“You beat him up?”
“Aye.”
London Brix had always had a temper, a streak of hotheadedness that flared up when Calum least expected, but as hard as he tried, he couldn’t picture Brix actually hurting anyone, especially now, when Porthkennack seemed to have mellowed him so much. “How did you leave it?”
“Badly. We haven’t spoken since, and I wouldn’t know where to find him even if I wanted to. I didn’t mean to hurt him, but I can’t forgive him for being so fucking selfish.”
Calum had no answer to that. He left Brix to his brooding and went upstairs to change out of the clothes he’d worn to muck about in the chicken run. He undressed slowly, and when he was naked, went to the window and opened it wide, letting the bracing sea air cut into his bare skin. With Brix’s faith in the sea echoing in his mind, he half expected it to ease the pain in his heart. But nothing happened, save a tingling rush of goose bumps.
He shut the window and sank onto his bed. The last few days had left him numb, and the weight of all Brix had shared was only now beginning to sink in. His heart ached for Brix and all he’d endured, but more than that, the fact that he’d been alone, while Calum had wasted four years with Rob . . . Jesus. Calum couldn’t take it. He inhaled a deep, shuddering breath, then put his head in his hands and wept.
The dark outline of the rose seemed to Brix to ink itself, like he’d etched the design a thousand times over, which wasn’t as fanciful an idea as it seemed. In fifteen years of tattooing, he’d seen more than his fair share of roses.
Mind, today’s was probably the biggest he’d done, a huge, intricate bouquet of vintage blooms that spanned the voluptuous burlesque dancer’s entire back. Combined with the ink she already had, it was going to look awesome. At least, it would if he ever got it finished. The poor girl rarely lasted an hour under the needle before she tapped out and ran for the nearest bog.
Brix glanced at the clock. Forty minutes in to their second shift. “Doin’ okay down there?”
The woman—Taz—spared him a tense nod. “I’ll tell you if I’m not.”
Fair enough. Brix changed his needle and set to work on the first layer of shading, blending the gradient around the outline of the roses until he was happy he’d found the right depth. It took a while, and the next time he looked up, Calum had appeared at Lee’s station, like he always did when he was at a loose end.
Brix smiled as he watched them put their heads together and giggle like old school chums. Perhaps Lee had needed Calum in her life as much as he had—
Need.
Brix’s brain did a sharp one-eighty, leaving Lee far behind as it nose-dived into the gutter . . . or, more precisely, Brix’s bed, where he’d spent the last ten nights sleeping with Calum stretched out beside him, neither one of them mentioning the giant elephant sharing their space. Brix’s hand shook, a minute tremor that was gone as suddenly as it had arrived, but it was intense enough for him to inhale sharply and withdraw his gun from Taz’s skin.
Calum looked up as Brix sat back, as though he’d heard Brix’s racing thoughts. Their eyes met, and Calum grinned. Brix swallowed hard and returned the gesture, though his stomach did an uncomfortable flip, like it had become apt to do ever since Calum had kicked a hole in Brix’s self-imposed wall of celibacy.
“. . . there’s no reason outside of your own head . . .” Calum’s words echoed in Brix’s head every moment he wasn’t distracted, and now, with his gaze locked with Calum’s, trapped and entranced, he allowed himself to briefly fantasise that such a thing could be true. To wonder if Calum’s impassioned sermon could become a reality.
Because if Brix was ever to be with a man again, it would only—could only—be Calum.
With considerable effort, Brix refocussed on Taz; his time with her was running out.
In his peripheral vision, he saw Calum and Lee getting ready to go out. For a moment, irrational anxiety lanced his heart, but he fought it, remembering that he’d given them a secret mission to buy booze for Lena’s surprise good-bye do at the weekend, a task that would take them inland to a town with bigger shops than Porthkennack.
They left. Brix sank his teeth into his bottom lip and let his work absorb him. Despite Taz’s low pain threshold, she was a pleasure to ink. Her skin was flawless and beautiful, and her taste in artwork a perfect fit with the traditional designs Brix favoured.
“Let me up.” Taz tapped his leg urgently.
“Whoa. Hang on.” Brix took his foot from the pedal and pushed his stool back, holding the gun safely out of the way. “Okay, you’re clear. Do what you gotta do.”
Taz scrambled from the bench and dashed to the bathroom. Brix waited a few minutes, but when she didn’t return, he knew they were done for the day.
Oh well. He packed away and went to the front desk to figure out how to process Taz’s payment, a task he didn’t relish.
And if he’d expected any help from Lena, he’d been sadly mistaken. “Don’t look at me,” she said. “You’ve got to learn.”
Grumbling, Brix gingerly clicked on a few things on the computer screen. “I know how much she owes and how to count her cash. Why does the rest of it have to be so complicated?”
“It’s not complicated. It’s efficient, so the tax man doesn’t crawl up your arse and ruin your life.”
Brix shot Lena a sideways glance, trying not to flinch. A few months ago, he’d have hardly noticed her crude choice of words, but the last few weeks had brought all he’d tried so hard to hide from back to the surface, simmering painfully in his chest, like the shadowed burden it had always been.
“Brix?”
“Hmm?”
