Milo meets me at my room to gather my tattoo gear and we install it in a cool, colorful, wide caravan that is parked in the motel parking lot. I clean and sterilize everything before I cover the table and chair in plastic wrap.
Milo fixes the power and shows me a list of potential clients for this summer.
Lots of names.
Black on white.
I’m overwhelmed by the numbers. “This is amazing. I didn’t think I would workso much.”
“You’re kidding!? Everyone was waiting for you just like they did Jim. You’re no different.” Milo is quick to eliminate my disbelief. “It’s your first time and you’re already giving Jim a run for his money.”
“This is crazy.” The shock is plastered to my face.
“We’ll use our public address system at the store just text me the name if they don’t answer their phone.”
“That is so cool.” I place the bottles of ink on the table. “Depends on the size of the tattoos we’ll see how many I can fit in a day.”
“Don’t sweat it. We have time and you should rest and take days off in between and enjoy this.” He assures me before his gaze drops to his phone. “Sorry, I got to go there’s an emergency.”
“Don’t let me stop you,” I comment as he leaves.
First name on the list.
Meadow.
I assume Milo already informed the first client of the day.
And just like a hurricane, a man climbs inside and sits on the chair next to the table. His olive-green compression shirt pushed inside his gray jeans with armor pads that fit him perfectly and paired with combat boots.
I would recognize him anywhere, especially with that eagle tattoo I can’t seem to shake out of my head.
“Meadow?” I eye him up and down. “You signed up for today’s session?”
“Yes, Wilder.” The unforgettable voice he wields like a weapon against my eardrums.
“Blakely.” I correct. “I’m happy to hear my dad left such a huge impression on everyone around here.”
The helmet is attached to his face like a crown. When he opens the visor, a skull riding mask covers his nose which leads to the only visible part of him—his breathtaking green eyes. They’re so green but when the light flickers in his irises they look a little yellow.
The intensity they hold, as they gaze at me, pins me to my seat and blurs everything around me for a moment too long—another piece to the puzzle that has a name now.
Meadow.
“He did. Big shoes to fill.” He props his forearm on the table, “Are you feeling the pressure?”
“Honestly, I know what I’m worth.” I hold his gaze, not wavering for a second. “And I did learn from the best,” twitching my mouth to one side, I shrug. “So I’m good.”
“I like that. Let’s get this done, Wilder.”
What’s the point of correcting him?
I am a Wilder.
A proud one too.
“So how many did my Dad ink?” my finger wags over the length of his body.
“All of them.”
