“So it won’t bite me in the ass later,” he cuts me off. “I’ve heard it a time or two.” He leans back onto his elbows and studies me a moment. “You’ve got the real deal, huh?”
“Damn straight.”
“It’s about time.” He gets up and slaps me five. “Let’s get together with these girls. Piper is dying to have the two of you holding hands and locking lips in front of her. You’d think she was the one who fell in love with you.”
“She is in love with me.” I give him a pat on the back as I walk him to the exit. I’ve been tatting Owen up for nothing for as long as I can remember. I helped him out in the beginning after his parents all but gave him the boot. In a lot of ways, he and Daisy have a lot in common. “They’re all in love with me,” I tease as he gives me the finger.
“Get to the Black Bear so we can have some fun.”
No sooner do I step back in than Honey grunts without looking up from her phone. “Yournextis in room number two. Some kid named Grant Jones. Be gentle. He looks mortally wounded.”
“The world looks mortally wounded to you.” I wash up and head into the next room where, sure enough, I find a tall, brick wall of a kid who looks just that, mortally wounded.
“Hey—I’m Jet, also known as the king of pain around here.” I nod, and he offers a tired nod back. “Who ran over your dog?” I tease, taking a seat and pulling the design pad from his hand.
The nameStephanieis spelled out in caps, something I make everyone do if they want anything printed in an effort to avoid an alphabetic catastrophe. Let’s just say that some of my customers don’t have the best penmanship.
“You sure you want this chick’s name etched into your skin forever?” I raise my gaze to meet his without moving my head.
Grant Jones is far more grieved than mortally wounded. I’ve seen that rage-filled, anguished look in his eyes before. I’ve seen it in my own. His stare settles to mine, and I can feel the tension dripping off him, the emotion charging the room as he struggles to hold it together. I’ve had a guy or two shed a tear in here, and on those occasions, it had nothing to do with the pain from the needle. Nope. This is from the heart, where everything hurts a hell of a lot worse. “Dude, if you’re trying to impress her, flowers and candy are cheaper. Try something gold and expensive. Throw in a precious stone if you really fucked up good. A tat shouldn’t even be an option.” We do tattoo removals here as well, but it’s an expensive pain in the ass that usually can be avoided if I give my customers a run-like-hell pep talk like I’m doing now. I’m sensing things have gone sideways for this kid and whoever Stephanie is.
“I can’t impress her anymore.” He softens, a tiny smile fades as quick as it came. “She’s dead.”
Dead. Shit. “I’m sorry.” My shoulders sag as I slouch in my seat. “Tell me all about her, and I’ll do the best I can for you—on the house.” What can I say? I’ve got Daisy, and I need her more than I do a single dollar. But this poor guy can never get back what he’s lost.
“No, that’s okay.” He gives a little laugh. “I’m good with paying. And sorry if I’m getting all emotional on you. I guess it still hurts like hell. Stephanie was—ismy sister. In a way, it feels as if she’s still right here with me.” He pulls the design pad forward and lands a finger on the floral font. “That will do. I think she would’ve liked it.”
“And where do you want this? How big?”
“I was thinking right here.” He runs his finger across his chest just below his pecs. Not too big. Just enough for me to see it when I want. At first I thought I wanted it over my heart, but I want it centered. I feel centered knowing she’s looking after me.”
“Will do.” I begin the prep work, drawing out the words over his chest in a mockup so we can agree to how large is large enough. “Tell me about her.” We’re already halfway there, so I don’t feel too bad for asking. I’ve done enough memorial tattoos to know people want to talk about their loved ones who have passed. I feel that way about my mom—and in a strange way about my dad, too. He wasn’t always a demon. At least not until he held on to a bottle and forgot to let go. He was better off dead for at least five years before he bit the big one.
“She was the best.” His chest thumps. “My big sister, older by four years. It was just me and her. It’s a bit lonely now. My parents are pretty great. They gave us everything. We’re not wealthy or anything. I’m on a basketball scholarship at Whitney Briggs. Just transferred in from junior college. My parents are decent people. Sometimes crap things happen to decent people—like having your only daughter murdered.”
His eyes meet with mine, and his brows rise as if gauging my surprise.
“My sister was pushed off a cliff by some deranged nutcase—all over some guy that my sister was simply friends with. She’s paid with her life for that friendship. And in the event you’re wondering, he’s living a great life—married, owns a string of bars with his siblings. He’s got it all, man. I tell you. Sometimes the shitstorm only blows one way.”
Everything in me freezes for a moment. I know this dude, or at least I know this story. Owen’s sister is rotting in prison to this day because she pushed some girl off a cliff and tried to play it off like a suicide. If she didn’t try to off Baya, one of the waitresses at the bar, in the same way, she would have gone free. Then it hits me. Shit. This is the dead girl’s kid brother. I sit stunned for a second.
“I know, it’s terrible.” Grant closes his eyes as if he were reliving it. “Stephanie was a great person. She didn’t deserve to have her life ripped away like that. But I’m trying my best to cope with it. At first, I was pissed at everyone. I think it’s starting to subside. I mean, there’s only one person I should be angry with, and she’s locked up for good. I’ll make sure she stays behind bars if it’s the last thing I do.”
“How about the dude? You talk to him?” I know Bryson, “the dude.” He’s cool. He doesn’t have any hard feelings toward Owen.
“Nope. Bumped into him once at a fair a few years back. He was with some new girl. I guess he married her, so that worked out well for him. One of his bars is across the street from school, and I keep meaning to head over and at least give him the heads-up that I’m in the area. I don’t think I’m on the forefront of his mind or anything. I’m not looking for a drinking buddy in him. But he knows my face. I don’t want to shock him if I stop by one night with friends.”
“Good idea.” I’m going to feel like shit relaying all this to Owen, but I have to. How can I not? “You making friends?”
“I joined a frat. It’s okay. Lots of parties. I like the distraction.”
“Any girls in your life?” That’s what this guy needs. Some sweet chick like Daisy. A dull smile begs to come, but I won’t let it. Daisy has a bit of a kick, and that’s one of the things I love about her.
“Had one. Things didn’t exactly go as planned. She’s at another school, so that helps quell the pain.”
“Dude.” I groan as I prep the needle. “I won’t lie. You’ve been through the shitter. I’m wishing all good things for you. How’s practice going? You keeping up your game?”
“I’m keeping it up. Coach is a nice guy. Everything seems to be going pretty well. I like my classes, my professors.”
