The grin over my face grew, hurting my cheeks.

“Are you sure?” He lifted an eyebrow. “It’s permanent.”

“Yeah? So?” I bounced on my toes. “You have one.”

“Several, actually.” He rubbed at his chin. “But I’m less likely to regret mine.”

“What?” I burst out in a laugh. “What kind of sexist logic is that?”

“It’s not sexist. It’s about the person you are.”

“And what kind of person am I?” I put my hands on my hips.

“Wow, if that’s not a loaded question.” He snorted. “Is there any way I can answer without finding myself in trouble?”

I grinned. “Probably not.”

He looked down, his upper lip hitched on the side. Our eyes latched on to each other. Fire scalded my airways, making it difficult to breathe. It was as though a break in the atmosphere waited for us to collide. My gaze drifted to his mouth. The bad-boy grin fell from his face, and turned serious, sparking the intensity between us. Neither of us moved, but the space between us tapered. He lifted his hand, slowly running his fingers over my ear, tucking my hair behind it. He let his hand slide, slowly trailing down the side of my neck. We watched each other. His fingers moved to my jawline, sliding back, his hand cupping my cheek.

“Who’s next?” A man stepped from behind the curtain, his voice gruff.

We both jumped, jerking away from each other. I swiveled around to see a six-foot, barrel-chested man in front of us, dressed in shorts and a white T-shirt. Did no one get the memo it’s winter?

“Hey, man, you’re back.” He nodded at Hunter. The man was bald and tattoos covered his arms, legs, neck, and half his scalp.

“Hey, Benji.” Hunter tilted his head back in acknowledgment. “This time it’s for her.”

“Really?” The man’s brown eyes ran up and down me with an assessing stare.

“Yeah, why?” My shoulders tightened defensively. “Let me guess? You don’t think I’m the tattoo type?”

“Honestly, no. But I’ve seen your type here before. Tipsy and feeling rebellious.” He shrugged. “Usually end up with a pretty butterfly or heart. But if you’ve got cash, then I don’t care if you get Donald Duck inked on your forehead.”

“Oh please, tell me that’s your next one.” I turned to Hunter.

He gave a throaty chuckle, something I rarely heard.

“You look too sweet to be with this guy.” Benji smirked, nodding to Hunter.

“Why does everyone keep saying that?” I threw up my arms. “I’m not sweet.”

“She’s really not.” Hunter shook his head.

I elbowed him in the ribs.

“Uffft.” He rubbed at his side. “See?”

Benji glanced between us, his forehead frowning like he was trying to figure something out.

“I knew no matter what I said, I’d get hit.” Hunter nudged me. “Go.”

I followed Benji into the back room. Two black leather chairs sat next to each other with a padded table and a recliner. The place had red brick walls along with cartoon-style art work with images of a grotesque Alice in Wonderland, death, Beetlejuice, and dogs from the underworld. They were cool, and kind of pretty, in a twisted way.

I handed him the design. “Not a butterfly or a heart.”

His mouth pinched, amusement hinting around his eyes. “Good choice.”

“I know,” I said. “And I won’t regret it. Life is too short, and I won’t waste mine on not being myself anymore.”

Benji considered us, his gaze jumping from me to Hunter. He nodded, as if something suddenly made sense.

He stenciled the design on my wrist. There were many cool places it could go, but I wanted to see it every day, be reminded of what I had gone through and where I was heading.

“You ready?” Benji was poised with the ink needle, humming with a high-pitched dentist drill sound.

I nodded. “Definitely.”

 

 

“I love it!” I looked down, my eyes wide. Only an hour later my forearm had an everlasting mark etched on it.

“Let me see?” Hunter tenderly cupped my arm, looking at it. “It fits you.”

It did. The solid black raven was inked in mid-flight. Intricate feathers shed off it, growing more and more detailed the farther they went up my arm and away from the bird. It symbolized letting go, casting off the past, the old me. Letting the real Jaymerson fly free.

Benji gave me instructions on taking care of it, wrapped it with cellophane, took my money, and sent me on my way.

“Good to see ya, man,” Benji said to Hunter. “Whenever you’re ready, I’ll finish the one on your shoulder.”

“Thanks.” Hunter ushered me out the door into the chilly night air. His hand pressed against my lower back.

“What one on your shoulder?”

Hunter’s hand dropped from me, stuffing them into his jacket pockets. We walked down the street, heading back toward the house.

“I eventually want to finish filling one in,” he said ambiguously.

“Why are you being evasive?”

“I’m not.” He kept his attention on the street, the cars driving by.

“Then tell me.”

“I got something…” I watched his profile, his head remaining forward. “To represent Colton.”

