IT’S MIDNIGHT BEFORE I GET home, hands cramping due to a combination of a long session and my tendency to choke up on my grips when I’m tattooing. All I want to do is crash, but when I open my door, I see my buddy’s girl, Briar, standing with her arms crossed, and Asher Kelley sitting on the couch. He only shrugs when I shoot him a look.
“You know how she gets,” he says by way of explanation.
“Dammit, Dare. When are you going to realize you have people who give a shit about you?”
“What’s she pissed about now?” I ask tiredly, tossing my keys onto the counter and bracing my palms on the edge of it.
“You missed dinner,” Kelley says, an amused smirk on his face.
“Shit, my bad.”
Briar seems to think I’m going to self-destruct at any moment. She has this rule that I go to their house once a week for dinner, but “dinner” is really code for make sure Dare has some social interaction that doesn’t involve a client and has at least one meal that doesn’t come from a microwave per week. In the two years that I’ve known her, she’s somehow weaseled her way into my life, bringing my friend count up to a total of four. Five, if you include Adrian, Briar’s friend who is even more intent on befriending me than she was for some fucking reason. The guy doesn’t even live in River’s Edge, but you’d think he does by how often he’s here, in my shop, in my house. Why is it that the few friends I do have are always in my space, completely oblivious to my propensity to be a loner?
Briar gives me a sad shake of her head. I don’t like disappointing her. She’s like a little sister. An annoying sister, but a sister nonetheless.
“I’ve been distracted between my truck, and there was this fucking girl—”
“Girl?” Briar asks, perking up, and I roll my eyes. “There’s a girl? What girl?”
“Jesus Christ.” I should not have said a damn word.
“Dare, did you meet a girl?” Briar asks again, coming to stand next to me in the kitchen.
“Like, one you don’t have to blow up first?” Ash chimes in from his place on the couch.
“Fuck off. She’s just some chick who came in looking for a job.”
“Hmm,” Briar says, cocking her head to the side, looking for any sign of deception. “But she’s distracting you?”
“Drop it, Briar. There’s more chance of me dating you than this girl.” That earns me a pout from Briar and a death glare from Asher. It’s true, though. I don’t date, as cliché as that sounds. I fuck when porn and my hand lose their appeal. And I’m selective about who I fuck. I prefer them to be tourists for a few reasons. They’re never here for long, therefore can’t, or shouldn’t, rather, expect anything long-term—but that’s not to say I don’t get the occasional clinger.
For the most part, though, they come into town, the good girls looking for a night with the bad boy, and then go back home to their Ivy League boyfriends, feeling like they got something out of their system. Tourists also don’t know my history, which is an added bonus. I don’t like anyone knowing my business. Not even Kelley knows the extent of my past, and he’s the closest thing I have to family and the one person who would understand, given his own similar past. I’ve hinted at what happened when he was going through his own shit, but I don’t talk about it. Cordell and his brother Cam know because we were friends back then, but they know better than to bring it up. It’s an unspoken rule. I relive that shit in my head every single night. I don’t need to be reminded of my mistakes out loud.
“For the record, I don’t believe you. But I’ll let it go. For now.” She tacks the last part on, narrowing her eyes and pointing her finger at me in an attempt to look threatening. It’s hilarious, really, considering she’s about as intimidating as a pet bunny. “And you can make it up to me by coming to my party next week,” she says, blue eyes big and hopeful.
I groan. I hate parties. I’m already mentally preparing myself for our work Halloween party. All the surrounding shops have one big costume party at Blackbear. If I was the only owner who didn’t participate, I’d look like an even bigger asshole, and I’d never hear the end of it. I’d rather choke on a bullet than go to two parties in the same month.
“Come on, you know I wouldn’t ask you unless it was important to me,” she whines, and I shoot her a look. She invites me to every goddamn thing she attends.
“Okay, so I would invite you, but you know I wouldn’t push.”
“Briar passed her midterms,” Kelley says, coming up behind her, squeezing her hip and looking at her with his eyes full of pride, and she beams up at him. It’s still weird to see this side of him, but that’s the Briar Effect.
“Four people were dropped this semester alone. And passing is a big deal. I just really want the people I love to be there.”
“Wouldn’t miss it,” I say reluctantly, but I mean it.
“I love you, too,” Briar says before smacking a kiss onto my cheek. Ash walks over, scoops her up, and her legs wrap around his waist.
