Ringside Page 4

  “I’m sorry,” I told her inadequately.

  She smiled sadly. “Don’t be sorry. Just be in it with me, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  She handed back my phone. “Okay.”

  I spun the slim black phone in my hand, looking up the street thoughtfully. I wanted to say the right thing to make her feel better. To relieve some of her guilt or doubt or shame – whatever it was that was gnawing at her. I wanted to take the store off her shoulders because it was weighing her down. This had been her dream and it was killing her and I wondered if the same wasn’t true of me too. If Jenna had finally gotten everything she wanted in the world, every dream suddenly realized, and none of us were what she expected us to be. What she needed us to be.

  I worried we were more than she could handle.

  ***

  It took me almost forty minutes in lunch hour traffic to make it from North Star Ink to my therapist’s office and by the time I got there I was almost late. I walked through the door with only two minutes to my appointment.

  Ben greeted me with a smile from behind the reception desk. “You had me worried.”

  “I’m not late yet.”

  “You’re usually early.”

  “I was having lunch with Jenna.” I gestured to where he sat at the desk next to a pink Post-It notepad and a pen with kittens on it. “What’s this? Have you been demoted?”

  “New receptionist.” He stood slowly, smoothing his wild gray hair. It immediately sprang right back out. “She is never early. Her lunch break was over ten minutes ago.”

  “Do you want me to sit while we wait for her?”

  He waved away my concerns. “No, no. I set the phones to voicemail and I’ll lock the office door. She can wait outside until we’re done with your session.” He jerked his head toward the back hallway. “Shall we?”

  The first time I sat down and talked with Dr. Benjamin Phillips I refused to go into his office. It felt too real. Like I was actually going to talk about all of the things I’d buried for so long and the thought stirred the animal, the anger inside me so violently that I thought I’d vibrate out of my own skin. I couldn’t go. He ended up locking the front door to his practice exactly as he was doing today and we had my first session there in the waiting room with old Home and Garden magazines and Beatles songs on piano pumping softly through the speakers.

  That worked for me. It brought me back the week after. And the week after that. It kept me coming in until it started to feel normal. Not me, that never felt right, but the routine did. Talking did.

  Today when Ben had the outer door locked he joined me in his office. I was already sitting on the couch, ready and waiting. Nervous as always but better each time I came in. It helped that I trusted Ben. I wouldn’t talk about everything with him, but I broke a lot of boundaries in this room. The session with Jenna had been the biggest, one I hadn’t even come close to duplicating since. We avoided the topic of my childhood at my request, but every session Ben would say:

  “Let’s have it, Captain. Are you ready to talk about your time in the foster care system?”

  “No.”

  His glasses slipped down his nose as he made a notation on his pad. When he looked up he pushed them back, the thick lenses magnifying his brown eyes. “Understood. What would you like to talk about?”

  “The Bruins.”

  “They suck,” Ben deadpanned. “What else?”

  I smiled, savoring his reaction. It reminded me of Dan, Jenna and Laney’s dad, and hours spent in his living with him and Jenna, sometimes even Laney, watching college football. Dan was a Stanford fan through and through, just like Ben. I was a huge UCLA fan. It made for a lot of angry arguing. A lot of laughing. A lot of the best days of my life.

  “Have you spoken to your family recently?” Ben prodded.

  I coughed roughly, smoothing my hands over my pants and pushing my back into the couch hard. “No, not really. Things are still tense between everyone. Jenna goes over and has dinner with them all every week. I got a call from Dan the other day asking how it was going volunteering for the fire department.”

  Ben grinned. “That’s not the family I was talking about.”

  “Oh.” I frowned, confused for a second before it clicked. “You meant my mom’s family in Ireland.”

  “Yes.”

  “No, I haven’t talked to them lately. Not since I e-mailed them and told them Jenna and I are coming to meet them in a few months.”

  “How did they react to that?”

  I shrugged. “The e-mail said they were happy. Excited to meet me.”

  “And how do you feel about it?”

  “They seem like nice people,” I answered dully.

  “That’s an impression, not a feeling.”

  “I feel like they’re nice people.”

  Ben laughed, letting it go. “It’s good that you’re talking. Both to them and your California family.”

  “I probably shouldn’t think of Dan and Karen as my family anymore,” I replied awkwardly, the statement coming across as a question.

  “You can think of them however you like. They obviously still care for you. It’s wise that you’re taking it slow and readjusting to the way things are. It can’t be fixed overnight.”

  “That’s what I told Jenna.”

  “Is she worried about it?”

  I scoffed. “Yeah, she’s worried about it. Her sister hates her.”

  “I doubt she truly hates her.”

  “Maybe not but she isn’t afraid to throw that word around, believe me. And Jenna, she gets cut easily. She’s not as thick skinned as Laney and I are.” I flexed my jaw, trying to release a tension that had begun to build. “I think she’s been hurt the worst out of everyone.”

  “And that bothers you.”

  “Of course it bothers me. It fucking kills me.”

  “Does she feel that way? That she’s taken the worst of the pain?”