The name was like ice on the mood and conversation. The enormous elephant in the room came stomping back in, breaking all the good china.

I slipped my frozen hands into my pockets. We both continued down the street in silence. It grew more and more awkward. We neared the house where people sat on the deck. Spurts of laughter and murmured voices reached us.

I could sense the opportunity slipping by. If we didn’t talk now, we never would. “Okay, I can’t take this.” I suddenly stopped, almost tripping him. “Are we going to talk about it?”

He pressed his mouth together, looking at his feet.

In one gesture, my heart started to pound. I didn’t even know what I wanted him to say. I certainly wasn’t sure what I wanted, but I already sensed the goodbye on his lips. The rejection. Spikes of trepidation and sorrow stabbed at my heart. “Don’t worry about it.” My throat constricted. “It was a mistake. We can both forget it happened.”

“Jaymerson…we—”

“Seriously, Hunter.” I cut off any emotion from my voice. “It’s understandable. My therapist calls it transference or something like it. We’ve gone through a lot together. Emotions were high, and we got caught in the moment. It meant nothing.”

His eyes darted to mine, his nostrils flared, but he didn’t respond. His muteness hurt more than anything. He was silently agreeing, letting us—this—go without a fight.

“It certainly didn’t mean anything to me.” Anger stacked a barricade against him, shielding myself. “I used you because I was sad and missing Colton. I saw Colton in you that night. It was wrong, and I apologize.”

And it was a lie.

His face was emotionless. His dimple twitched, straining against his jaw. He watched the street, the sound of tires rolling over damp pavement echoed around us. Slushing and crunching.

“You know what I fear?” he said. “I’m afraid I will never break free from Colton’s shadow. I’m the brother who shouldn’t have lived.”

I’d hated when he told me this the night we kissed, that even his parents wished it had been him. How could anyone live under such a weight? It was crippling.

“I don’t agree.” I turned to him.

“You don’t wish Colton were still alive?”

“Of course I do!” I grabbed onto his jacket. “I want Colton alive more than anything. But it doesn’t mean I’m not grateful you lived. This choice wasn’t ours to make. He’s gone. It’s awful and horrible. But you can’t feel guilty for surviving. Do you think he would? Hell no. That wasn’t Colton’s style.”

He clenched his jaw.

“I’m glad you’re here,” I uttered quietly, dropping my arms. “With me.”

Hunter sucked in air. “Funny, those are words you probably never imagined saying, huh?” he mumbled.

“No,” I agreed. “But a lot has changed. I’ve changed.”

“And that’s the problem.”

“What do you mean?”

“Everyone wants us move on, but no one wants us to change.” He backed away from me, clearly ending our conversation. “I think we need to return…before you decide to get Donald Duck on your forehead.”

“It wouldn’t be Donald Duck.” I was quite aware he had avoided talking about our kiss, but I got the hint. Only friends.

“What would it be?” We aimed back for the house, his body language guarded.

“It would be Daffy Duck.”

“Now that would be cool.” We walked a little more. His phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out, a slight frown creased his forehead. “I’ve got to go.”

“Where?”

He walked backward toward his truck. When Stevie and I drove up, I hadn’t noticed it a few cars down on the street. “If Doug or Jones ask, tell them I had to go. They’ll understand.”

“Oh. Okay.” Disappointment crept into my voice.

“You good?” He looked between me and the house.

“Yeah.” I snorted. “I have like twenty yards. I think I’m good.”

There was still a slight hesitation in his step, but the cell chirped again, and he took off for his truck.

Who is calling him? Where does he have to go in such a hurry?

I longed to have an answer to these questions, but at the same time knew it was better if I didn’t. The less I got involved with Hunter’s personal business, the better.

My heart had already been shattered by one Harris.

 

 

When I walked into my house, my mom sat at the table with a glass of wine, playing solitaire on her laptop. The TV was on in the living room, my dad asleep in the chair. Reece would have been down hours earlier. This was my parents’ cherished time to relax.

“Hey. You’re back earlier than I thought.” Mom glanced over at me.

“Yeah. Felt like coming home.” I took off my jacket, keeping my sweater pulled down my arms. I knew it was pointless to hide my ink from them forever, but I wasn’t in the mood to show them tonight.

Mom seemed to have some psychic intuition. Her gaze grew more concentrated. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing?”

“Jayme, you’re yanking at your sleeves and dancing around like a nervous chicken.”

Ugh. I was bad at hiding things from them. I didn’t have much experience in doing it before. Never needed to. I huffed and walked over to her. “Promise you won’t get mad?”