“Now get out of my house.” I’ve spent enough time with these two to know what comes next.
“He’s just mad because he hasn’t been laid in weeks,” Asher mumbles into Briar’s neck as he carries her toward the door.
“Leave him alone.” She giggles as he reaches back to close the door behind him.
He isn’t wrong. I haven’t fucked anyone lately, and it’s making me a moody son of a bitch. It isn’t because there’s a shortage of willing females, either. I just haven’t found someone worth the trouble.
My thoughts immediately turn to Logan. Her bare milky thighs. Her full lips. Her porcelain skin. I could probably fuck her. I want to fuck her. But I won’t, because girls like her—the beautiful ones with daddy issues—are pure chaos. And chaos is my kryptonite.
I push away thoughts of Logan and decide to shower. Afterwards, I’m too tired to sleep, as if that makes any fucking sense, so I sketch out some tattoo ideas. Drawing always relaxes me. It started as a coping mechanism when the guilt and intrusive thoughts became too much to bear. After turning to drugs and alcohol to numb the pain, I turned to creating art. Art is a generous way to put it. It was far from it when I first started, but now, it’s my lifeline.
I tried other career choices. Even started my own roofing business. I saved enough money to start Bad Intentions, then had Asher take over the roofing company when he moved back. I still technically own it and take jobs on the side every now and then, but creating keeps me grounded and sane in a way that even roofing can’t. It worked at first, because I was fucking angry, and it was a good outlet—throwing myself into physical labor, hammering away at shingles all day, getting my aggression out—but I’m not angry anymore. I’m resigned. I know what I did, and I’ll pay for it every single day for the rest of my life.
I sketch at the high-top counter in my kitchen for maybe thirty minutes before giving up on the three staggered pine trees in front of me. The same ones I have on my forearm, and the same ones I find myself drawing over and over again. I throw my pencil down at the drawing like it offended me. And it has. This was supposed to help me feel calmer, to clear the fucked-up thoughts in my head. To quiet the guilt. But not even the pine trees can help me tonight. I can’t pinpoint why I’m feeling so off, but I can’t shake my weird mood, so I stand from my barstool and punch the light switch with my fist before heading upstairs to bed.
I don’t even make it to the top of the stairs before I hear a knock at the door. Which idiot is it now? My bet is on Cordell. Cam is too busy being a dad and Asher was just here, so that leaves one person. Except when I swing open the door, it’s not Cordell’s face I see.
“Hey, roomie,” Adrian says with a big stupid smile on his face that has women dropping their panties for him despite the fact that he’s a goofy bastard. I take one look at the backpack on his shoulder and the suitcase in his hand before slamming the door in his face. He throws out a palm to stop it from closing.
“I’m just playin’! Kelley won’t let me in. And judging from the noises coming from inside their house, it’s going to be a while.”
On one hand, I don’t want to do anything to encourage him. Adrian’s like a fucking fungus. He’s grown on me. A little. But I won’t admit that to anyone. On the other hand, I just want to get some fucking sleep.
“One night,” I warn. “I mean it. Take the couch.” I jerk my chin toward the living room behind me. I have rooms upstairs. Asher’s room is even furnished, but I like my space, and knowing Adrian, he’ll take it as an invitation to move in if I let him have his own room.
“You’re the boss, applesauce.”
I shake my head, and he walks past me, kicks off his shoes, drops his pants, and plops down on my couch like he owns the place.
“Make yourself at home,” I mutter, grabbing a blanket off the back of the recliner and throwing it at him. He takes the hint, covering his shit up.
“What, you sleep with pants on?” He scoffs.
“In other people’s homes, I sure as fuck do.” I turn back for the stairs. “I’m going to bed.”
I’m warm. Uncharacteristically warm. Those are my first thoughts when I wake up. Then I remember that Adrian’s here. He probably turned up the heat. Eyes still closed, I kick off my blankets, ready to doze back off for another hour, but then my foot hits something hard. Something that grunts.
“I swear to God, if you don’t have pants on, I’m going to fuck you up.”
I don’t get a response, and I turn, as if in slow motion, to see Adrian sleeping, head on my pillow, without a care in the world. I kick him hard enough to roll his ass out of my bed and onto the hardwood floor. He lands with a thud.
“The fuck?!”
