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***
The door opens and people start streaming inside. I don’t even know if Kayla has noticed me or not before I have customers lined up to be inked, and others flipping through my catalogue and asking questions.
Across from me are the stalls of Soul Stain. They’re getting lots of interest. Their designs are dark and twisted, much like ours. Soul Stain and Damage Control.
How freaking fitting.
I wonder what their stories are.
Then my whole attention is taken up by the customers and I draw, ink and discuss designs for the rest of the day. At some point someone puts a sandwich on my stall, and I swallow it down. I couldn’t tell you what was in it.
Just as well. For once, in what feels like years, my mind is off Kayla.
Of course then I lift my head from a design I’m drawing on paper, and I see her. I actually catch her looking at me, a cute little frown on her face, as if she’s trying to figure out something.
Her table is mostly empty now. Holy shit, she sold out? Not that I didn’t think she would. Her designs are fun, and I wish I’d grabbed one of the men’s T-Shirts she had on display. They were made of two different cloths, shades of the same color, and had her name on one sleeve.
Maybe it’s a good thing I didn’t.
At some point later, Rafe announces that the concert is about to start, and DeathMoth takes the figurative stage. Rafe sets up his drums, three more guys come to stand around him with guitars and a bass, and Dakota fluffs up her wild dark hair and grabs the microphone.
Show time.
I grin to myself as the first song starts with a bang, startling everyone, and Dakota screams the first words into her mic. They’re good, and I’m glad for the music filling up my head, not leaving any space for thoughts. I nod to the next customer and get back to work, letting the music replace the howl that wants to break free from my chest.
By the time the door closes to the public and I finish the last tattoo of the day, everyone is gathering their shit, looking exhausted but pleased. Loads of people showed up, got inked and bought stuff. I see Rafe high-five Zane, and Jesse performs a complicated handshake with Micah that involves a spin and a jump.
The guy I finished inking leaves to pay at the front desk, and I puff out a breath. I’m so ready to call it a day. Evening. Whatever. It’s late, and I’m done.
I tidy up my table and check my inks, getting them ready for tomorrow. It’s dark outside. Dark inside, too.
But something bright flashes at the edge of my vision. There she is. A burst of brightness. She’s walking toward me, swinging a plastic bag in her hand.
I turn away even though I want to go to her and grab my stuff to go.
“Blue,” she says, and I freeze. “Got a minute?”
“Can’t right now,” I lie. “There’s someplace I need to be.”
Her face falls, and I suck a sharp breath. Fuck, I hate making her sad. What harm is there in letting her say her piece? It already hurts.
“Kay,” I begin, “if you—”
“Brought you something,” she says, “but—”
We both stop. Then she grins widely, and fuck, my mouth twitches. I wanna kiss her. So. Fucking. Bad.
“Just a minute,” she says, and I can only nod, reading her lips, as if hypnotized.
She opens the plastic bag and takes out two items from it and places them on my table.
“They’re for you,” she says, her cheeks coloring. “Made them for you. Oh, and these…” She reaches into the pocket of her jacket and takes out a small package. “Painkillers, courtesy of Seth. Take them with water and care. They’re strong.”
I shake my head, at a loss for words. She shakes out the first item on the table—a T-shirt. A blue T-shirt that actually says “BLUE” on it in bold letters. Gray fabric peeks out at the hem and on the sleeves.
“I’ve been making this one for you for a while.” She gives the shirt a fond pat, then her smile falters a little. “But if you don’t like it, I’ll—”
“No! I mean yes. I like it.” I take it from her, a tremor in my hands. “Really like it.”