Immediately she became wary, her head slanting to the side. “Now I’m really curious. Spill, girl.” She leaned back in her chair, picking up her glass as if she knew she would need the wine soon.

I rolled my lips together, then exhaled, shoving the fabric of my sweater up my arm. I twisted it to face her.

“What is that?” Mom’s eyes widened as she stared at my wrist.

“A tattoo.”

“It better be a henna or temporary.” Her shoulders rose several inches.

“No. It’s real.”

She slammed down her wine glass, liquid spilling out the top onto the table. “Are you joking?” She stood up.

“No.” I planted my feet firmer underneath me.

“You went to a house party.” She blinked several times. “Tell me how you came back with a tattoo?”

“They were giving them as party favors.” She glared at my insolence. “What? The house was close to Main Street. I walked over there and got one.”

“Don’t get smart with me.” Her voice rose with the realization this was not a joke. “You got a tattoo? Why? They are permanent, Jaymerson.”

“I know.” My lids narrowed. “And I love it.” I turned and moved down the hallway for my room.

“I’m not done talking to you.” Mom trailed behind me, her voice straining against her vocal chords. “What the hell were you thinking?”

“For once I wasn’t.” I walked into my bedroom. “I’m tired of overthinking things.”

“Getting a tattoo is when you decide to stop thinking,” she exclaimed, standing in my doorway. “It’s forever, Jaymerson. Do you get that? They are painful and expensive to remove.”

“You’re acting like I’m going to want to.”

“You will,” she shouted. “You’re seventeen. This is going to be on your arm when you’re wrinkled and old. Is it going to still be awesome then?”

“Yes.” I swung around. “Because when I’m old and grey, I’m going to remember it was one time I let myself live.”

“Getting a tattoo is living?”

I stared at my mother. I loved her. We had always been close, but she had stopped seeing me. It was not her fault entirely. I had molded myself that way. No troubles, no surprises. Easy and simple. Dependable and good. That girl was slipping further and further away.

“What is all the yelling about?” My father came up behind my mom, rubbing his eyes.

“Your daughter…” Mom’s teeth pressed together. I always became my father’s daughter when I did anything out of character. “Has gotten a tattoo.”

“What?” My dad’s eyes widened. “Are you serious? Tell me she’s kidding, Jaymerson.”

Mom pointed at my ink, then folded her arms in a huff.

“What were you thinking?”

“Great. You too. Sorry, Dad. Mom’s beat you to the you’re going to regret it speech.”

He pushed past her, striding deeper into my room. “Do not give me lip, young lady. I want to know what possessed you to mark and mutilate your body.”

“Mutilate?” A laugh bolted out of my throat.

“Did Stevie talk you into this?” Mom asked.

“No. Of course not. She wasn’t even there.”

“What do you mean? Who were you with?” She tossed out her arms.

I paused a little too long.

“You were with him, weren’t you? Hunter,” Dad snarled his name. He began to pace the room. “Did he get you to do this? Because I know you wouldn’t have done it otherwise.”

“Don’t blame this on him. Hunter had nothing to do with it. He actually tried to talk me out of it.” Anger coated my tongue, tasting harsh. “I’m my own person. I can make my own decisions. Even if you don’t agree with them.”

“Not under my roof,” Dad hollered. “And for another month you are still under age.”

I stood staring at him with surprise and bewilderment.

Mom came to my bed. “We’re worried about you. You’re acting so out of character lately.”

I growled with frustration. They could sympathize, but they hadn’t gone through what I had, felt the moment life had left me, or the desperate need to really let myself live. No one understood but Hunter.

“Jesus, didn’t you do anything rebellious? Smoke pot? Cut school?”

“Those are not permanent.” Dad rubbed at his chin, his warning he was angry. “And we…” He motioned between himself and Mom. “Never had the luxury. We were too busy raising a baby and trying to earn enough to keep food on the table and you in diapers. We never got to be kids because we already had one.”

A knife full of guilt drove deep in my chest, and I took a step back with a sharp inhale. There it was…the unspoken topic. Why I always walked the straight and narrow.

“Noah,” Mom called my father’s name sharply.

Shame immediately crimped his features. “I-I didn’t mean that.”

“Yes, you did.” My chest rose and lowered in shallow movements. “Don’t you think I haven’t felt it all my life? What you guys could have done and been if you hadn’t had me?”

“No.” Mom shook her head feverishly. “There is not one moment we regret having you. You are the best thing that happened to us.”

“I was forced on you earlier than you wanted.” I stepped back away from them. “I get it, believe me. I couldn’t imagine having a baby at my age, but don’t lie to me. I was not the best thing. Not then.”

Mom and Dad both stayed quiet.

