Holiday Sparks

“They haven’t shown up.” John’s voice was belligerent.

“The last time you were in trouble you were what? Twenty? You don’t look like you’re twenty anymore. I doubt they’ll figure it out. They weren’t sure on the name.”

“And you kept your fucking mouth closed?”

“Hey.” Ben softened his sharp tone and took a deep breath. “No, I didn’t say a word. I didn’t know if it was you or not, but how many little girls have broken their clavicle in Easton? I was hoping I was wrong, man.”

“What? So now you’re going to go tattle on me?”

“No.” Ben’s gut tightened. He’d already fixed her store. She didn’t need to know it was his brother. Not now. Hell, she didn’t even want to see him, let alone talk to him. Not as if he gave her the chance. He’d been taking every late shift for the last week and a half. “I helped her out.”

“Come again?”

Ben shrugged. “She saw what I did to her house and let me try out my motion lights on her store.”

“Aw, crap. You’re boning her.”

“Shut your mouth, John. Don’t talk about her like that.” The anger was quick and he struck out before he could hold back.

“Shit, Ben. Didn’t you learn with the last chick? Don’t shit where you eat, or in your case, don’t fuck where you live. Believe me, it’s not worth it.”

Ben knew John was bitter about his ex, but it wasn’t like that with Darcy. “We hooked up, but it’s no big deal.”

“Yeah, if it wasn’t a big deal you wouldn’t be staring death daggers at me. Son of a bitch.” John jammed his hat into his pants pocket, digging his fingers into his hair. “Look, just don’t say anything, all right? I’ve got enough going on just to pay for those fucking doctors.”

John made a good living as a mechanic. Just good enough to make them ineligible for the kids’ programs for the state insurance healthcare. And the plan at the shop was shitty at best.

Ben sighed. “Look, it’s a done deal. I rocked it out on her store.”

John snorted. “And rocked out on the chick.”

Ben winced. She wasn’t just some chick. “Let’s just get inside before Brit sneaks on the computer.”

John looked at his watch. “She’s gotta be hungry.” And just like that, John went from angry shit to doting dad. His only saving grace was Brittany.

Ben ate with his family, letting Brit’s infectious laughter choke the last of his anger out. By the time he’d downed a few slices it was time to head into the shop.

He had a few appointments to get through and a special request to go over with an eighteen-year-old kid. Steering people toward the right tattoo was as important as the final product.

He backed down the alley that butted against their shop and grabbed his sketchpad before getting out. He unlocked the tiny back door to his place that led to the storage-catch-all room. Cesar’s playlist pulsed from every wall. He moved down the hall, flicking on the Tru-Lite overheads in his space on the lower level.

He walked out to the waiting room. A neon purple and red sign hung in the center of the deep plum feature wall of their shop. They’d designed the sign together so it had a bit of each of them. It had been Cesar’s idea to send it out for neoning. He hadn’t been sure about the idea until the sign had been delivered.

His best friend was very good at big elements of color. Luna Hart filled the center of the wall. Ben’s designs were painstakingly lined up and matted on the left side and the right side looked like Gangland L.A. with Cesar’s bold, bright style and haphazard mixed media display.

And just because Cesar was a crazy-ass idiot, he had a papier-mâché wreath hanging from the L in the sign. Instead of green and red, it was their colors.

Evidently it had been a slow night last night. When Cesar got bored, he started sculpting. The medium of the month was glue and paper. God help him. “Cee, where are you?” he shouted over the driving industrial music.

“I’m workin’! You know the music is only this loud if I’m mid-ink.”

Ben climbed the three stairs to the upper studio where Cesar worked in a Plexiglas box. Personally, Ben didn’t like the entire waiting room watching him like that.

Cesar was definitely the exhibitionist of their outfit. A woman with breasts the good Lord certainly hadn’t given her was sprawled out on the extra-wide chair his partner had made himself. He was shading a delicate daisy around the woman’s nipple.

“Uh—sorry.”

“It’s fine.” The woman waved him in.