“And?”
“And it was between me and Shawn, but I stepped back and let him have it.”
She didn’t respond right away. Just reached for more ink. Her silence made my decision sound more ridiculous than it did at first, and I found myself backtracking. This was what I got for opening my big mouth.
“He missed most of last season with his injury,” I said. “The spot would’ve been his, so…”
“So the team lineup’s decided on feelings?” she asked without a hint of sarcasm in her tone. But I’d been in her company long enough to know it was there.
“He was the obvious choice.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
I hesitated. I wasn’t used to saying this stuff out loud. Especially not to someone I barely knew. It surprised me how easy it felt.
Maybe it was because she didn’t care. There was no risk of seeing this story in tomorrow’s sports news or all over social media.
“I just felt bad for the guy.”
“You felt bad.”
“Yeah.”
The needle lifted. She made careful work of going over the tattoo with another wipe, then looked up at me.
“Whatever what’s-his-name did last season has nothing to do with what he’s like now,” she said then. “What if you had done better in tryouts?”
I stared back at her. “You wouldn’t get it.”
She resumed her work, the machine returning to life against my ribs.
“You’re damn right about that,” she said. “I don’t get not fighting for what you want because I’ve had to do it my whole life.”
The sting intensified as she moved closer to the curve of bone. I exhaled slowly through my nose, knowing full well it was more than that sting I was breathing through.
“Oh, so we’re back to making you the center of attention?” I asked, deciding to dig myself out of this hole.
Our eyes met, and we both started laughing at the same time. She rolled her eyes, shaking her head once before reaching for the machine again.
“Stay still,” she said, nudging my side back into place. “I’m almost finished here.”
The motor came to life and her hand found my ribs, steady and assured, conversation folding up between us as she went back to work.
No more talk, just the buzz as she focused on her lines and I focused on staying still. The studio lights cast a pale glow over her hair, catching in the loose strands that had escaped her tie. Her brow furrowed when she concentrated. Not a single moment of doubt in her movements.
I envied that.
Bowing out of tryouts had felt noble at the time. Now it just felt like I’d erased myself without anyone asking me to.
The needle scratched through another layer of color. My ribs throbbed, skin tender under her hand, but I welcomed it. Pain I could handle. It was clear. It meant something.
“How bad?” she asked.
“On a scale of one to regret? I’m thinking I would’ve been better off going to another Icy Veins gig.”
She huffed a laugh through her nose and kept working.
Time slipped. The ceiling tile blurred as I focused on breathing through the more sensitive passes. She shifted her stanceonce, adjusting the angle of her wrist. The scent of antiseptic mixed with ink and something faintly floral from her shampoo whenever she leaned closer.
