Her thumb hovered over the Send button, but then she added, *Design’s coming along.Thinking of inking Maynard’s eyes on you when I get back.You game?*
She hit Send and set the phone down, her gaze drifting to the convention floor.
The hall was a riot of color and sound, from booths draped in black velvet, to neon signs flashing, and clients flipping through portfolios.A woman across the aisle was getting a full back piece, a dragon curling around a samurai sword, the artist’s gun moving with surgical precision.Silly admired the work, but her heart wasn’t in the spectacle today.
She’d already done two sessions this morning, one a delicate watercolor rose on a young woman’s wrist, the other a bold skull for a biker who’d reminded her of Ace.Both had gone well, but her usual thrill was muted, her thoughts circling back to Jock’s last call.
He’d sounded steady, but she knew him too well to miss the undercurrent of tension.Something about a lead on the bastard who’d hurt Maynard.It wasn’t a lot, just a name, Ricky Calder, and a description of a beat-up truck.Jock hadn’t said much, but the edge in his voice told her he was already half out the door, chomping at the bit to track the guy down.She didn’t blame him.Working on Maynard’s burns had made her stomach churn, and the thought of someone deliberately hurting that sweet dog made her want to punch something.But Jock’s anger worried her.He’d come so far with his PTSD, but she’d seen how a trigger could yank him back to that desert, surrounded by ghosts.She trusted Ace and Wildman to keep an eye on him, but it wasn’t the same as being there herself.
A shadow fell over her booth, and she looked up to see a lanky guy with a sleeve of biomechanical tattoos peering at her portfolio.“You Sylvia Perez?”he asked, voice rough like he’d smoked one too many.
“That’s me,” she said, setting her sketchpad aside and standing to shake his hand.“What’s on your mind?”
“Name’s Dax.Heard you’re the one to go to for animal portraits.I’m thinking something for my old hound, passed last year.You got time to talk?”
Silly nodded, slipping into professional mode.“Got all the time you need.Tell me about your hound.”As Dax launched into a story about a droopy-eared basset named Bo, Silly listened, her hands already itching to sketch.This was why she loved shows.All the stories, the connections, the way art could hold someone’s grief or joy in a single image.But even as she nodded along, jotting notes about Bo’s favorite quirk (stealing socks), her mind wandered to Jock’s text about Maynard’s eyes.
*He’s got a way of looking right through you*Jock had said, and she had immediately been able to picture it: those blue and brown eyes, one soft, one sharp, like they saw every scar on your soul.
Her phone buzzed again, and she glanced at it while Dax flipped through her portfolio.Another text from Jock:
*Hell yeah, ink me up with Maynard’s eyes.Tank might get jealous, though.*
A second message followed, a selfie of Jock with both dogs, Maynard’s head tucked under his chin, Tank’s tongue lolling out.Silly’s chest tightened.God, I miss you, she thought, but typed instead:
*Tank’s just gotta deal.Call me tonight?Need to hear your voice.*
Dax settled on a design style, and Silly booked him for a session the following morning.She was hoping for just a half day of appointments so she could get back to the hotel before checkout and find transportation to the airport.Even if she was hours early, maybe there’d be an earlier flight she could change to.As he wandered off, she sank back into her chair, picking up her sketchpad again.The pit bull design was taking shape, the flames curling around Maynard’s face like a protective halo.She wondered if Jock would want it on his chest, close to his heart, or maybe his shoulder, where he could see it every day.Either way, it’d be a reminder of the dog who’d chosen him in that alley, just like she’d chosen him all those months ago.
The convention hall seemed to fade as she worked, her pencil capturing the glint in Maynard’s eyes from memory.She thought about calling Jock now, but he’d be elbow deep in grease at the garage, or maybe out with Ace, chasing down that lead on Calder.She didn’t want to distract him, not when he was already stretched thin.Instead, she flipped to a new page and started sketching Tank, his massive head and droopy jowls, a gentle giant who’d welcomed Maynard without hesitation.Like Jock welcomed me,she thought, her throat tightening.
A voice broke through her reverie.“Yo, Sylvia, you coming to the afterparty tonight?”It was Lena, a fellow artist from over in New Orleans with a knack for bold linework.She leaned against Silly’s booth, her purple hair catching the light.
“Maybe,” Silly said, forcing a grin.“Depends on how wiped I am after my next session.”
Lena smirked.“You’re just missing your man, huh?Saw that picture you posted of him with those dogs.Those pajamas are sweet.Damn, girl, you got it bad.”
Silly laughed, the sound lighter than she felt.“Guilty.He’s taking care of a pit bull we’re adopting.Found him in a bad way, but he’s a fighter.”
“Sounds like your guy’s got a big heart,” Lena said, her tone softening.“You gonna bring him to the next con?”
“If I can drag him away from his bikes and dogs,” Silly said, but the idea warmed her.Jock at a tattoo show would be a sight—probably charming every artist in the room while grumbling about the noise.She made a mental note to pitch it to him when she got home.
Lena wandered off, and Silly checked her phone again.No new texts, but it was about time for her next client.She tucked the sketchpad away and stood, stretching her arms overhead.The show was a whirlwind filled with excitement, but it wasn’t home.Home was Jock’s arms around her, Tank’s heavy head in her lap, and now she’d have Maynard’s quiet trust weaving them all together.She’d get through these last days and hours, but every sketch, every conversation, was tinged with the pull of Louisiana.
As she prepped her station for the next session, her phone rang, Jock’s name lighting up the screen.Her heart did a little flip as she answered, stepping outside the booth for a quieter spot.“Hey, big guy,” she said, her voice soft.“Miss me yet?”
“Like you wouldn’t believe.”Jock’s voice rumbled through, warm and rough.“Just wanted to hear you before I head out with Ace.Got a lead on that truck.Might be nothing, but I wanna look.”
Silly’s grip on the phone tightened.“Be careful, Jake.I know you’re pissed, but don’t do anything stupid.”
“Not stupid,” he said, and she could hear the smile in his voice.“Just thorough.How’s the show?”
“Busy.Inspiring.But I’m ready to be home with you and the boys.”She paused, then added, “That sketch of Maynard is turning out really well.It’s gonna be badass.”
“Can’t wait to see it, baby.Love you.”
“Love you too,” she said, her voice catching.“Call me tonight, okay?No matter how late.”
