Chapter Eighteen
Nick
Evie still hadn’t come to get her fake driver’s license. I’d thought I had her, I thought that she would come back. I could see it in her eyes last night—she knew she was in trouble. She knew she needed help. I’d taken her ID figuring that maybe all she needed was an excuse. Nope.
It was now ten at night and I was sitting in the shop calculating the minutes until I could go home and pass out. There was no reason for me to close the doors today. There was no one at home who needed me. I should count that as a blessing. I should be glad that I didn’t have to deal with her problems. But I wasn’t.
Every time the bell dinged above the door, I’d look up hopeful that it was Evie. That she’d come and apologize for leaving this morning. Or she’d offer to buy me dinner as a thank you. Or she’d simply shrug and I’d know that meant that I was right. That she wanted me to help, that she wanted to get better.
The bell chimed and my hope soared once again, even though I silently begged it not to.
“I was told to walk in and ask for some dude named Bleu.” A pretty girl with red hair and a short miniskirt was standing in the lobby, one hand on her hip and one eyebrow raised.
I turned over my shoulder, calling down the hall. “Yo, Bleu, you got a walk in.”
Bleu came out and eyed the chick, taking in her painted nails and her perfect complexion. “Someone referred you to me?” I could hear the annoyance in his tone and I kicked him under the counter.
Bleu hated to work on girly girls. They were his least favorite…to tattoo. In bed? They were his jam. But Bleu didn’t mix business and pleasure, and other than Evie, neither did I. We’d learned our lesson early on.
“Yeah, my friend Evie James.” The fact that Evie referred this girl to Bleu and not me was a little odd, since I was the only person here who had ever touched her skin with a needle. The redhead pulled a piece of paper out of her purse, unfolding it and smoothing it on the counter. “I’m Maykin, by the way.”
“Bleu.”
He and I leaned down to study the image at the same time. I could tell that she was the one who drew Evie’s last tat. You could see it the shading and the bold lines. Bleu’s jaw dropped open and I couldn’t help but chuckle. Maybe Evie had sent this girl here knowing that Bleu would be annoyed as fuck. She did it to teach him a lesson, because the tattoo Maykin wanted was nothing short of spectacular. It was a carousel horse, ornate and vintage. The piece would take hours, days even.
My oldest friend cleared his throat, obviously shocked. “Okay, yeah, we can get started tonight.”
“I want it all, tonight, one sitting.” She threw a giant stack of bills on the table. “I know this is pretty detailed, so I’ll pay you extra for the overtime.”
Bleu picked up the money, thumbing through it and giving it a rough count. He pulled four twenties out and handed them back to her. “There’s generous, and then there’s stupid.” He took the drawing and headed toward his workspace. “Let’s get started.” Bleu was strictly business when it came to the females he inked. We both knew that the euphoria we gave these chicks from getting tattooed was an easy way to get laid. And neither of us would ever exploit it. Except for that one time. With Evie.
And look where that had gotten me.
Maykin threw me a wink when she passed, disappearing into the room next to mine. And once again, I was left alone. Alone and desperately wanting to know what Evie was doing. Was she okay? Was she high?
Never in my twenty-six years had I ever thought about a female as much as I thought about Evie James. I’d thought about her after our night together. I’d thought about her before I knew she was in trouble.
There was something about her, something that had crawled under my skin and then never left. Seeing her yesterday had thrown me for a loop. At first I was a little bit angry; she seemed snotty, like she was better than everyone around her. And then I’d been intrigued and slightly turned on, which made sense because I still jacked off to the memory of the night we spent in my bed.
But then she’d gotten undressed and she’d started to shake. I’d felt her bones under my fingers and I’d become concerned and sad. I was pretty sure by this point, I’d felt every emotion possible when it came to that little bird.
***
“Mayk?”
“Evie?” I’d been in my office working on expenses when I’d heard the bell on the door. We were closed, but Bleu was still here working on the redhead. “How did you get in here?”
