“Then come with me tomorrow.” Her clear eyes hold mine. “Help me make sure I don’t.”
“I’ll be by your side, Clarissa. You can always count on me.”
CHAPTER 10
CLARISSA
My father opens the door and his eyes go straight past me to Carmine.
“You.” His gaze drops to Carmine’s throat—the ink climbing past his collar, dark lines disappearing under his jaw. Down to his hands—the letters across his knuckles, the scars between them. Back up to his face.
“I’m going to be blunt, son.” The pulpit voice. Low and measured. “You look like a criminal.”
My stomach drops. My hand finds Carmine’s hand before I think about it, and I weave my fingers through his and squeeze tightly. He doesn’t step back or apologize. Every man I’ve ever watched in my father’s presence does the same thing—shrinks, apologizes, rearranges himself to fit the space my father allows. Carmine stands his ground like a man with conviction.
“What you think I look like isn’t who I am.” His voice is even and careful. “I’d have thought a pastor wouldn’t judge a book by its cover.”
My father’s neck flushes above his collar. He looks at me and sees me holding Carmine’s hand, and something moves behind his eyes that I’ve never seen directed at me before. Disgust.
My grip tightens.
“We came to talk, Father.”
My father hesitates, but eventually, he steps back and holds the door.
We all walk into the living room, but nobody sits. My father stands by the fireplace. Carmine never lets go of my hand, and my pulse is hammering against the cross at my throat.
“What kind of future can you offer my daughter?” My father directs the question at Carmine like I’m not in the room. “A tattoo shop. Hourly wages.” A pause. “Do you have a degree?”
“No.” Carmine doesn’t flinch. “I have a team of men who depend on me and a client list that pays the bills. I may not own King Ink, but I built it from nothing.”
“You’re proud of a tattoo parlor on Birch Street.” My father says it as a statement, like the only conceivable answer is no.
Carmine squares his shoulders, and I can see the tension in his jaw. “Every man in that shop earns a living because I show up every day and make it work.”
My father’s chin lifts. “Is that what you told my daughter when you hired her?”
“I told her the clientele could be rough, and she said she grew up in Jefferson and knew how to handle herself.” Carmine holds his gaze. “She proved she is a strong woman the moment shewalked into the shop. Respectfully, sir, I don’t think you know your daughter very well.”
My father exhales sharply, and the silence is so thick that you could cut it with a knife. My heart is slamming, and I’m standing between two men who are not going to give an inch.
My father pivots to me.
“You had a 3.8 GPA. A future.” Each sentence a closed door. “You threw it away to answer phones in a tattoo parlor.”
“I want to explore possibilities, Father. You can’t make every choice in my life!” My voice comes out hard and clear, and I don’t recognize it. I’m no longer the daughter who agrees with everything he says and strives to keep the peace. “King Ink is the first place I’ve ever been where the work is mine, and nobody told me to want it.”
“I didn’t raise you to settle.”
“I’m not settling for anything!” I say hotly. Why doesn’t he listen to me? “I’m choosing.”
“You don’t know what you’re choosing.”
“And you don’t know what you’re dismissing.”
He takes a step toward me. “You are throwing away everything we gave you. Every opportunity. Every sacrifice your mother and I—”
“I’m not throwing anything away!” My free hand is shaking, and I press it against my thigh. “I’m using what you gave me. You raised me to work hard and be honest and show up. That’s exactly what I do at King Ink. Every day.”