“My thoughts exactly. Who sneaks into another man’s bed?!”
“It was fucking cold! You left me with a tiny ass blanket that wasn’t even big enough to cover my balls.”
“So, you didn’t think to take Ash’s old room, or I don’t know, wake me up and ask me for another blanket?”
“Why are you making this such a big deal?”
“Because I don’t like people in my fucking bed. Especially ones with dicks.”
“Noted,” Adrian grumbles, and when he stands, I see that he’s wearing sweats. Thank fuck for small miracles.
There was no sleep to be had after waking up to Adrian’s mug in my face. Instead of getting an extra hour of sleep, I dragged my ass to the shop early. Bad Intentions is my home away from home anyway. I have everything I need here, including the few hours of peace and quiet before we open that I can’t seem to get at my own home.
As I’m checking out the schedule for today, I see Logan across the street. She’s getting out of her dad’s 4Runner, then looks both ways before running across. At first, I think she’s coming here, but she’s heading for the place next door. When she drops her keys and bends over, I have to admit, she’s got the best ass I’ve seen in a long time. Tiny waist, thick thighs, and a fat ass. God bless yoga pants.
Blackbear isn’t open yet, so she knocks on the door. Logan steps back, rubbing her upper arms and bouncing in place as she waits for someone to open it. Her tits jiggle, and I bet if I were closer, I’d see her hard nipples through her shirt. As if she can hear my thoughts, she turns toward me. We lock eyes through the window. It’s too late to act like I wasn’t staring now. She holds my gaze, the wind blowing a strand of her dark hair across her face, neither one of us backing down.
The door opens, breaking our staring contest, and out comes Jake. She smiles at something he says, and then he holds the door open for her, checking her out as she walks in. I can’t fault him when I just did the same thing, but I will anyway.
Ignoring her presence was supposed to be easy, and it would’ve been. I would’ve forgotten all about her by tomorrow, had she not gotten a job right fucking next door.
I break Dare’s icy stare as my new boss greets me. I paste a smile onto my face as he opens the door for me.
“Logan?” he questions, and I nod. “My bad, I was in the office in back. Come in.”
His voice is easy and friendly, and he’s much younger than I thought he’d be. He looks somewhere between twenty-five and thirty with dark, floppy hair under a backwards baseball hat, brown eyes, and tanned skin. He looks like a surfer type. Not exactly what I was expecting.
“I’m Jake,” he says, extending his hand to shake mine. His grip is firm, but gentle and his hands are warm.
“Logan. But you just said that, so you already know. Everyone calls me Lo.” I’m gonna shut up now.
He laughs, still holding on to my hand, shaking it up and down. I snatch my hand back when I realize I’m still hanging on like a creep. Way to make a good first impression.
“What brings you to River’s Edge?”
I hesitate, thrown off by the question. How does he know I’m not from here?
“It’s just that usually the only people to come here either have family here or are tourists,” Jake clarifies upon sensing my confusion.
“Is it that obvious that I’m an outsider? Do I have a sign on my forehead?” I laugh.
“Nah. But you’re not a tourist if you’re looking for a job, and if I had seen you around before, I’d definitely have remembered.”
Is he hitting on me? Or am I reading into that?
Jake clears his throat. “I mean, I never forget a face.”
“Actually, my dad lives here,” I say, letting him off the hook.
“No shit?”
“Shit,” I say, nodding. “And my little brother goes to school here now, so I’ll be here for the foreseeable future.”
“That’s what’s up,” he says, reaching over to grab a pile of papers off the bar top. I think this might be the most casual interview-slash-orientation I’ve ever had. I don’t feel nervous or like I have to put on an act. Jake is warm and inviting and easy to talk to.
“Have a seat,” he says, pulling out a stool for me. “I just need you to fill these out, and I’ll grab your uniform.”
I fill out the application, and Jake brings me two white T-shirts with the Blackbear logo on them—one with long sleeves, one with short—and an apron. I change in the bathroom, then Jake takes a photo copy of my ID and shows me around a little. Before long, Sutton shows up, cheesing from ear to ear once she sees me.
The rest of the day goes off without a hitch. There’s a steady flow of customers, but not too busy, so we have a lot of time to bullshit and get to know each other. I learn that Sutton is hilarious and kind of a badass. Sometimes you can just tell right when you meet someone that they’re just good and genuine. That’s Sutton. I learn that Jake is probably a solid eighty percent of the reason this place is in business, because his admirers come in all day long, taking up tables, hanging around far after their meal is finished only to stare and take the occasional stealthy picture when he’s not looking. I guess he’s a big deal around here, but I haven’t figured out why that is yet.
