Page 9

Pope

I exhaled a puff of smoke, bouncing the back of my head off the brick wall.

Mom. We’d known her illness was terminal for about six weeks when she passed away in our kitchen.

Her breast cancer had metastasized, and the malignant cells spread to her liver, spine, and unfortunately, her brain.

The doctors had told my father they could start chemo to give her a little more time to get her affairs in order.

Mom, being the stubborn woman she was, said no.

She wanted to go out on her terms. So, dad setup hospice care.

I could still picture her standing there.

She had a wooden spoon in her hand as dad made some Swedish Chef joke.

She laughed so hard. It’d been the first time we’d heard the melodic sound since she’d started treatment.

Then it all stopped. She’d gotten this weird look on her face before mom was falling to the floor.

For a while, I let dad believe I didn’t remember.

I used the excuse of “being so young” to cover the truth.

I don’t know why I lied to him. Guess it was better than him understanding how traumatic that day was for me.

Those memories I kept in a box tucked away in the back of my mind.

Mostly, I never brought the day up or what I remembered from that day to keep the images away.

Or at least tried not to. No good would come from it, anyway.

Mom had been dead for a long time now.

I wasn’t.

After I snubbed out the rest of my cigarette, I went back inside.

My next client, Hunter Banks, was already waiting for me in the lobby area of the shop when I stepped back out front.

The lucky son of a bitch just welcomed a son via adoption.

He and his wife, Posey, were over the moon about the little guy.

With that thought alone, Wes’ words clicked.

Sort of. Thierry didn’t have this. He had players on a team who were family because they’d eaten, practiced, played, and slept together in the same hotel rooms. Yes, he had his parents, but anything outside of work and them. .. He was alone.

Even when he’d been in relationships— fuck , fine, I admit I’d read about him more than I fessed up to—Thierry got used.

That last guy was a piece of work. Asshole said Thierry abused him.

I called bullshit. There wasn’t a mean bone in Thierry’s body.

Derrick got caught screwing a cabana boy or whatever the fuck and tried to play the victim card.

Fuck. I was a prick.

Just like Wes said.

“Hey man,” I said, holding my fist out to Hunter. “Are you ready to get tattooed?”

Hunter beamed. His chest puffed out with pride as he held out the two cards with both his children’s footprints. “More than ready.” He followed me over to the counter, where I placed the cards onto the copy machine glass. “His name is Anders.”

“Good name, man. Congrats.” I scanned the prints into the machine then printed them onto transfer paper. “Let’s get you inked.”

Once more, I placed the transfer on Hunter’s skin and went through the same steps I had with Wes. When I was finished here, I’d head out for the night. Hunter was my last customer, and I’d made enough to shut it down for the evening. “How’s Posey doing?”

“She’s great. Made to be a mom.” Satisfaction filled his voice. “Destiny loves being a big sister. Man... I never saw my life going in this direction. Ever.”

With the little I knew about the Banks siblings I felt like our lives ran parallel. They’d lost their parents in an accident, leaving them to raise their younger brother while I’d felt alone most of my life. Crazy how cosmos fucked with everyone.

I chuffed. “That’s good. I’m happy for you.”

“Coming to the party at the clubhouse?”

“Yeah, Wes bullied me,” I said with a little laugh. “Said Thierry is going to be there.”

Hunter frowned. “Don’t know him.”

Yeah, I didn’t think I’d know him either when we met up again. “He plays professional hockey.”

“No shit? Like NHL?” Hunter tilted his head as I worked.

“Yeah. He was with the Thunderbirds ,” I said. “Now he’s coaching an AHL team; the Murfreesboro Mountaineers . Sounds like he’s doing pretty good for himself.”

“Damn, I had no clue there was a local team. That’s cool,” Hunter replied. “So, you’re friends with him?”

“More like acquaintances, now. It’s been several years since I’ve seen him in person.” Apart from the few times I saw him on television.

