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Ocean and Seth wander out of their booths and grab their stuff to go, but Zane remains planted there, in front of me, waiting.
“It’s on my chest,” I say, hoping to end this discussion. He can’t expect me to go around shirtless, can he?
“Lemme see.”
“No way in hell.”
“I promise I won’t squeal when I see your chest,” Zane says mildly. “It ain’t anything I haven’t seen before.”
Motherfucker. “You sure?”
His grin spreads wider. “Now I’m intrigued. Come on. Shirt off.”
Dammit. “I said no.”
Zane chews on his lip. “What do you have to lose?”
That stops me cold. Right, what do I have to lose? This is Zane, who barely knows me, and has been nice to me anyway. He gave me a job, for chrissakes. Didn’t ask anything about my past.
And yet… “And if I say no?”
He sighs, shakes his head. Then he’s suddenly inside my space, in my face, a hand fisted in my T-shirt, his lips pulled back in a snarl.
I blink, stunned at his speed.
“To get trust, you have to give it first, fucker,” he hisses. “And if you hurt Erin, I’ll trust her, not you—’cause you don’t give up an inch, do you? Keeping it all inside, all to yourself. Let the others see you, dammit. Let them understand you, if you want someone, anyone to have your back.”
“Nobody has my back,” I sneer, but his hand’s still bunched in my shirt, and my hands curl into fists.
He tsks. “Exactly my point, man.”
Jesus fuck. Sweat pours down my back. “Get your hands the fuck off me, right now.” At least he isn’t holding me down—that would trigger more than just sweat.
He seems to read something on my face. He lets go, lifting his hands and taking a step back. “All right, man. I wasn’t trying to corner you. It’s just that… With Ash—Asher—it was the same. You Devlins keep everything inside, and it almost got him killed.” He sucks on the barbell in his tongue and runs his hands on the shaved sides of his head, agitated. “Don’t do the same. You’re the only family he’s got left, fucker.”
I swallow, my throat dry as the Mojave. Dammit, that’s below the belt, bringing up my bro and how I failed him.
Fuck.
Okay. So Zane wants to see my ink. The ink is there to cover what I don’t want others to see. So what if he sees it? Let him lay eyes on the façade, the mask. The cover-up.
“Fine,” I say, the word grating in my throat. “It’s just a damn tat.”
I reach behind my head, grab a fistful of fabric and pull the T-shirt off. I do it slowly because, damn, he guilted me into it, and I don’t have to like it. I just hope he won’t look too closely.
Bunching the T-shirt in my hands, I deliberately look at him. I draw a deep breath into my lungs, hold it. “Seen enough?”
His eyes are widening. “What the fuck, Tyler?”
I shake my head and turn around. Quickly, I pull the T-shirt back on. So much for wishful thinking. “I’m outta here.”
“That…” He points a shaky finger at me. “Why? Why that word?”
“Because that’s what I am.” I grab my jacket and make my way out without looking back.
Letting him see was one more of those bad ideas I’ve had lately. He caught me off-guard with his comment about Ash. I shouldn’t have shown him.
Because that one word, etched into my chest in big, shiny letters is the essence of who I am:
