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I frowned, wishing he could see himself like I do. Like I was sure his team did. And Hettie. His friends too. “And you make it a safer world for all of us.”
His voice was tight. “This world will never be safe, baby. Fuck, I’m not safe.”
That’s what he’d convinced himself of, but it wasn’t true. “I’ve never felt safer than with you, Vic.” I kissed the corner of his mouth. “And I don’t need you going after him. I have Jackson, Vic. The most beautiful, precious little boy in the world. Let it go.”
I could see the struggle in him. How his brow twitched, and his fingers kept curling and uncurling on my hips. He sighed. “I still have to talk to your brother about us.”
“I know you think it’s important because you were friends, but not yet, okay?” I pulled back. “So, we are an us.”
He scowled. “Yeah, Rainbird. There’s always been an us. There will always be an us.”
He put a finger under my chin and tipped my head. Then he kissed me.
Macayla
The bell above the door dinged as I walked into Black N Heart Ink, and I was immediately inundated with the smell of campfire with a hint of antiseptic. I guessed the campfire smell came from the burning candles on the black marble front desk. The music thumping in the background sounded like electronic trance beat, and there was a subtle vibration in the floor.
There were four stations that were set up almost like at a salon, except they were spread farther apart with luxurious, black leather, dental-type chairs. A tatted girl, late teens, maybe early twenties, sat on a swivel stool at the station closest to me. The middle two were empty, and in the last was a guy leaning over a girl, pressing his tattoo gun to her collarbone.
Tat girl bobbed her head to the music, and the fifty-something-year-old man sitting in her chair had his eyes glued to her breasts that were bouncing with her movements.
She didn’t seem to mind.
The voices coming through the stereo chanted something about turning it up, and I recognized the Armin van Buuren song.
Tat girl lurched to her feet and ran over to the stereo and blasted the music. She pumped her arm in the air as she chanted the words.
The tattoo artist at the end didn’t even flinch, as if this was a usual occurrence. I peered around the rest of the place. Dark hardwood floors. White walls with large, black-and-white photos that depicted close-ups of tattoos on body parts.
Above the black, L-shaped couch was a close-up, side profile photo of a woman’s face. Her head was tilted down, and her eye was closed so you could only see her long, thick eyelashes. Beneath her lashes on her cheekbone was a beautiful tattoo of a teardrop. The photo was as haunting as it was stunning.
Her story floated across my mind like glowing embers waiting to be woven into lyrics. Teardrops. Undying love. Kiss the tears. Reaching for the stars. A tattoo of scars. Fighting the pain. A window in the rain.
“Everyone loves that one,” a girl’s silvery voice said behind me.
I swung around to look at a young girl, maybe late teens, with freckles scattered across her nose and cheeks. “It’s sad and beautiful.” And what songs are sang about.
She nodded with a sigh, her eyes still on the photo. “Yeah. That was Avalon. My boss’ girl.”
Avalon. I’d heard her name before. She was friends with Addie.
“Do you have an appointment?” she asked politely, walking over to the high-top desk to glance at the computer screen.
“Yes. With Welland.” I quickly pulled my cell from my back jean pocket and typed out a few lyrics, then pocketed it again.
“Mac North,” the girl said, turning away from the computer to look at me again.
“Yes.” Addie was supposed to meet me here for moral support, but she’d texted and said she was running five minutes late, finishing up a brake job.
“Welland will be a few minutes yet. Make yourself comfortable. There is coffee and tea over there.” She gestured to a coffee bar along the far wall. She went to turn away, then stopped and peered at me.
“You look familiar.”
“I work at Zero Crow.”
The girl scrunched her nose. “No. I’ve never been. Not old enough.” She gasped. “North. Oh my God, you’re related to Ethan Northern Blast.”
In the four months I’d been here, she was the first person who realized who my brother was. “Hockey fan?”