“Well, hopefully everything will work out, and you guys can pick up where you left off,” Hunter said.

Yeah, not likely. I wasn’t about to hold my breath when it came to Thierry and me getting along. “So, show me this kid of yours. Tell me everything about him.” The change in subject lightened the mood.

Two hours later, I locked up the shop and headed upstairs to the small bachelor apartment.

When I bought the building, the space was included.

It made starting my business easier and gave me somewhere to live instead of with my father.

Both of us needed our space. I couldn’t sit in the grief of losing my mom, like my dad had for the last thirty years.

Just thinking about the oppressive atmosphere made my stomach twist with anxiety.

However, when he needed me, I was there.

After his massive heart attack last year, I came home.

Both of us realized dad wasn’t spry or young-ish any longer.

He needed someone to help him with his apartment, and doing the shopping.

I never understood why he didn’t date after mom.

They married young. He could have had a second chance, but he spent all his time working and sinking into the darkness and into the bottom of a bottle.

I hadn’t asked him why he chose that path, until after the heart attack.

He said, “I couldn’t betray you mother.” That made my heart ache for him and see him in a whole different light.

He went through his whole life alone, because of some misconceived notion she’d have been mad at him.

If anything, I bet mom was mad at him for not starting over.

Because my father was obstinate and set in his ways, aka, hardheaded, we butted heads in the beginning.

I’d show up when I was supposed to, and he’d be leaving in his truck to go somewhere, even though he’d been on strict bed rest for eight weeks.

(It was a miracle he even survived. Widow Makers don’t carry the moniker for no reason.

He should have died.) When I had to rush him to the hospital two days later because he couldn’t catch his breath, he finally listened.

Thankfully, the only issue the doctor’s found then was a pulled muscle near the incision site.

Which was common.

Still, his bullheadedness caused more issues than necessary.

Only when reality smacked him in the face, forcing him to take the help offered, was I able to focus on turning my shop into one of the best damn tattooing parlors in the south.

I had a set number of hours. Appointments filled most of those, since most of the Broken Eagles MC came to get work done by me.

I added Caleb and Clancy, yes twins, a couple of months ago to help with walk-ins, which improved my business and brought a steady stream of money into the shop.

Obviously, what they made they kept, but I got rent from them, so I put the extra into an escrow account, should I need it for a rainy day.

As I trudged up the stairs to my apartment over the shop, a wave of melancholy washed over me.

Was this going to be the rest of my life?

Everyone I grew up with had settled down, had kids, and began planning for their futures.

What did I have to show for all my hard work?

I spent five hours a day with my father then spent six to eight hours a day in the shop.

Only to return to a shitty apartment over my business and do the same thing again in the morning.

I stuck the key in the lock and turned the tumbler.

Damn. I was pathetic.

Stepping inside, the feeling intensified.

The streetlights below illuminated my apartment in a soft amber glow, casting long shadows across the wall.

I’d told myself two days ago, it was time for curtains or shades, something to cut the light out.

Instead, I left the glass panes bare because, “I only slept there.” My bed sat against the far wall, unmade, just like the other four days this week.

There were dishes in the sink of my kitchenette that I needed to wash.

The small trash can had a horrible odor emanating from it, and I was sure if I opened my fridge, it would stink, too.

I didn’t even have the mental fortitude to clean up.

Do it in the morning.

I opened the only door on my right and stepped into the bathroom.

I could use a shower, too. Once I turned on the water, I undressed and waited for the steam to rise from the stall.

Staring at myself in the mirror, self-loathing filled me.

Over the years, I’d used my body as a canvas, covering every available inch of skin in tattoos.

There were some I’d wished I never got. Others, given the choice of redoing them, should’ve been bigger.

That’s not what grabbed my attention, though.

No, it was my face. Fatigue darkened my gaze.

The lines around my eyes and mouth deepened, making me appear older than my thirty-five years.

No matter how much I tried to change, or do better, I never liked what stared back at me.