by Racquel Reck
He shakes his head.
"I know you want to. And I want to right it." I’ve been anticipating this since Shay left this morning. "Then after you’re done—"
His fist slams into me again, but I brace myself for the hit and remain standing.
This time Wiley and Bryan both grip him, each of them hanging on to one arm.
Tryst’s face is red. A vein in his neck bulges, and he struggles in their hold. He breaks free of Bryan, but Wiley’s got an iron grip on his arm. The murderous glare in Tryst’s eyes focuses on me. With steam rolling off of him, he wants to hit me again. He steps forward, dragging Wiley with him. Bryan grabs his arm again, like that will stop him. The dude is strong as a train, and I’m about to get my shit wrecked.
I should be scared. I’m not. Actually, I kinda want this. The pain he can deliver will give me something to focus on besides the hurt I’m feeling from losing my woman. "Let him go."
They do, and he slowly stalks toward me. His eyes and the movement of his muscles are like a predator.
"Are you fucking nuts?" Lina gets in between us. She turns to Tryst. "We’ve got a recording session tomorrow. Stop the bullshit. Morg is responsible for his own crap." She pushes Tryst.
Bryan tries to get in between them, but Lina pushes him too. "Back off, Bryan."
She turns back to Tryst. "And you’re responsible for yours. You could have told your cousin everything, but you didn’t. Beating Morg isn’t going to change anything. You still messed up and Shay’s still pregnant. So squash it. Get your guitar and set up. Or don’t. But you’ve kept us waiting long enough."
Everyone’s staring at Lina and Tryst.
She turns around, brown eyes locking with mine. "You should have told her, and your baby-mama-drama shit needs to get straightened. But today we need you here. Get your head clear. This is a big opportunity for all of us, and I’ll be damned if I let you blow it for everyone."
Tryst unsnaps his case. All the rage I saw in him has been wheeled back in. I don’t know how the guy does it. Then again, I’ve never seen him worked up this bad before. If that was just a small piece of his temper, I’d hate to see what he’s like at full force.
Wiley goes back to his drums and Bryan picks up his bass. Lina stares me down hard, and she’s right. I’m being selfish, letting my drama into a space that’s supposed to be my salvation. Why the hell is Shay everywhere?
I grab the lyrics and head to the mic as Tryst plugs his guitar into his amp. The ice in his stare sends a chill through me. It’s his death glare. I saw it aimed at Gary. What in the hell did she tell Tryst? Did she lie and say I wanted nothing to do with her or the baby? He warned me before that he’d put me in the hospital for screwing with her.
Given the control Tryst has over his rage, his punches, he’s methodical. And if he wants to kill me, I can see him doing it. Snapping bones, a well-placed punch or kick. Dude was in the marines for eight years—I’m sure he knows his shit.
An earsplitting note rings out of Lina’s keyboard. Everyone plugs their ears and stares at her. She lifts a brow. "I’m not going to say it again, guys. Chill with the heavy. Or I’m going to bust all your equipment, then we’ll all be screwed."
I don’t doubt it. Lina’s temper knows no bounds when she gets worked up, and when she’s like that even Bryan can’t tame her.
I clear my throat and try to block out the evil eye Tryst is giving me. I belt out the first scream, but I don’t follow up with the rest of the lyrics. I can’t while the tension is in the air. "Tryst, man. I’m sorry. I was selfish. I’m going to go to her after practice and apologize. I don’t know what she told you, but I’m not bailing. Hopefully she will hear me out. I’ll tell her that I made you keep quiet, that I threatened to kick you out of the band if you told. And I’ll tell her you tried to stop me and that you’ve never hit the shit. I promise, I’ll make you look like a saint."
Tryst eyeballs me. "No. Tell her what you have to. But I did hit it a couple of times and unlike you, I own up to my shit."
"We cool?"
Twenty-two
Shay
Three days. Three freaking horrible, miserable days of hell. Tryst won’t talk to me. Gary took about eighty percent of my clientele, including the guy who was working on my website. There goes my advertising. Grrr…
I pound on my printer. This picture doesn’t want to print. I lean onto the shelf to check the wires.
