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I chuckled at her words because I knew what she was asking without her having to say the words. “You know I can’t actually see you batting your eyelashes at me, right?” I raised a brow even though she couldn’t see me.
“Who said I was—never mind. Come have dinner with me tonight.”
I let my head drop back and silently went through the clients I had coming in today. “Okay, but I won’t be there until around nine. I have a late client.”
“Okay! I’ll cook your favorite.” My stomach grumbled at the thought of meatballs and spaghetti. “And you may as well stay the night. There’s no point in traveling the thirty minutes back to your house afterward.”
The door opened, and my client walked in, but it wasn’t any client. He was also the closest friend I had, and a brother I’d made in the Marines. Someone who I knew I could rely on no matter what. “I gotta go, Mom,” I murmured. “I’ll see you tonight.”
“Love you, Asher.”
“Love you too.” I placed the handset down on the receiver and stared at Jax as he moved closer to the front desk. I’d known him since the very first day of basic training, and he’d been at my side through some of the worst moments of my life, but also some of the best. What we’d been through together couldn’t compare to anything else in the world, and knowing he’d had my back out there trickled to when we came home.
“Hey.” I stepped from around the counter, and we hugged, hands slapping backs.
“'Sup.” Jax’s dark-brown gaze met mine. The first time I’d looked into his eyes, there had been nervousness shining inside them, but from the moment we both departed the airplane in a foreign country, they’d looked different—darker, sadder. No one else could understand or decipher what his eyes told me, but I could. I knew what he was thinking when he went to a new place, or when a sudden noise happened. He thought he was right back there, just like I had done earlier.
“How you been doin’?”
I opened my mouth, about to tell him I was fine, but I closed it and shook my head instead. It was all the signal he needed to know. And we didn’t have to talk about it. Sometimes simply being in the presence of a person who got it—truly got it and understood it—was enough.
“Let’s get started,” I murmured, clearing my throat. The rhythm of tattooing and the buzz of the machine against my hand would soothe me, even if it were only for a little while. I didn’t wait for Jax to say anything as I moved back to my station, which Maverick had set up. The echo of Jax’s biker boots hitting the ground followed me. My lips lifted on one side as I remembered the first time his boots sounded out in this room. Jax had been my first client—a client before I even had the walls painted and the window blacked out.
I didn’t need to tell Jax anything because he knew the drill, so I washed my hands at the sink next to my station, sat down on my rolling stool, and placed my gloves on. I’d already gotten the stencil ready for the next piece to be added to his sleeve: a skull wrapped in barbed wire with blood dripping from its eyes. The pain in his tattoo was clear—at least to me anyway.
Silence surrounded us as I cleaned and shaved his skin, then placed the stencil. I asked him to check the placement, and as soon as he gave me the okay, I set my machine up, opening a new needle and placing it inside. I wasn’t sure how much time had passed as I got mesmerized with tattooing him, but when I looked up to stretch my back out, Lara and Jez had both finished with their clients, and we were the only two people in the main part of the shop.
“How’s everything going?” I asked, feeling free to talk to him now that other ears weren’t about. I didn’t want everybody knowing my business, especially the people who I had to see on a daily basis. They knew I’d been a Marine, but they didn’t truly comprehend what it had entailed.
“Same shit different day,” he replied, shuffling on the chair. I flicked my gaze to his knees, where he’d draped his leather cut. He’d been part of a motorcycle club since the moment he took his first breath, and he’d prospected before he’d joined the Marines. He was part of the reason I’d decided to open my shop here instead of the next town over where I grew up.
r /> There’d been a couple of months when I’d first gotten home that I’d debated joining the MC. I’d hung around with them and attended the parties, but it wasn’t until Jax told me I needed to keep on track with my dream of drawing for a living that I’d stopped getting drunk every night to ease the nightmares, and really bucked up my ideas. From then, all I’d focused on was opening East Ink. I still joined the club at the local strip joint they owned from time to time, but I didn’t get wasted like I used to.
“Al got back from his tour a few days ago.”
I paused and lifted the needle from his skin. “Yeah?” My stomach dipped as I thought about Jax’s little brother, Al. He’d wanted to follow in Jax’s footsteps, and there was no talking him out of it, no matter what stories we told him. But sometimes you had to experience a situation to understand it, so that was exactly what he’d done.
“How is he?” I asked although I didn’t need to because, deep down, I knew what Al was feeling and thinking.
“Keeping to himself.” He stared at me knowingly. “You know how it is.”
I did know how it was. The first few days after you came home were the worst. People never spoke about the transition and how hard it was. They assumed because you were no longer in a war zone that you were okay, but it wasn’t reality. Reality lived inside your brain and tricked you time and time again.
“We’re having a party for him tomorrow night. You should come.”
I didn’t hesitate. “I’ll be there.” It wasn’t a question in my mind because Al needed support, whether he wanted to admit it or not. Marines were there for Marines—always.
Chapter Two
ELODIE
I leaned my face on my hand as I stared at the front of the class, not really understanding what Mr. Matthews was saying. Learning French wasn’t something I found interesting, but I wasn’t sure if it was because I couldn’t get my head around it, or because I didn’t like the subject.
Mr. Matthews pointed to the board at the front of the class and was using all these big words, but I didn’t get it. I huffed, knowing I’d have to read the pages from the textbook when I was on a break at work tonight—either that or admit I was failing this class in an epic kind of way.
I had to graduate this year. It wasn’t an option or a choice. There was no summer school to help me catch up with next year because there wouldn’t be a next year. I’d either graduate high school or have to get my GED—something which would cost money and put a huge wrench in my plans.
My gaze roved around the room, taking in all the students listening intently and making notes, and I finally stopped on the person sharing the desk with me. His hand was moving furiously over his notepad, his gaze flicking to the front and back down at lightning speed. And just when I was about to lean over and copy his notes, the bell rang out, signaling the end of the day.