  “No. She thinks Laney has. Knowing Jenna, she probably thinks I’ve suffered more than she has.”

  “Haven’t you?”

  “No.”

  “Not even in life in general?” he pushed. “Not even considering the abuse you told her about?”

  I shook my head. “I don’t want her feeling sorry for me.”

  “Acknowledging you’re suffering doesn’t equate to pity. Is that why you won’t talk about it? You’re worried it will feel like a pity party?”

  I grinned despite myself. “Is that a medical term?”

  “My new receptionist would say yes. She’d also advocate that ‘totes’ is a measurement of matter.”

  “She sounds fun.”

  “She’s adorbs,” he replied dryly. “Answer the question.”

  I took a deep breath, let it out slowly. “I don’t know. We talked about the… things that happened to me and it’s out there and… I don’t know. I don’t know how to handle people knowing about it. No one has ever known before and now both you and Jenna do and I have no idea how to handle that. It’s like I’ve been carrying a gun with me everywhere, concealed where no one knew about it. Loaded and ready to go off. I’ve kept it hidden, kept everyone safe from it, and then one day you and Jenna found out about and now I don’t know what to do with it. Do I keep hiding it? Do I let anyone else see it? Is Jenna afraid now that she knows about it? Does she see me differently?”

  “Have you asked her?”

  I laughed, the sound forced and cold. “Have I asked her if she’s afraid of me?”

  “Yes.”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because she might say yes,” I blurted out recklessly.

  I was slipping. Changing. I wasn’t hoarding my thoughts as well as I used to. The rules had shifted and my head was still spinning, my filter popped out of place so that suddenly words and thoughts and secrets were spilling out. The doors to the cages in my mind were cracking open and I worried I wouldn’t be able to keep them closed much longer.

&nbs
p; I worried more what it would feel like to not have to.

  “She just as easily could say no,” Ben reminded me gently.

  “Fifty-fifty split. It’s too risky.”

  “You not asking doesn’t change how she feels. Not about this, at least.”

  “What do you mean by that?”

  “I mean if you ignore how she feels, if you never ask her about it, she may stop telling you,” he reasoned. “Do you want her stop telling you when she’s happy? When she’s sad? When she’s nervous? When she needs your help? That she loves you? Do you want another relationship like the ones you’ve had before where no one says anything, no one feels anything? Where nothing is real?”

  “No,” I answered roughly.

  “I would hope not.” He sat forward in his chair, catching my eye pointedly and lowering his voice. “Right now Jenna is listening. If you want her to keep listening, you had better start talking.”

  Chapter Five

  Jenna

  The roar of motorcycles stirred something old and familiar inside of me. I watched through the front window of the shop as they cruised down the street, turned around, and parked in front of my store. There were two of them, both dressed in jeans and long sleeved shirts, the only leather protecting their bodies were the cuts on their backs with a logo for a motorcycle club I’d never heard of and ‘NEVADA CH’ sewn in underneath.

  They took off their helmets and turned, revealing long shaggy hair, laughing faces, and a beard on one that reminded me of Callum. Both were about his age, late twenties, and good looking guys if not a little rough.

  When they made their way toward the front door of my shop I felt anxious. The store was closing in two hours, Sam was gone for the day, and I was alone. If they wanted a tat it’d be the last of my night and it’d keep them here until it was nearly dark outside and all of the other stores in the area were shutting down.

  I could tell them I was closed. I could draw something up for them and tell them to come back tomorrow to have it inked, but I’d done work for MC boys before, both here and at Bryce’s when I was first starting out, and they’d always been cool. A little loud, cocky as hell, but they paid cash and they’d never given me any problems. So when the bell over the door dinged and they sauntered inside, I smiled to greet them.

  “Welcome to North Star.”

  The clean shaven one with slicked back, dark hair smiled at me, his eyes surveying what he could see of me from the other side of the counter. I was careful about the way I dressed in the store. I wore tank tops a lot to show off my own ink because it was like a business card to people. If they liked the work I had on myself they’d probably like the work I could do for them, but my tats were all I was showing off. I kept necklines away from my cleavage and my shirts long, my stomach always hidden. I never wore skirts and on the hottest of days when I wore shorts, they were practically to my knees.

  This guy finished his inventory of my skin and obviously liked what he saw because his smile broadened. “I heard you’re the girl to see about ink in this area.”

  “Depends on what you’re looking for.”

  “Something small. Something I can get done tonight.”

  “Any design you had in mind?”

  He shrugged off his cut and draped it heavily over the counter in front of me. His shirt came off next revealing a tan, cut chest and stomach covered in tattoos. Some were basic - words that I didn’t read scrawled in thick, blocked print. Others were more elaborate, like the colorful dragon that started at his right pec and wove its way down his arm, ending in a breath of fire that wrapped around his wrist and down the back of his hand out onto the tip of his middle finger. It was detailed and massive, probably took months to do, and the work was incredible.

  “You like it?”

  His eyes were watching me, studying me as I studied his arm, a small smile on his lips. It was different from the one he’d worn when he came in. It was cooler, calmer. I couldn’t say I liked it.