My phone goes off. Morgan again, probably. I’m sick of him blowing up my inbox. How long will it take him to storm over here this time? A month, a week? So far I haven’t had to dodge.
Every wire is connected. So why isn’t it working? Damn gremlins.
"Effin piece of garbage!" I bang it again.
"Beating up the machine isn’t going to get it to work."
I bang my head on the shelf and it rattles. Bebe and her freaking knick-knacks. I glare at Gretchen. Great, now she must think I’m the biggest bitch of a boss. "Sorry, I’m in a bad mood."
Her eyebrow rises. "I can see that. Can I try?"
I nod. "Have at it. I’ve checked–"
"You’re out of paper." She’s trying to hide a smile.
How the hell did I overlook something so simple? I rub my temples.
She grabs a stack of paper and loads the machine. "Pregnancy will do that to you. My cousin Beth poured milk into the dishwasher when she was pregnant. It was hilarious. I tried to tell her it wasn’t the soap, but she was screaming at her boyfriend over the phone." She shakes her head. "Poor Santo, he was just calling to tell her he was on his way home from work and was bringing her favorite ice cream. She flipped out. Said he was insinuating that she was a pig. Told him to give it to the skinny girl down the street and he could give her a bone, too, because he wasn’t going to get any from her anymore. Hormones make us say and do all types of goofy shit."
I laugh. All this stress I’ve been under and one stupid story about a guy getting reamed out over the phone has my sides hurting. Picturing a guy who has no clue how to save his ass from something so asinine. Was I being a little asinine when I stormed out of Morgan’s?
Gretchen laughs.
"What’s so funny?" Bebe comes in from the back with a box of ink for the printer. "It needed ink too and this is our last cartridge."
"I can’t believe I missed that." I’m losing my mind. I flop down in my chair.
"It’s to be expected," Bebe motions from my slightly round belly to my head, "all you’re going through."
"I think I can help you with one of your problems." Gretchen holds out a business card. "I noticed Razor’s Edge doesn’t have a website. I went to Specks Howard with this guy and he’s pretty damn good. He did my website for my books."
I take the card. Oh hell no. I crumple it.
Gretchen quirks a brow. "I thought you needed to advertise. He’s really—"
"No." Morgan’s not designing my website. "I know him and don’t like him."
Bebe reaches over me to grab the mouse and clicks print. "Don’t like who?"
"Morgan." A sharp zap goes through my frontal lobe. God, this freaking migraine won’t quit.
"You know him?" Gretchen leans against the edge of the table and crosses her arms. For a tattoo artist, she’s a walking taboo. Not one speck of art on her. When I hired her yesterday I was surprised to find that while she is certified, she doesn’t like needles herself. But the portfolio of the work she’s done on other people is impressive. If I would’ve known she knew Morgan, I wouldn’t have hired her. Can’t fire her though. My shop needs her, and knowing the boss’s–what was Morgan? “Baby daddy” seems too ghetto for what he is. Anyway, it’s hardly a reason to fire her.
"Yes, I know him." My hands drift to my baby bump. "We’re not on good terms."
She scrunches her face so her mouth and nose go to one side. "Well, I do know another guy. But he won’t cut you a deal and he’s expensive. But he owes me a favor so…I’ll see what I can hook up." She shivers. "He’s just a creeper."
Bebe flips my hair with the picture she just printed out. "You’re being stupid."
The bell rings and in walks a guy with tattoos covering every inch of his skin, including his face. Gretchen grabs an application off the counter and hops down. "My friend Collin. I told him you needed more help. He has a ton of regular clients. It’s actually what I came over to tell you when you were having problems with the printer." She meets him at the door and hands him the app and a pen.
"How many convictions do you think he’s had," Bebe whispers out of the side of her mouth.
"Probably a ton. He looks like Creature from Freak Show."
"Hey, I love that dude." Bebe laughs. "Guy’s got heart and not at all dangerous."
She’s right, that guy is pretty sweet. Collin might be a good guy. Still running a background check and making him take a drug test. It’s mandatory.