“I know you love me. I’ve never doubted it. But I also know, if you were to do it again, you wouldn’t.”

“That is not true,” Dad replied.

I tilted my head, Dad and I watched each other in some kind of standoff.

“Jaymerson, we don’t regret you for an instant. We love you more than anything. But if you want the brutal honestly, then you’re right, we would have waited. We were too young. It’s why we want better for you. Go to college and have all the chances we didn’t then.”

“You guys act like college is the answer to everything. Like if I go, life will be perfect. Sometimes I think you want me to go so badly so you can live vicariously through me. Have the college experience you never had.” I put my hands on my hips, readying myself for the response of my next statement. “I don’t even know if I want to go to college.”

Dad’s shoulders rolled back. “What?”

“I don’t know if I do or don’t. I’ve never asked myself. I simply did what you guys wanted me to do.”

“You. Are. Going. To. College,” Dad said, enunciating each word through gritted teeth.

“Jaymerson, what is going on?” Mom’s arms went fluttering again. “Now you don’t want to go?”

“I want to decide for myself. Maybe take an art class. Travel or something. I have no idea what I even want to do.”

“Art class? When did you become interested in art?” Dad threw up his arms. “What happened to medicine?”

“Nothing.” Irritation pressed my mouth together. “And I’ve always been interested in art. You never let me think an option existed outside of medicine and science.”

“Art is a hobby. What career is there in it?”

“I don’t know. I want to figure it out. Find what I really want to do.”

“That’s what you figure out in a university. Take an elective in art if you want, but you are going to college.” Dad folded his arms. Tension twitched the vein in his neck.

“Waste thousands of dollars you worked hard for, for me to figure it out? Basically, paying for me to drink, party, and have sex with random guys.”

Dad sucked in a sharp breath.

“Sorry, Dad. It’s going to happen. I’m almost eighteen. And just because you guys skipped over that part and went straight to family and a job doesn’t mean most kids aren’t doing those things.”

“I don’t know what’s gotten into you.” Dad almost panted with fury. “But this new attitude of yours is going to stop.”

“Because I’m actually sticking up for myself? Figuring myself out? I’m sorry if I’m not up to par, if everything I do isn’t something you want, but I’m tired of being the perfect daughter to keep you happy.”

“We only want you to be yourself,” Mom exclaimed.

“No, you don’t,” I barked back. “You want me to be the person you think I am. The girl before. The girl who would go to college, not get a tattoo or question what she wanted. Well, I’m no longer that girl, and I’m sorry if it’s what you want. I’m not going to feel guilty because you two didn’t use protection.”

My words went too far, I knew this, but I had kept my hurt for so long knowing I was a mistake.

It was like I punched them both in the face. Pain, distress, and anger flashed over their features.

“I can’t talk to you right now.” Dad’s voice was eerily calm. He was trying to reign in his temper. “And you’re grounded. Indefinitely. You are not allowed to see that boy. Ever,” he yelled and strode from the room. He slipped by Mom, who stood with her arms folded over her chest. She was quiet, the silence growing tense.

“This is not Hunter’s fault. I wish you guys would stop blaming him.”

She sighed heavily. “Jayme, we don’t want to see you hurt. You haven’t even mourned Colton. You merely jumped from him to Hunter. It’s not healthy or right. You can’t blame us for worrying. Since you’ve been hanging out with him, you’ve been to jail and gotten a tattoo. It’s not like you.”

I glanced down at the wood planks. “Maybe it is,” I murmured.

Mom took another breath and nodded with defeat. “I’ll talk to your father, try to calm him down. But you are grounded for at least two weeks. During which you cannot see him. I want you to focus on yourself, get healthy again.” She turned, sadness riding her shoulders down. She closed my door softly behind her.

The moment she stepped from my room, tears pricked at my lids, warning me of their rush to my face. It was horrible to fight with my parents and cause them pain, but I could no longer be quiet. Unrestricted emotions attacked my body.

I grabbed onto my dresser to steady myself. All the trinkets and cutesy items decorating the surface, pictures of cheerleading, Colton, and sweet delicate pink boxes full of jewelry, felt like another jab at me, telling me who I should be: Step back into this role, Jaymerson. It would be easy and everyone will be happier.

Except me.

A cry wailed from my throat as I swiped all the items off of my dresser. With a crash, items clattered to the floor. Porcelain, glass, and ceramic items splintered into tiny pieces across the wood floor.

I fell back on my bed, curling in a ball. A few tears wiggled down my cheeks, but I bit the rest back. I could sense the turbulence underneath. Like I told Hunter, if I let go, really let in the grief, it would overtake me, pulling me down in the far depths.

What if I never came back?