There was no fuckin’ Lila anyway. If we came together, I knew in the same way I’d always known how to draw, how to pull from my imagination and create art, that it would lead to love makin’.
And that?
That I couldn’t fuckin’ do.
As if I needed a reminder, my iPad rattled on the metal tray of tools at my station, draggin’ me from my thoughts.
Meredith: We need to talk.
I blinked at the screen as I squeezed it so tight I thought the metal would warp from the force.
Another buzz.
Meredith: We have things to work out, handsome. It’s been years. It’s time we figured this out.
“What the fuck, man!?” Axe-Man hollered as my iPad went crashin’ against the wall, breakin’ apart into little glass pieces.
The entire shop paused, tattoo guns quietin’, talk stoppin’ in its tracks.
Axe-Man, Jae Pil, and Chloe, my artists, all blinked at me, shocked by my outburst.
Wasn’t the kinda man who usually had a temper, so it was fair, their concern, but I couldn’t handle it just then.
Not with Meredith on my mind.
“Sara, call Marcus, and tell him we’re gonna have to reschedule his session,” I ordered brusquely, collectin’ my cut, helmet, and keys as I passed by her at reception. “I’m out.”
“Nova,” Axe-Man called, but I only saluted him over my shoulder and got the fuck outta there.
It was early to pick up Lila, but I got on my Harley Davidson FXSTB Night Train and took off with a roar of pipes that took the edge off my bad mood.
Barely.
Of course, fuckin’ Meredith would choose today of all days to reach out.
It was Dane’s birthday.
He woulda been thirty-six this year if he was still alive.
Usually, I spent the night getting’ drunk alone and findin’ a woman or two to entertain me through what was always a sleepless night, but I didn’t want to do that this year.
This year, I wanted Lila.
We would celebrate Dane this weekend with the family during Sunday dinner, but I felt the need to do somethin’ then with the only person who loved him more than me.
Wet Works was thirty minutes north of downtown Entrance at the edge of the industrial neighborhood that sprawled like a raised hand over the city, fingers of land extendin’ into the Faversham Inlet cut into the mountains by the ocean. It was a massive site with dozens of cars parked in the lot, both scantily clad and normally dressed workers scuttling between the buildings.
I swung off my bike, leaned a hip against the seat, and texted Lila.
Nova: Waitin’ on you outside.
Lila: You’re early.
Nova: Was in the mood for you.
Lila: I’m busy.
Nova: I’m always in the mood for you, if I’m bein’ fuckin’ honest.
The bubbles that indicated she was typin’ appeared, disappeared, then appeared again. I tapped my thumb against the phone impatiently and dug a cigarette outta my back pocket, stickin’ in between my lips without lightin’ it just for somethin’ to do.
Lila: What’s going on, Nova?
Nova: It’s Dane’s birthday. Wanna spend the night with you. Do somethin’ special.
Lila: I have my own ritual for today.
Nova: Cool. Doin’ it with ya then.
Lila: You aren’t invited.
Nova: Tough shit. I’m outside. Comin’ in to get you if you aren’t out in ten.
I didn’t get a response to that, but I didn’t expect one.
So I lit up the smoke, put on my aviators, and tilted my head to the sun as it set ’cause the rays were warm, the scent of hot asphalt in my nose familiar, figurin’ I may as well enjoy the moment.
‘Cause that was life.
This moment and the next, strung together like beads on a string worn around the wrist. Some were plastic children’s fare, some glitterin’ diamonds or hard stone, but all of them were worth relishin’ ’cause I was fuckin’ alive.
While some people, the best people, were dead.
Or never got a chance at livin’.
I didn’t notice I was rubbin’ at the tattoo on my left bicep until Lila swung around the side of a buildin’, struttin’ in her tall heels like she’d been born in them when I knew for a fact she’d grown up barefoot, likin’ the feel of the earth beneath her toes.
My hippie girl rock child.
And she looked it today, decked out in a cropped Tom Petty concert tee and frayed jean shorts that exposed the long, carved line of her legs until the tops of her fringed boots, the sweet pink pop of colour from the peonies inked high on the side. Her long, dark hair caught in the fingers of the wind, gleaming with copper highlights in the red gold light of the sun. I remembered how it felt to take that mane in my fist, and my dick kicked at thinkin’ ’bout doin’ it again.
She was gorgeous that girl, so beautiful in so many ways I wondered if anyone, even me, would ever know the depth of them.