She was standing in front of me, about to walk down the hallway to find her friend. She looked beautiful, the deep front of her long dress showing off the majority of her chest. Her hair was down, and her eyes were wide.
“The door. It was open.” She made a move to stride past me and I gently grabbed her arm. She was so thin, I was almost afraid to hurt her.
“Wait.”
“Mayk said the shop was closed. I figured you’d be at home.” She pulled away, her eyes on the floor. Guilty. She was acting guilty, which could only mean one thing. Wherever she’d gone when she left me this morning, she’d used something to help her survive it.
“I had some paperwork to do.” I put my finger under her chin, making her meet my gaze. “And my house smells like disinfectant.” I wasn’t trying to make her feel bad; I was trying to make her laugh. I was trying to make light of the night I’d spent helping her get all the pills out of her system. “I thought you’d come by today.” Only for her to put them all back in. I should be pissed, livid even. I’d spent hours rubbing her back while she vomited. I’d made soup. I was worried and disappointed and scared. But I wasn’t mad, not really.
“I, uh, I had plans.” She headed down the hallway, slipping from my grip. “Maykin, where the hell are you?”
“You have a lot of plans for someone who doesn’t have any real friends.” I followed her like a crazy stalker. Like a man obsessed with a girl that was nothing but bad news waiting to happen.
She stopped short and I grasped her shoulders to keep from plowing into her. “Look. I didn’t ask for your help Friday night, and I’m not asking for it now. I had plans I couldn’t get out of today.” Her body was tense, and I knew this because I had yet to stop touching her. “Believe me, I got away as soon as I could.”
What did that mean? “Were you kidnapped?”
Evie sent me a withering, sassy sneer. “Yes. I was kidnapped, but they let go. Yay me.” She moved away from me, crossing her arms over her chest. “Now, where is Maykin?”
“She is on the third hour of a six-hour tattoo. You can’t barge in on her.”
“No worries, we needed a break.” Bleu was suddenly standing outside his door, a bottle of water in his hand and a question in his eyes. “Your girl is in there.” He gestured into the room with his free hand.
Evie shoved past me and closed the door behind her with a little more force than absolutely necessary.
“What’s your deal with that girl? She seems like a fucking hot mess, bro.” Bleu drained the rest of his water and tossed his bottle across the room, sinking it into the small black trashcan by the front desk.
“We’re old friends.”
“No you aren’t.” He pointed between himself and me. “You and I are old friends, which means I know all your ‘old friends.’ What gives?”
“She needs my help.”
“No fucking doubt she needs help. But why is she your concern?” He leaned against the wall, waiting patiently for me to start telling him the whole story. Bleu joked around ninety percent of the time. So when he got his serious face on and asked a real question, he wouldn’t stop until he got a real answer.
“That’s the girl I hooked up with a couple years ago.”
“The girl? The skull-tattooed virgin? No fucking way. That girl was like classically trained ballerina beautiful.” He jerked his head toward his workspace. “This one looks like she does expensive coke in the Hamptons morning noon and night.”
I shrugged, lips pursed. “Same chick.”
“Damn.” He winced. “Rich kids and their rich speed.” He pulled a small Red Bull out of his back pocket, cracking it open. “Well, let’s go make sure she’s not letting my client snort lines off her ass.” He opened the door with flourish. “All right, Midge. Time to get back to work.”
“Midge? Like Barbie’s red-haired friend?” Maykin was sitting up on his table, a blanket covering her naked chest. “Clever.”
“I thought so.” Bleu winked as he washed his hands. “You ready?”
“Yeah.” She lied down on her stomach, resting her face on the back of her hand. “E, the key to my studio is in my bag. Stay as long as you want, but there isn’t any food in the fridge.” Evie grabbed a light brown leather tote from the chair in the corner, digging through it with her whole head hiding inside. “If Collin didn’t have anything, I’ve got some Valium in that small outside pocket.”
“Who is Collin?” Was that her dealer? I’d seen his name pop up on her phone while she’d been at my house. I hadn’t wanted to be nosey, but now I wished I had. Maybe I could have blocked his number. Or threatened to kill him.