It’s six p.m. by the time my shift is over, but the sun has already set, making it feel much later. I offer to pick up another shift, because the night shift is always where the money is, but Jake laughs at me and tells me to go home. I think he thinks I’m joking. I’m not.
I count my tips in the break room, pleasantly surprised by the amount I made for a Thursday afternoon. Ninety bucks isn’t bad at all.
“What’s up with Jake?” I ask Sutton, who’s sitting in a chair with her feet kicked up onto the small table in front of us. “He some kind of celebrity around here?”
“He used to be a pro snowboarder.”
“Huh,” I say, perplexed. This place is so not Oakland.
“Oh, by the way, you’re coming to our annual company Halloween party next week. It’s mandatory,” Sutton informs me.
“Can I throw on some cat ears and call it my costume?” I don’t have the money or the desire to figure out a legitimate costume.
Sutton gasps, looking deeply offended. “Absolutely not! Come to my house after work next Friday. I think my sister still has her Sally from The Nightmare Before Christmas costume. Either that or a giant hotdog. Your choice. I can grab it for you.”
“Sally it is,” I say, laughing. “I love that movie.” It’s one of the only good memories I have with both of my parents. Henry rented it around Christmastime, which sparked a heated debate on whether it was a Christmas movie or a Halloween movie—my vote is both, by the way—and we made a pallet on the floor, all four of us cuddled up, eating popcorn and candy, while we watched. Jess was still a toddler. I was probably seven or eight. Looking back, our mom was most likely coming down because she slept most of the time. Regardless, for some reason, I’ve never forgotten that night.
“So, it’s settled then. We’ll have some drinks and get ready together,” Sutton says, clapping her hands excitedly.
“Can my brother come, or is it employees only? To the party, I mean. Not your house,” I clarify.
“Your brother is in high school, right?”
I nod.
“I think it’s supposed to be twenty-one and over, but no one really enforces it. Just tell him not to be a dumbass and try to order a drink.”
“He’s not an amateur.” I laugh. Jess will probably come toting a water bottle full of vodka or some shit, but he’s not stupid enough to try to order from the bar. Though, I bet it’s harder to get your hands on stuff here than in Oakland. He has older friends back home, but even if he didn’t, there’s a homeless man on every corner looking to score a beer or a few bucks in exchange for buying booze.
To be honest, I give Jess shit, but he really is a good kid with a big heart. He smokes weed and drinks, but that’s our normal. I don’t know one kid in Oakland that doesn’t. I’m just glad he’s not a pillhead or a smackhead…or a crackhead or a cokehead. None of the bad heads. Just a pothead. I can live with that.
Jake taps his knuckles on the doorframe, and I look over at him from my seat at the table. “Good job today,” he says with a smile. “A few more days of training and I’ll put you on the night shift where I need you.”
“She’s already better than half your staff,” Sutton says, rolling her eyes.
“True. I just have to go through the motions, so I don’t piss anyone else off. Everyone wants the night shift.”
“Oh, thank God,” I say, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear.
“We work the same shift again tomorrow. Wanna come in a little early and have a late breakfast? Jake makes the best pancakes on this side of River’s Edge,” Sutton says, bumping his hip with hers.
“That’s bullshit. I make the best pancakes on the entire lake and you know it.”
“Debatable.” She shrugs.
“But yes. By all means, I’ll come in an hour early and cook breakfast for you two princesses. I don’t have a life or anything.”
“Damn right you will,” Sutton says before heading back to tend to her remaining tables before she clocks out. “See you at ten!”
“You don’t really have to do that,” I say once she’s gone.
“No, you should. It’s my pleasure. I just like to give Sutton a hard time.”
“Yeah?”
“Yep. In fact, I’ll fire you if you don’t.”
I cross my arms. “Is that so?”
“Okay, no. But it was worth a try.”
I laugh, rolling my eyes. I know he’s teasing, but there’s a little sliver of…something that crawls up my spine. Not exactly suspicion, but it leaves a bad taste in my mouth. It’s not him. It’s Eric. His brand of manipulation started off playful, just like this. And I never would’ve guessed things would end up the way they did. Not even for a second. And now, I’m suspicious of everyone, even harmless guys with floppy hair and kind eyes.
