“This is the Law of Becks,” she’d declared finitely. “No helmet, no bike.” Then added for Ghost, “No pussy,” while Ranger had gagged behind his faceplate.
“Look, I’m not good at this touchy-feely bullshit,” Ghost said bluntly. “Personally, I’d much rather do a few rounds in the ring with you to try to get you out of this funk, but apparently throwing fists is frowned upon in the program. I asked at Al-Anon,” he added with a roll of his eyes. “So I brought you for the next best thing.” Waving behind him at the studio, he declared, “Tattoo therapy. Come on, I’m popping your cherry.”
Frowning, Ranger dismounted. “I have tattoos.”
“You have three baby tattoos. That’s like getting a blowjob in the back alley. I’m talking arealtattoo.”
At Ghost’s choice of words, Ranger froze. He tried. He tried so hard to ignore it, to not give that word meaning, to not let it have power over him, but he couldn’t…fucking…move… It was just a word. A stupid, fucking word. It didn’t matter. It shouldn’t matter. But fuck, fuck, fuck, it mattered. Why did it fucking matter so much? He didn’t remember, not really. He was being pathetic, a wimp, a coward.
Ghost immediately realized his mistake. Spinning around with wide eyes and a pale face, there was no doubting that he knew. Of course, he knew. Becks wouldn’t have kept it from him. “That was… That was a poor choice of words. I’m?—”
“If you fucking apologize to me, fists really will start flying,” Ranger growled at him. “And wipe that fucking pity off your face. Who else knows?”
Ghost shook his head. “Becks, obviously. Maybe Tessa.”
Ranger nodded slowly, feeling like his entire body had turned to lead. The laugh that escaped him would have fit in on a movie set during a villain’s monologue rather than on the quiet street of a quaint small town midmorning. “Well, I guess the cat’s out of the bag.” He held his arms out as if on display. “And what do you think of me now? As if I didn’t have enough shit to deal with in my life, now you know I was raped, too. So what do you think, Ghost? How the tables have turned! How the mighty have fallen! I can’t even wipe my own ass anymore without one of you standing over me to ensure I did it right.” When Ghost just stood there, Ranger sneered out, not caring how loud his voice wasgetting. “What do you think? Am I too damaged for this cut? Not worthy of the colors I’ve bled for!”
When Ranger made to take off his cut, Ghost jerked forward, grabbing his wrist. “Take off that cut and I will make you eat it,” he threatened, and Ranger knew his best friend well enough to know the man did not bluff. “Want to know what I think?” he demanded, keeping his voice low and his hand on Ranger’s wrist. “I think you were dealt a shit hand. I don’t believe in all that God-stuff, but if I did, I’d be wondering just what the fuck you did to piss off the creature in charge of your destiny. You didn’t ask for this, Ranger.Noneof this is your fault. Do I pity you?Yes. You’re my brother and my best friend, and you’re hurting.Of course, I fucking pity you!I even feel sorry for you.Get the fuck over it. Doesn’t mean I think less of you. Doesn’t mean I think you weak. Cameron could have just as easily stuck that needle into Becks, and then she might have lost our baby or our baby could have been born addicted to heroin. I ambeyondgrateful to you for your sacrifice, and I will doeverythingin my power to help you.
“What do I think of you now? I think you’re the strongest fucking person I know. So quit feeling sorry foryourself, and get the fucking tattoo.”
Ranger stared down at Ghost’s intense, green eyes for a moment before nodding. Slowly, Ghost released his wrist, and Ranger removed his hand from his cut. They stood there long enough, staring up at each other, that it turned fucking awkward.
“Strongest person you know?” Ranger mocked back. “Maybe I should get that tattooed across my forehead.”
“Shut up,” Ghost growled, turning on his heels to storm into the tattoo studio.
Angel was waiting for them behind the counter. “Finally! I thought the two of you were going to start making out there fora second.” Both Ghost and Ranger made a face that had Angel cracking up. She nodded to the door behind her. “Come on. I got some ideas I want to run by you.”
After nearly an hour of going back and forth on designs, Ranger chose a Dara Knot, which was a Celtic symbol for strength and endurance. Hemayhave chosen it in place of tattooingGhost Thinks I’m Strongacross his chest. If Angel questioned why he wanted the knot over his navel, she did not say anything out loud.
At least not until she started to shave him, and while Angel was completely professional being so close to his groin, Ranger was not. He snapped a picture of his bare chest, unzipped and slightly lowered jeans before sending it to Cage. The man responded almost immediately.
Cage: Poor bastard. Mine’s bigger.
Ranger snorted, letting him have that one. As Angel got the stencil positioned as she wanted it, Ranger put a hand behind his head and turned to Ghost, who was reaching into the lollipop jar that Angel kept on her counter for, in her words, “the babies who couldn’t handle a little needle”.
“I’ve been meaning to ask. What’s up with Bones? Why did he drive back in the cage instead of on his bike?”
Angel and Ghost both froze for a heartbeat before they continued what they were doing. “That’s all you,” Angel told Ghost without looking up.
Ghost scowled at her while unwrapping the lollipop, despite that it was barely nine in the morning. “I wasn’t sure when or how to tell you what happened. You were still in withdrawal when it happened, and we wanted you to concentrate onyougetting better, instead of what you couldn’t fix out here.”
Ranger frowned, not liking the sound of this at all. “What the fuck happened?”
“Is now really the best time for this conversation?” Angel inquired, getting her ink poured out.
“Probably not, but you having a needle so close to his junk might be the only thing that’ll hold him back, so…” Ghost shrugged. To Ranger, he said, “You’re aware that four people were killed in the explosion? Frankie, Monica, Scott Pan, and a local physical therapist named Dru Deininger?”
Ranger nodded. He’d still been in the hospital during their funerals, and though he’d been released by the time the town hosted a memorial service, he’d been in no condition to attend. He knew the names of the dead, but other than Monica and Frankie, they were just names. He knew Scott Pan’s face, but couldn’t remember if he’d ever said two words to the deputy, and he wouldn’t be able to pick out Dru from a lineup.
“Dru was Bones’ PT. Had been for years.” As Ghost spoke, Angel turned on the tattoo gun. “About two years ago, they started sleeping together. While ethically a problem, there was also the fact that Dru was married.”
“The fuck?” Ranger said. He would have sat upright if Angel hadn’t slapped her hand on his abdomen to hold him down.
“Need I remind you this is kind of permanent?” she asked, looking up his torso at him.
“Sorry,” Ranger mumbled to her. Looking back at Ghost, he asked with a frown, “Bones was sleeping with a married woman? What was he thinking?”