  “It’s good,” I commented, keeping my tone light. “Where’d you get it done?”

  “Oregon.”

  “You get around.”

  His bearded buddy chuckled. “You got no idea.”

  “This here is what I want you to work on,” the guy explained, stepping closer until his hips hit the counter and he was only half a foot away from me. He pointed to his left shoulder where a tattoo of a nautical star had been started but wasn’t even halfway finished. “I need it done.”

  I leaned in and examined it. It was new, the ink fresh and un-faded. It was black which was good because it would take less time to work on and I wouldn’t have to try to match someone else’s colors.

  “Why didn’t they finish it?” I asked.

  “We had a disagreement in the middle of it. He didn’t wanna finish the work and I didn’t want that fucker anywhere near me with needles.”

  I nodded, deciding it was better not to ask any more questions. “So you just need it finished? Only the one star?”

  “Unless you got a better idea.”

  I eyed the artwork, my brain bouncing back and forth between what was smart, what was right, and what was in my veins. I wanted to finish it. It bothered me sitting there on his skin incomplete and while I knew I could get it done, get paid, and have them on their way in an hour if that was all I did, it wasn’t my way. If he wanted it to be something more, I could give him something more.

  I picked up the charcoal pencil I’d been doodling with and flipped to a new page in my notebook. I drew the star as it was, feeling the guy’s eyes on me as I worked, and I finished it off. Made it symmetrical and my heart was happy, but it wanted more. I added additional stars, smaller but identical, until the larger one was amid a constellation that was faded and varied, blown out over his shoulder in a pattern that dragged your eye to his chest and tied in with the tail of the dragon that dove down the other side of his body.

  His buddy whistled when he saw it. “That’s the shit, right there. Get it, man.”

  I fluttered the pencil between my fingers, looking up at him. “What do you think?”

  He nodded, dragging his eyes back to mine with that small smile again. “I think I came to the right place.”

  I asked for his driver’s license, slapped forms in front of him to fill out, and pulled out my cell as I waited. I texted Kellen, telling him I was doing one more piece and that it might take a while.

  I didn’t get a reply.

  When we were squared up front I took the guy to the closest chair and got him settled as I ran through my routine. His buddy wandered in and out, staying up front for most of the time but occasionally popping in to check our progress. It was forty minutes later when I was nearly finished with the majority of the stars that I realized the guy hadn’t come in for a while. I glanced at the door, leaning back in my seat to try and see him.

  “He’s probably asleep,” the guy told me. “We’ve been on the road all day.”

  I settled back in, kicking the gun on. “Where are you coming from?”

  “Washington.”

  “I’m surprised you didn’t stop in Oregon and have your friend finish this for you.”

  He grinned. “Like I said, we had a falling out.”

  “Same guy who did the dragon started the star?”

  “Yeah. He was my go to.”

  “Long ride from Nevada for a tattoo.”

  “I’m on the road a lot.”

  I nodded, not asking any more questions.

  I could feel his eyes on me as I worked, but I tried to ignore it. I didn’t want to rush but ever since his buddy stopped coming into the room the air felt different. It felt tight, like the oxygen was being burned away by a fire I couldn’t see, I couldn’t feel, but I knew where it was. It was on the arm of this guy. In the mouth of the dragon.

  In the smallness of his smile.

  I felt my phone vibrate in my pocket and I was itching to answer it. It was probably my mom or Kellen, and for once I’d welcome ei
ther of them. But I’d have to stop and take my gloves off to answer it and it would only make this take longer. I was getting in toward the end of it, my hands over his chest and my face leaning in closer than I would have liked.

  “Are your eyes gray?” he asked quietly. Intimately.

  I didn’t look up. “I don’t know. I can’t see them.”

  His stomach pulsed with a silent laugh that I felt under my hands. “They are. They’re beautiful.”

  “So I’m told.”

  “You got a guy?”

  “No. I’ve got a man.”

  “He keepin’ you happy?”

  I didn’t answer him. I kept on working and I ignored his question because here’s where it was going – nowhere good. No matter how I answered it we were going to be talking about sex. Me and this half-naked guy under my hands in the back of my store where no one could see us. Where only his friend could hear us, assuming he was still even out there.

  “What’s your name, darlin’?”

  “Jenna.”

  “Jenna,” he purred, “you are a fucking slice, do you know that?”

  “No.”

  “Your man not tellin’ you that?”

  “Not in so many words, no.”

  “He should be.”

  “I’ll tell him you said so.”

  The guy smiled and I ignored it, focusing on the ink I was putting into his skin and the distance I’d like to put between us soon.

  I finished the tattoo twenty minutes later. I was quick to show it to him and then cover it with Vaseline and a bandage. I asked him if he needed a pamphlet to remind him how to take care of it, but he only smirked at me, gesturing to the rest of his body covered in dyes.

  “Right,” I muttered, snapping off my gloves.

  I went to the front to wait for him while he got dressed and I found his buddy snoring softly on the couch I kept out there. Even with him unconscious I was relieved to not be alone with the other guy. I breathed easier just being in a different room from him.