could probably fix it. What do you think?”
Mace’s damaged skin was a tattoo artist’s worst nightmare. There were layers of scar tissue under an elaborate Japanese-style dragon wading through a pond. He hadn’t taken the time to appreciate Mace’s tattoos during the one time he’d seen him naked on the floor, but Rob had his mind on other things then.
He couldn’t yet look at the other side of Mace’s back, or at least not without feeling a hell of a lot of guilt. The scar there was fresh, an angry pink that time would eventually soften, but for right now it was a constant reminder of how close he’d come to losing Mace before ever truly having him. Still, Rob silently left a small kiss on the healing spot and chuckled when it made Mace shiver.
The piece itself wasn’t large, or at least not as massive as some of the Japanese back work he’d seen come out of the shop. It was definitely Bear’s work—an organically flowing piece that followed the line of Mace’s shoulder. It was done in strong vivid colors, but on a more muted background with a lot of open skin to allow the art to breathe. It was a style Ivo and Gus had mastered as well. They packed in more colors and detail than Bear, but their older brother was the best at inking over scar tissue.
Rob could barely see the keloid hidden in the dragon’s folds, but his fingers easily found the scattered mass. It was solid in one spot and spidered out into uneven jagged lines. If there had been any symmetry or sense to the original shape, Rob couldn’t find it.