Gretchen laughs at something he said, her brown hair flying back with her head in laughter, and he’s suppressing a smile.
"Odd friendship." Bebe says. "Him covered in tatts and metal and not a smear of ink or stud on her." She glances back at me as she takes her chair beside mine at the front desk. "Complete opposites. Kinda like some other people I know."
She means like Morgan being into drugs and me being against them, no doubt. She’s the queen of subtle hints. "Are you trying to insinuate something?"
"Just stating a fact." She sets the picture on the easel and turns it on so light illuminates the surface. "But if you’re reading something in between the lines, then maybe you have way too much on your mind." She places a piece of tracing paper on top of the picture and snaps down the holder, then picks up her pen and begins to trace the lines that show through. "Maybe a certain someone? Or some-ones? Don’t you think you’ve cooled off enough by now?"
"Not talking about this, Bebe."
"Shay."
I look up.
Gretchen motions to Collin. "This is my friend. He’s here to see about our opening."
Collin holds out his application along with a portfolio. "My work. I’ve been doing tattoos for six years."
I flip through the pictures of his work and stop at a tattoo of a scorpion. “Amazed” doesn’t even begin to cover it. "You can do 3D tattoos?" I can’t even do 3D tattoos.
He smiles and nods.
Bebe spins around in her chair and looks over my shoulder at the picture. "That’s wicked."
"I do piercings, too. I noticed you don’t have anyone for that."
"That’s because we don’t have a license for it." I make a mental note to get one. This kid does great work—he knows how to pierce and has a regular clientele? Something has to be wrong with him. With these credentials, he should already be working at a halfway-decent shop. "Where have you worked before?"
He goes to open his mouth, but Gretchen jumps in instead. "He works out of his basement."
Yeah, okay. I might buy that. "So what makes you want to work in a shop now?"
He opens his mouth.
Gretchen opens hers.
I throw up a hand. "I directed that question at Collin. And Gretchen, you have an appointment in less than ten minutes. If I were you, I’d go set up my station."
She nods. "He’s a great guy. Please consider him." Then she’s gone.
"So, what made you decide to work in a shop?"
He smiles and leans his elbows on the desk. "Got tired of working out of my basement."
I look down at his app, and under references I see a name I know. Collin has everything I need to bring in new business, but I don’t want anyone who might know Gary. "How do you know Paul?"
"I did a couple of piercings for him."
"It says here you used to work at Skin Sensations. What happened there?"
He fidgets with the barbell on his forearm. "I used to have a problem with drugs."
And there it is. Skin Sensations is a high-class shop, and I know they don’t tolerate drugs. Gary hired a junkie they fired. No way in hell I’m hiring a junkie. I don’t care if he can eat Skittles and shit rainbows. I hand his portfolio back to him. "Love the work you do, but I’m going to level with you. I don’t tol–"
"Please, let me finish. I could have gone to Afterlife’s new location, but I didn’t. Paul was going to work for this guy, Gary. I know all about the guy from the stories I’ve heard in rehab. I’m sober two years in May. I used to have an alcohol and coke problem. I have a handle on it now, but I don’t want to be tempted. Gretchen told me about this place. She said you won’t put up with your employees doing drugs. I’ll submit to testing if you need me to. My house is about to get foreclosed on and I’ll have nowhere to work. If you give me a chance I promise I won’t let you down."
"You’re hired."
I spin around in my chair and glare at Bebe, wishing I hadn’t given her the power to fire and hire.
She shrugs. "The guy has talent and talent we need." She hands him a form to fill out. "This form agrees to random drug testing. Can you handle that?’
"Yes." He signs the paper with no hesitation.
Gary would have hesitated. Would Morgan?
"See?" Bebe takes the paper back. "Problem solved. You start tomorrow. Chair rental is fifteen percent of what you make in a day."
"Um..." We both look at Collin. "I have Fibromyalgia and smoke medical marijuana for it."
Just fucking great. I throw my hand up. "Why did you sign the paper then?"
"I was hoping you’d overlook that since my doctor prescribed it to me." He hands me his medical marijuana card.