“If you insist,” I say, ducking under his arm that’s braced against the doorframe.
“If I have to be here early with Sutton, then so do you.”
“I heard that!” Sutton yells from somewhere in the kitchen around the corner.
“See you then.”
I’m in the middle of the street, halfway to my car, before I remember that Dare is next door. I stop in my tracks, looking behind me. The Bad Intentions sign glows pink in the night sky, and I can see that the shop is busy, but I don’t see Dare.
I jog back across the street and pluck a fifty-dollar bill from my pocket. I open the door, and a guy with gauges and suspenders walks toward me, smiling, but I wave him off, letting him know I’m not a customer. There are a couple of other guys tattooing, one I recognize from the last time I was here, one I don’t. Dare is sitting on a stool near his station, with his hands behind his head and his legs spread wide.
I walk right up to him, and when he finally sees me, he doesn’t react. Doesn’t seem shocked by my presence. I bend over, getting close to his ear, and whisper, “I don’t need your money.” His eyes widen slightly, but he doesn’t move a muscle, hands still clasped behind his head. I take it a step further than he did and tuck the money inside his jeans, and under his boxer briefs. He raises a brow when my fingers touch the warm skin of his lower, lower stomach.
I pull my hand back and walk away without another word, hearing a damn and who the hell was that mixed with a low whistle and some laughs. I don’t know what Dare’s reaction is, because I don’t look back.
When I get home, the house is empty. I decide to shoot Jess a text.
Me: Where are you?
Jess: Studying.
Me: Liar.
Jess: Well, she does give good brain.
I’m confused for half a second before he sends me a picture of a girl’s blonde head bent over a book with a notebook and pencils scattered around her, unaware that Jess has taken the photo.
Me: Don’t be creepy. By the way, I left a few bucks for you on the counter for lunch tomorrow. I’m probably going to pass out early. Be safe.
Jess: I will. Pleasantville is hella sketchy after dark.
Me: Shut up.
Jess: I’m gonna need a gun if you expect me to survive these streets.
Me: I’m going to bed, now…
Jess: Make sure you lock the door. I hear home invasions are on the rise here.
Such a jackass. I laugh at his ridiculousness, tossing my phone facedown onto my bed. I start to pull my shirt over my head, but my phone rings a second later.
“If you’re calling to tell me you’ve been kidnapped and need ransom money, tell your kidnapper he took the wrong kid. We’re poor.”
“You wouldn’t have to be poor if you’d come back to me.”
My stomach twists at the voice from the other line, and even though I know exactly who it is, I pull the phone away to check the screen, but it doesn’t show the number that I’ve had memorized for the past year. It reads Private.
“How did you get this number?”
“That’s all I get? No, Hello, Eric. I’ve missed you?”
“What do you want?” I ask, trying to sound assertive and unaffected. I don’t want to let him know he can still affect me in any way. He can sniff out when someone is intimidated, and he feeds off it.
“I want you back here. In my house. In my bed.”
I can’t help but laugh. He is literally insane.
“That ship has sailed, Eric. Besides, your bed is big, but it’s not big enough to share with your wife.”
“She’s gone.”
“Bullshit,” I spit.
“She’s…away, getting help. Then she’s going to get her own place once she’s well again.”
I hope that’s the truth, but I can’t believe a word out of Eric’s mouth.
“Where’s Cayden?” I ask quietly.
“He’s here. With me, of course.”
My heart physically hurts when I think about Cayden. At twelve years old, he’s the only innocent in this fucked-up scenario. My throat gets tight when I think about how he must be feeling without his mom. I know better than anyone. The hardest part of leaving Eric was leaving Cayden.
“He misses you, baby. We both do,” Eric says in that soft tone. The one he saves for times like these, when he knows he doesn’t have the upper hand. But sweet-talking won’t work this time.
“I miss him, too,” I say, voice cracking before I steel it. “But you’re fucking delusional if you think I’d ever come back to you.” I hang up the phone before he can respond, and then I stare at the dirty carpet, sucking in a deep breath, trying to escape the guilt that threatens to swallow me whole.
I had an accidental affair with the married father of the child I nannied. There were many casualties, but the one I regret most is Cayden.