* * *
I reach into the bag on my bike and pull my sketchbook out. Before going in, I flip through it, again making sure I marked my favorite pages.
A thrill of excitement strums through me like I haven’t felt since sitting in the tattoo parlor where I apprenticed for a few months. Before that, I hadn’t felt it since I played football in school. Before I quit. Before I realized what a bastard my old man is. Before I stopped giving a shit.
Shaking my head, I head toward the building, hoping like hell this is going to work out. I left a message this morning, telling the owner that I’m interested in apprenticing here, left my number, and said I’d be down later. Then I sat around like a pussy, hoping he’d call back before I came down.
He didn’t.
I pull open the door but don’t see anyone inside. There’s only one workstation, a desk with a computer, and then a small hallway leading to another room.
“Hello?” I call out.
“Yeah?” a female voice replies.
What the fuck? She could at least come out here. The urge to walk out hits me. I don’t have time for this shit. It’s probably a waste of time anyway. Still, I reply, “I called earlier. Lookin’ for a place to apprentice.”
“Sorry, just opened up. I don’t need to take on any scratches right now.” As soon as the last word clears her mouth, she steps around the corner.
Motherfucker.
Bee’s eyes widen in shock, but she recovers quickly, making me do the same.
“Don’t call me a scratch.” My fist tightens on the book in my hand; disappointment takes control of me. Jesus, what are the odds of sleeping with one of the only tattoo artists in town? The only one left who hasn’t already told me they’re not looking? Especially when neither of us wanted to see each other again.
“I’m not trying to be a bitch when I say it, but it’s what you are. When I first started, I was a scratch too. If you can’t handle getting shit, you really don’t belong here.” She sits in the chair behind the desk.
Anger fills me, banging against my pride.
“You don’t know me or what I can handle.” Shut up. Chill out, man. She’s your last opportunity.
I don’t want it anymore, if it has to be with her. I don’t see women again after I’ve had them. It’s too fucking close.
She sighs. “That doesn’t change the fact that this wouldn’t work out. Let’s focus on me not needing to take a scratch under my wing right now. I have too much going on.”
I almost hand her my sketchbook. Almost mention she wouldn’t be saying that if she saw my stuff, but fuck it. Putting myself out there isn’t something I’m about to do for anyone, especially not her.
Without a word, I turn and walk out, the door pushing open so hard it slams into the wall as I go.
* * *
“Jesus Christ, Laney. What are you doing in my house?” I’m tense, my insides going a million miles an hour as I throw the sketchbook onto the couch beside her. “I’m telling you right now, if your boyfriend is here, I’m probably going to lose my shit.”
She doesn’t answer that and says, “So it didn’t go well, huh?” My sister stands and walks over to where I’m leaning against the table, talking to me in the voice Mom used to use when we were kids. Before we realized she loved Dad more than us and that she could quickly turn love into anger. I hate it.
“Doesn’t matter.”
I’m not surprised when she moves closer to me and drops her head to my shoulder. She’s always been like this. Sweet and innocent, trying to see the best there is in the world. We couldn’t be more different, and even though she’s the only important person in my life, I heft her head off me and walk away.
“Did they look at your drawings?”
“No.”
“You shouldn’t take no for an answer, Maddy. Go back and keep trying. They’ll respect your dedication.”
I can’t help it—I laugh. “I’m not trying to get a job at a Walmart or something. It’s a tattoo parlor. If they tell me no, I’m pretty sure they mean it.”
“Want me to ask Adrian? Or Colt? They might know someone who—”
“Nope.”
Laney sighs, making guilt ease its way through my anger. I’m a shitty brother to her and I know it.
“Maddox, you want this. You haven’t wanted anything in a long time. You deserve it, but you might have to fight for it.” She’s quiet for a second before adding, “I want it for you.”
I know exactly what she’s trying to say. She wants to fix me. She doesn’t think I fight for anything and that part is true.
It’s about all I can handle today. Sometimes she believes in shit so much, she makes me want to do the same, but then I think about how I let them all down. How I knew Dad was gambling and knew about the money, but for selfish reasons kept my mouth shut. How Laney was alone when she found Mom the first time she tried to kill herself. I should have been with her. So she’s wrong. Maybe I don’t deserve something good.
“How do you know they’re not saying no because I suck?”
“You forget I saw your book. Not that you even told me you draw. I had to find it by accident!” she yells.
Definitely time for me to get out of here. “I gotta go. I forgot I have something to take care of. Lock up for me when you leave, yeah?” I tell her. I never should have given her a key in the first place. I don’t even know why I did.
“Maddy…”
“How many times do I have to tell you to stop calling me that?” And then I close the door and leave, just like I walked away from Masquerade. Like I walk away from everything that matters.
Chapter Three ~Bee~
I’ve never been the type of person who sits around and dwells on life. Bad things happen all the time and overthinking them has never done shit to change anything. I remember when I went back home—or to the place I should consider home—I didn’t really understand what was going on. At thirteen I should have, but people who are kidnapped are supposed to have been hurt. They’re mistreated and locked away. They aren’t happy and loved the way I had been, so the whole thing was hard to wrap my head around.
For about a week after they sent me home, that’s all I thought about. The people who raised me and the people who lost me. How they both loved me even though I didn’t know quite how to feel about any of them. Didn’t know how I felt about that screwed up word love at all. Rex and Melody had always told me they’d loved me but now I knew they’d stolen me. My real parents said they loved me but they didn’t really know me. I wasn’t their little girl anymore. How can you love someone you don’t know?
It hurt and I cried, my chest feeling hollow and broken, knowing I should feel so many things I didn’t know how to.
Nothing changed.
I didn’t hurt any less. My real family was still broken-hearted and confused, and I’d lost who I considered my mom and dad.
That’s when I decided I wouldn’t lose myself in the past anymore. I wouldn’t stress and dwell on things I couldn’t change or even things I could, because if I made that decision the first time, there was a reason. I would stick with my choices, even when someone didn’t get them or I got shit for being closed off or hard. And I wouldn’t worry about love or try to figure it out.
Girls aren’t allowed to feel that way, I guess.
This is why I’m pissed that I haven’t stopped thinking about Maddox since he walked out of Masquerade. I’m not daydreaming about the sex, though it was good. No, better than good. I keep seeing that look on his face when I told him no about apprenticing with me.
I recognized the expression because I’ve felt it before. It’s more than disappointment. It’s loss.