I didn’t drink.I kept repeating it to myself the whole time I drove to my tattoo shop the next morning. I’m not sure what I would have done had Lilly not found me there… If I would have gotten the bottle and drunk myself into a hole that no one could get me out of.
I tossed the keys onto the counter at the shop and headed straight for the back room. The machines buzzed faintly in thebackground. A noise that always brought me some sense of calm. I needed my hands busy.
“Yo, Nick,” Cam called from the front. “Got a walk-in asking for a custom. Sun and a motorcycle. It’s their first tattoo. Pretty sure they’re legit. Said they’d wait.”
“Did you quote them?” I asked, grabbing my sketchbook.
“Yeah. They’re cool. Thought maybe you’d wanna take this one. Sounds like your kind of piece.”
I opened my mouth to decline but stopped. Sun and a motorcycle. My stomach twisted. Not in a bad way. In a way I didn’t know how to name. Cam was right. Itwasmy kind of piece.
“I’ll sketch something out,” I said. “See if they like it.”
I sat at my desk, pulled out a pencil, and started with the bike. I knew the curves by heart. Not just any motorcycle,mybike. I wasn’t doing it on purpose, but that’s what ended up on the page. Clean lines, worn leather seat, a little busted but fast as hell. Like it had stories and had carried someone through something.
And then came the sun. I didn’t even think before drawing it. Big and soft, with rays that curved gently like fingers reaching out. It wasn’t a harsh sun. It was warm. Like her.
LikeSunshine. Shit. I dropped the pencil and leaned back, staring at nothing.
That night with Mya hadn’t left me. Not for a second. Her laugh. Her hands. The way she touched me like I wasn’t ruined. The way she looked at me… like I was worth something. Like I wasn’t just some mess to clean up.
And I let her go. “No strings,” I’d told her. What a load of bullshit. Because here I was, sketching a piece for a stranger and bleeding every memory of her into the page.
Cam poked his head in. “Client’s still out there. You want me to bring them back?”
I shook my head. “Give me five more minutes.” I needed to figure out why a motorcycle and a sun suddenly felt like the most intimate thing I’d drawn in months.
I was just finishing the shading on the rear wheel when I heard her voice. At first, I didn’t even register it. It was just a soft laugh and a few words with Cam at the front desk. Then something about the tone pulled at me. I looked up, and my hand froze.
“…I just want something to remind me of that night,” she was saying. “It was kind of the best night of my life, if I’m being honest.”
My stomach fucking dropped. That voice.Hervoice. I stood slowly, heart jackhammering against my ribs like it wanted out.
Cam laughed, oblivious. “Damn. Must’ve been one hell of a night.”
“It was,” she said. “It was everything.”
I stepped into the hallway, careful not to make a sound. And there she was.
Mya.
Hair pulled back in a loose braid, soft shirt tucked into jeans, one hand in the pocket of her jacket, the other fidgeting with a ring on her finger like she didn’t know what to do with her nerves. She looked…exactly the same. And completely different. Like time had passed, but the night hadn’t ended.
Cam glanced over and noticed me standing there, his brows lifting like he didn’t understand why I looked like I’d just been kicked in the chest.
“This is the artist I was telling you about,” he said. “Nick—”
Mya turned, and we locked eyes. Her smile faltered. She blinked once, then twice, like she didn’t believe I was here, either.
“Hey,” I managed.
“Hi,” she said softly.
“You…” I cleared my throat. “You asked for a sun and a motorcycle?”
She nodded. “Didn’t think you’d be the one to draw it, though.”
“Didn’t think you’d be the one asking for it.”
