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I rubbed a little tattoo gel onto the spot where I’d started the outline.

“What news?” The tattoo machine vibrated in my hand as I began.

Over the years, I’d used all kinds of equipment, from the old school guns to the newest pens.

I found the Bishop's wand was the best of both worlds.

I had more control over the use of ink and the pressure I exerted while tattooing.

My lines were crisper and the art, when finished, just seemed more vibrant, too.

“We’re having a party at the clubhouse next Friday,” he said. “You’re invited.”

Fridays were our busy nights. “Man, I’d like to be there, but I have appointments.” I dipped the needle back into the black to gather up more ink.

“You should still come. You know how things go when we have get-togethers at the compound.” I did. Parties could last all night and into the next morning. Or they could be over in a few hours, especially if the children were there.

“I can’t make any promises,” I said as the drawing came to life with each pass of the wand.

“Thierry will be there,” he said, and my world stopped turning. My heart pounded as something visceral consumed me. “Saw him the other day. Looks good, but tired. Bet he’d like it if you said hi. Since, you know, you’ve been acting like a prick since our freshman year.”

I frowned. Had it been that long since I’d really talked to him?

That can’t be right. “Whatever. I’ll do my best.” Couldn’t say how I felt about seeing Thierry again, other than I missed my friend.

Sometimes. I also didn’t like the churning in my gut at the thought of Thierry returning, either.

Worse, it wasn’t even a sick feeling. It was anxious with a hint of something else that made my heart beat a little faster. What the fuck is that all about?

Wes chuckled, forcing me to lift the needle so not to fuck up my work. “I don’t even understand what happened between you two. You guys were like two peas in a pod.”

“Grew up,” I grunted, focusing on the details. I’d never told a soul about what happened that night in Thierry’s basement. “I had my thing. He had hockey.”

“Right,” Wes agreed. “Well, you’re older now. Looked like he could use some friends.”

I mentally snorted. Although I did great for myself, Thierry made millions.

He had endorsements, ad contracts, and salaries that were immeasurable to people like me and Wes.

I had serious doubts; the guy was lacking any friends.

“Didn’t he hit some kind of red-carpet thing with Hollywood elites a few years back?

Heard he’s also that popstar singer’s best friend, too. Tabby or Tammy or something?”

According to gossip I heard, Thierry met her because Lily-Mae brought him to a football playoff game.

The singer was the girlfriend of the Raptors ’ running back.

Rumor mill said Lily-Mae and Rick got married in the off season, and Lily-Mae was pregnant the same year.

But I hadn’t paid much attention to that shit when I heard it years ago.

“You sound jealous and like you keep up with him more than you let on,” Wes quipped. Shame filled me as heat scalded my cheeks. Thankfully, Wes couldn’t see me.

“Whatever.”

“I don’t know what happened between you two, but don’t be stupid man,” Wes murmured. “Thierry is fucked up. He’s putting on a show for his parents and the rest of us. I think the injury and the surgery that came afterward is worse than he says.”

“What am I supposed to do about it?” I sat back, pissed because it seemed my afternoon was going to be filled with talk about a guy I hardly knew anymore.

We drifted apart after I left hockey, plus I didn’t want to talk about what happened between us.

Didn’t think Thierry did either. I chalked it up to hormones and the adrenaline from the game.

Additionally, my father needed my help until I couldn’t watch him fall deeper into his barrel of depression.

He never took mom dying very well. Same with his parents.

Watching him battle his demons from the bottom of a bottle was too much for me.

I had to get the fuck out of here and just heal.

I knew I should have tried support groups or counseling with dad and separate, but by then we were both set in our ways.

“Be there for him, maybe?” Wes glanced over his shoulder. “He’s rehabbing and coaching with the Mountaineers. Why don’t you go to a game, or I don’t know, come to the fucking party.”

I felt like a naughty kid being reprimanded by my big brother because I wasn’t doing my part. Even if I didn’t know what my part was anymore. “I’ll be late.” I spread more of the ointment across the transfer before working on a detailed oriented part of the tattoo.

“Doesn’t matter man,” Wes said. “We know the kind of job you have. Besides, people will be coming and going all night.”

“Yeah, sure.” The rest of Wes’ visit was spent in silence as I worked. At some point one of the guys arrived and the channel changed on the television to a music app. Metalcore blared through the shop, making it impossible to speak without yelling, which was fine by me.

Wes and I said enough to each other.

When I was done with the tattoo, I sat back and stretched.

My back gave a hardy pop, and I groaned before cleaning Wes up so he could look at the piece.

He stood and did the same, stretching his back then crossed to the mirror and grinned.

Good. After I finished removing the remaining ink from his skin, I added a layer of ointment then put a big piece of Saniderm over the tattoo.

Wes fist bumped me again before starting for the door. “Don’t forget, Friday.”

“I won’t,” I said. “Mom.”

He flipped me off as he chuckled. “Asshole.”

While I designed a couple of more pieces for other clients, I thought about what Wes said where Thierry was concerned.

He’d been my best friend in the whole world, and he couldn’t even tell me everything about himself.

Then, after the kiss, he gave me those puppy eyes every time he saw me with a girl I liked.

It got weird, okay? I couldn’t stand the silent treatment or the half-hearted attempts at conversations.

If Thierry was my best friend, he should have told me the truth and what he wanted from me.

Specifically, because he kissed me.

With those chaotic thoughts still swirling around in my head, I sprayed down the chair in preparation of my next client before I grabbed a smoke out back.

I needed a minute to gather myself and unwind.

Guess it shouldn’t have surprised me; Thierry would come back to Murfreesboro to heal.

This was home for both of us. I’d done the same after I got tired of roaming.

Our junior year in high school, I’d been offered a full ride scholarship to the University of Georgia for football.

I’d already seen my whole life laid out in front of me.

College ball, pros, some kind of cushy job in media, even though I wouldn’t have gone to school for that.

Yet, as I stared at that letter, before tearing it up, I’d been overwhelmed. I wanted to run that second.

Leave town and never come back.

Never told a soul about the offer before I walked out the door of my father’s dingy apartment, a place I’d hated because it never felt like home without mom, and never looked back.

I’d mentally checked out the minute the principal announced our class as graduates.

I was back home to grab my shit from my father’s place.

I’d only packed the essentials and was on the road to parts unknown.

In those few seconds of freedom, it didn’t matter where I ended up as long as the oppressive emotional turmoil ceased to exist.

I backpacked across the country, depending on the kindness of strangers to get me through.

I’ll admit, there were a few times I thought I’d end up the victim of some serial killer, but for the most part, I learned a lot about myself.

I was resilient. As much as I grieved for my mother, I hadn’t allowed myself to mourn our family.

My father and I were irrevocably changed the second mom got her cancer diagnosis.

Then for the second time when she passed away in my father’s arms in the middle of cooking supper.

Nothing from then on felt real.

Only when I’d been on the ice had I felt alive.

And I’d given that up.