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“Come with me tomorrow?”
Lindsay jumps from where she’d started dozing beside me, blinking me into focus. "Where?"
"You'll see." I smirk.
Chapter Five
Rome
Arriving in Seattle a few days before the Ace in the Hole Festival begins, I check into a hotel to give myself some time to explore the city before heading to the festival grounds to join my friend’s roadie crew.
I throw my suitcase on the bed, grab a jacket, and head back out in search of a cold beer. I ask Siri to lead me to the best pub in Seattle, and I'm in luck with one only two blocks away.
Following the directions of the bossy navigation voice, I take a left on 4th Street, leading me directly to the glowing sign of the Needle in a Haystack Bar and Grill. Seconds before entering my beer and steak paradise, a voice I haven't heard in over two years stops me in my tracks.
“Rome?”
I close my eyes on a long blink, bracing myself as I turn toward my old friend. I already know what’s coming: pity.
There will be pity in his eyes, and he’ll have a ton of questions. Questions I can’t answer. Questions that will undoubtedly stir everything back up as they always do.
Directly next door to the bar, my eyes catch on a sign swaying above the door that reads,I'm the Schitt Tattoo. Unsurprisingly, this place is owned by my old buddy, Mark Schitt. The bro side of me wants to talk to him like I don't have a care in the world, but the broken man inside me begs to flee.
"No fucking way," he says, closing the fifteen-foot gap between us. "Do my eyes deceive me? Rome Abrams, in the flesh?"
"It's Daniel now, but yeah, it's me.” I clasp his extended hand, and he pulls me in for a hug.
"Since when is your name Daniel? I ain't never heard anybody call you Daniel."
"Oh, since about 1977?” I chuckle as he releases me. “It doesn't seem right to have an artist’s nickname when I'm no longer tattooing."
"That's what I heard.” His smile falls and his eyes darken with a look I’m all too familiar with.
And here it comes.
“Look, man, what happened with Bailey was not your fault. It could have been any of us—"
"Itwasn'tany of us; it was me. And Bailey. So, nice to see you again, Mark, but now I need a fucking beer and maybe even a few shots."
"Let me join you. My last client just bailed on me last minute. Something about a sick kid, blah, blah, blah. Her boyfriend doesn't want her getting any more ink from me since he thinks we hooked up after I tatted her tits."
"Did you?" I pull the door open and follow Mark into the bar. If he’s anything like he used to be, the answer is yes.
"Yeah, but that's beside the point." He laughs. We find an empty table, and Mark immediately yells to the server to bring two of the specials. "So, what brings you to my neck of the woods, anyway?"
"New job. I'm working with The Nashville Hustlers while they are on the festival circuit for the next couple of months."
"Yeah? That’s cool, man. Are you, like, their traveling tattoo artist or something?"
"Nah, seriously, I gave it up. It's been over three months since I've held a tattoo gun or laid down a piece of ink. It's not who I am anymore."
He blows out a breath. "It's crazy it was only a year ago that you wonTattoo Geniusand were the most sought-after artist on the planet. And now you're a ghost."
"A lot can happen in a year."
"Did they ever catch the guys?"
“They did. Two punk kids wanting money,” I explain, annoyed by his questions.
