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“Yes.” His hand lifts and cups my face, a warm, quick caress. His gaze collides with mine, and it’s like sinking in a stormy sea. “Thank you,” he whispers, his voice rough like broken glass. He clears his throat. “Kay—”
He stops.
Ev and Amber are here, beside us, their faces kinda red.
Um.
Ev makes a face. “Sorry. We all have classes later, so we don’t have much time, or I’d have let you two talk. Hey, Ocean.”
He nods at her, his expression shuttering. “Hey. I’ll let you girls go.”
“Later,” I say, but he’s already turning away, his back stiff.
Guess I’ll never know what he was about to say.
Chapter Sixteen
Ocean
She’s taking me along. Despite what I told her about me the other day. Maybe she wants to be friends.
We can’t be friends. It’ll never be enough. But I’ll have to take it, if that’s all she can give me.
I was so fucking glad I wasn’t leaving town, and now I can’t be with her, because I fucked up—by telling her the truth.
I ask permission from Zane to leave work. I’m not much use at the shop anyway, since I can’t lift things because of my busted ribs, and we don’t have appointments today due to the preparations for the convention.
“Go home and get some rest,” he says, distractedly running his hands over the shaved sides of his head. His Mohawk is particularly fearsome today, a deep green with red at the front, as if it was dipped in blood. “That’s where you should be after the accident, fucker, not here. You should have stayed in bed and sipped soup. As a matter of fact, you should have let a doctor take a look at those ribs.”
“I’m okay,” I say, as always humbled by the concern of these people who took me in without knowing the first thing about me and have had my back since the beginning. “I just have something I need to do.”
Zane’s almost my height, so we’re eye to eye when he leans in. “You’d tell me if you needed help with anything, right, fucker? I’m not gonna be running after you, like with the other motherfuckers, to find out if something’s wrong, yeah?”
I shake my head. My mess is my mess. Nothing he can do to fix it.
Seemingly satisfied, he draws back. “Can’t blame a guy for worrying. You don’t draw much anymore. Don’t talk much. Don’t know if it’s a phase or a change, know what I mean?” When I nod, he goes on. “I hope you can make it to the convention tomorrow, but if you don’t feel up to it, just let me know. We clear?”
“Yeah. Thanks, man. I owe you.” I owe him everything, in fact, him and this brotherhood of tattooed, badass, loyal-as-hell guys. “And I’ll be here tomorrow.”
“Good.” Zane mock-punches my arm. “The others, they look at you for guidance, you know? The new ones—Seth, Shane and Jesse. Even Micah. You were my first apprentice, the first to ink here apart from me. Hell, forget about the others. I count on you, all right?”
No pressure. And yet I grin at him, because Zane Madden just told me he counts on me. “All right.”
“Tyler told me what you said about the tattoo.”
Ah fuck. “Look, Z-man—”
“I didn’t mean to force you into anything, okay, fucker? Let me know if and when you’re ready to be part of the Brotherhood.”
He walks away before I can think of an appropriate response. Jeez, I’d give my right arm to be part of the Brotherhood.
And yet I can’t say yes. Can’t involve the Brotherhood in any illegal shit, and I think I know where I can get more money for the tests and treatments, until—hopefully—Mom gets re-enrolled in the system. I hate myself for thinking it, but I can’t figure out any other solution.
I hate myself even more because I’m gonna set it in motion when Kayla drives me to the trailer park today.
If only she knew…
Would it matter? She already knows enough. I wonder if she’ll change her mind and call to say she won’t be going after all. Or some other excuse.