“Her—”
“No one.” Evie shot Maykin a glare that could set fire to a block of ice. “Thanks for the space, and have fun with Bleu.” She blew her friend a kiss and then left the room without any further explanation.
“Whoa, wait, where are you going?” I reached for her arm again, stopping her before she made it all the way to the lobby.
She whirled around, her eyes narrowing on my grip. “Let go of me.” Her words were said with such anger than I dropped her arm immediately. I hadn’t been trying to upset her; I’d only wanted to keep her from running out on me. “Can I have my fake ID?”
I drew my wallet out of my back pocket, picking the expensive fake between my fingers and dragging it out slowly. When she reached for it, I moved it out of her grasp. “Who’s Collin?”
“None of your business.” She reached again, missing by a mile.
“Where are you going?”
When she tried and came up short for a third time she rolled her eyes in annoyance. “Maykin has a studio space she uses over in the Bishop Arts District every once in a while. I’m going to stay there for a couple of days.”
“Why?”
I thought she’d be defiant, I thought she’d tell me to fuck off. Instead she answered, in her real voice. “I need to get away. I need a break.”
I handed her the card, but followed close behind as she made her way to the front of the shop “You shouldn’t be alone, Evie.” I’d been around her for all of five minutes and I could tell that she was spiraling again. Her eyes were wide, and her hands were shaking. But she was slowing, like all the fight and energy was starting to drain from her. “You sure as shit shouldn’t be driving.”
She snorted. “I’ll take a driver. Thanks.” Her tone was snotty once again, like I was a commoner that couldn’t possibly understand her aristocratic ways.
She was hot and cold, her mood ebbing and flowing like the ocean.
“What did you take today? How much?” I hated how desperate she was making me. I hated that she had this hold over me. There was no reason for it. She wasn’t my family, and she sure as shit wasn’t my girlfriend. Fuck, she was barely even a friend at all. But yet, here I was, seconds away from losing my mind at the thought of her leaving.
She spun around, her gaze heavy. “Contrary to what you think, sometimes I am sober.”
“Doubtful.” And even if there was some truth to what she’d said, she sure as fuck wasn’t sober right now. Her eyelids were getting heavier by the minute. “Come on, I’ll drive you.” Her fists went to her thin hips and I knew she was about to argue with me some more. “Look.” I held out my hands, stopping her protest. “You let me drive you, and I’ll stop with all the questions.”
She scoffed. “Why won’t you let me be?”
“I wish I knew, little bird.” I sighed, shrugging lightly. “Would you please let me drive you?” I was standing here, basically begging her to let me be part of her disaster of a life. I was asking for the heartache. I was asking for it all.
She stared at me, her eyes zeroed in on mine. I could tell the instant the fight left her, the moment the downers started to pull her under. “Whatever. Let’s go.” She turned on her flat sandals and threw the front door open, the night breeze making her long thin dress blow around her legs. High or not, skinny as a stick, she still looked stunning.
I’d run errands earlier, so I had my old Scout with me. I helped her climb into the vintage ride I’d spent two whole summers working on in high school. As soon as we pulled away from the curb, Evie’s head rested back against the seat. I turned on the radio, keeping the volume low. And I drove.
But not to the Bishop Arts District. Basically, I drove in circles until I knew for sure she was out cold. Then I pulled up outside my apartment and cut the engine. Evie James was going to be one pissed-off chick when she woke up.
I couldn’t explain my concern for her. I couldn’t tell you why she mattered, or why I felt compelled to help her. All I knew was that I did. I wanted to make sure she was safe. I wanted to make sure she ate and she rested. I wanted her to be sober, and I wanted her to see that she didn’t need the pills.
I wanted to give her a safe space. A place where she could be herself—the real Evie. The girl I’d met two years ago that blushed at the thought of removing her pants for a tattoo.
The girl who liked Brontë quotes and cheeseburgers.
The girl who spooned my dog.