Total pages in book: 64
Estimated words: 61100 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 306(@200wpm)___ 244(@250wpm)___ 204(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 61100 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 306(@200wpm)___ 244(@250wpm)___ 204(@300wpm)
I believe they’ll offer to help me because they’re decent men, but I have no way to predict how involved they might want to be with decision making or with a baby, if they even want to be involved at all.
Mace plans to move away someday, so I can’t imagine that he’d want to be saddled with a child. This leads me to wonder, for probably the millionth time, whose baby it is.
I don’t really want to think about it belonging to only one of them, because I always think of them together, but will they want to take a paternity test to find out which of them is the father? I don’t even know how that works; would we have to wait until the baby is born before knowing who the father is? What if they fight amongst themselves about it? They often don’t see eye to eye on things, and this is a major, life-changing thing.
What a mess.
What would my mom tell me to do if she were still here? We had a good relationship before she died, and I’d like to think that I could have been open with her about everything going on in my life, but maybe an affair with four tattoo artists would’ve been too much for her to handle.
My father didn’t stick around when she needed him, so I’m guessing she’d tell me not to rely on men. She talked with me plenty about being careful not to get pregnant, but I thought I was being careful. Would she be ashamed of me?
I’m wiping away a couple of tears when my phone buzzes with a text. It’s Brittany asking how I am, and it warms my heart that she really seems to care, even when she doesn’t really know me all that well.
“I have someone who can cover if you want to take the night off,” she tells me.
I step into the bathroom and evaluate my face in the mirror. I’m not sure any amount of makeup will disguise my puffy, red eyes.
“I’d appreciate that,” I tell her. “I’ll definitely be there tomorrow.”
“Sounds good,” she says. “Let us know if you need anything.”
I’ll give myself a little more time to wallow and cry tonight, and then I’ll pull myself together for good. I’m clinging to what Brittany told me last night. Everything will be okay.
Somehow. Eventually.
Right?
41
MACE
My client, a twenty-year-old man, is asking me question after question about what it takes to become a tattoo artist, and twice now, I’ve nearly put the wrong color in the wrong section of the skateboarding rabbit I’m inking on his leg.
I’ve been distracted like this for the past couple of days, and it’s really getting on my nerves.
“Hey. Hey. You all right?” The kid is leaning forward, his face nearly next to mine.
“Huh?”
“I was asking you about an apprenticeship. Did you even hear me?” He leans back, laughing to himself. “Wow, you really get hyper focused on your work, don’t you?”
If only that was the problem. I shrug off his comments and try to actually focus my attention on the artwork, but it’s a constant struggle.
I’m not the only one, either. There’s a lot more cursing around the shop these days, and just as much, if not more, around the house.
My brothers in ink have been miserable to work and live with, all of us walking around like we’re dragging personal storm clouds with us.
I get through the kid’s tattoo, and he’s thrilled with the results, but I can’t get excited about it.
After all of our clients are gone, Hutch is up at the front counter, scrolling through the tablet that houses the shop’s records, and he looks like he’s ready to punch someone. “Mace, why don’t you have any clients booked tomorrow?” he yells at my back as I’m heading toward my stall.
“What? I have two coming in tomorrow.”
“Not in here you don’t. You need to get your calendar straightened out.”
“You need to learn to view it correctly,” I tell him, giving back as much anger and irritation as he’s giving me.
“Settle the fuck down, you two,” Zipper says. “You need to get your fucking heads on straight.”
“Stay out of it,” Hutch growls.
Zipper yanks the tablet out of Hutch’s grip and shuts down the screen. “What do you care what his calendar looks like? You’re both just irritated about Rose, and you need to get over her.”
Hutch grabs at the tablet, glaring at Zipper. “Like you’ve gotten over her? Is there some other reason you’ve stayed in your room the past two nights and not even come out for dinner?”
Instead of answering, Zipper stalks over to the couch and sinks down at the opposite end from where Christian’s sitting.
After slamming a drawer in unnecessarily hard, Hutch says, “I’m worried about her, and I know you all are too, even if some of you won’t admit it.”