Staring down at it, a million thoughts go through my head, all about Morgan. His pot use—is there really a difference between someone who uses the drug recreationally and someone who uses it for medical purposes? Morgan wasn’t out of control when I was around him. I saw no sign of him being on drugs. All those times he came and brought me my lunch, he acted normal. Well put together. So confident in everything... Confident. He wasn’t like that at the cabin. Why? Then he did a total three-sixty on me the day he came into my shop and Gary was here.
Confident. So confident he got into a fight with Gary.
I don’t fight that often. Was Morgan high then? He had to be. A part of me tells me that he’s not a violent person. Gary hit him first and he was defending himself. So yeah, he had to be high then. But when I cleaned up his face he was unsure of himself. Did his high wear off? There was a definite shift in his personality. I don’t know why he smokes it, but his changes aren’t all bad. I like the way he is. The caring and loving side of him I felt two nights ago. My heart trips. I miss him.
"Ah..." I look up and Collin has his right eyebrow arched. Do I want to give this guy a chance in my shop knowing I didn’t give Morgan a chance with my heart? Bebe already hired him. But law states that I have the right to fire him because of the pot. "The thing is, I can’t have pot-smokers working for me. My eight year old hangs out here regularly. I can’t have him around that."
"Oh for the love of Christ, Shay." Bebe swipes his card and looks at it. Then looks up at Collin. "Here’s the thing, Col. I’m part owner and I want to hire you. Shay will be opening her own store soon and I’ll be running this one. Here’s what I’m going to do. I have a house with a finished basement. You can rent space there and when Shay opens her store you can come work at this one." Bebe glares at me, making me feel like nothing but a speck of dirt.
What the hell is her problem? She knows my situation. What the hell does she want me to do about it? I can’t have him work here. As much as I want Collin’s business, I can’t risk my son.
She looks back to Collin. "How about that?"
Collin nods. He won’t look at me.
He probably thinks I’m the biggest bitch in the world. Whatever.
He takes his portfolio from Bebe. "When can I bring my gun over?"
"I get off at nine."
No, she doesn’t. Our shop doesn’t close till twelve.
I glance at her.
She won’t me
et my eyes, instead she smiles at Collin. "So be here by then and I’ll show you where you’ll be working."
"See ya at nine." He smiles back at her, then goes over to Gretchen’s station. They talk for a minute, then he leaves.
Bebe swipes his application.
I look at the woman who just undermined my decision. "He could be a psycho, Bebe."
Bebe stands and grabs her keys. "If I don’t come into work tomorrow, you know who killed me."
"Seriously?"
Her eyes snap to mine. If they weren’t blue I’d swear they’d be red. "The guy deserves a chance and we need his business. Correction: I’m going to need his business when I take over this shop. If he’s some crazy, he won’t do anything to me. You know he’s working out of my basement."
"You think I’m wrong for not hiring him? I have Ben–"
"Yeah, you have Ben and that’s all you’ll ever have—your kids, with a ’tude like that, not listening to the whole story or giving anyone a chance to explain. Or, hell, even redeem themselves."
"I think I’ve given enough chances to people and every time I do—"
"One person." She crosses her arms over her chest. "You gave one person millions of chances and he let you down. Not everyone’s like Gary, Shay. Wake the fuck up. He’s rotten. That’s who he is. But Morgan’s not."
When did this suddenly become about Morgan?
"Collin’s not." Bebe turns toward the door.
"You don’t know that." She only had one conversation with him.
"I’m good at reading people. Enough time on the streets taught me a thing or two. I can tell that under all that ink Collin is a sweet person in a bad position. Just like Morgan is a great guy and you’re stupid to throw that away without even talking to him." She grabs her coat.
"Where’re you going?" I round the desk and Gretchen looks over at us from her workstation.
"To lunch." She slams the front door in my face and the bell smacks against the glass. A sharp pain zaps through my head, the ringing of the bell doing nothing but intensifying my stress headache.
I glance at Gretchen. She’s suddenly busy filling her ink caps.
