The Healing (The Things We Can't Change Book 3) (38 page)

“Evie, this is Jordan.” He introduces the tall dark guy first, grinning at him. “He’s the one that I told you about, who I helped design the tattoo for. Show her, Jordan.”

“You don’t need to ask me twice to take off my clothes for a pretty girl,” Jordan says, winking at me before lifting up the bottom of his shirt and showing me his left side.

It’s covered, hipbone to armpit, with a big tattoo in a bold, heavy hand. I squint and read aloud, “Edward.” Then I tilt my head so I’m reading it the opposite way. “Family.” I jerk my gaze back up to Zeke and Jordan, unable to keep a real grin off my own face. “Bizarre. That is so cool.”

“I get some of the credit,” the Asian kid butts in, and steps forward with a silly smile and an outstretched hand. “I’m Nick.”

“Evie,” I say, and look at both him and Jordan. “Nice to meet both of you.”

Jordan is eyeing me speculatively, and he nudges Zeke. “New girlfriend?”

“A really good friend,” Zeke clarifies, and for a moment I’m surprised at the disappointment in my chest at the words, though I quickly push it away. We aren’t dating. I don’t know if I’ll ever be ready to date someone ever again.

Jordan is still staring at me, but then he shrugs. “Reminds me of Peyton,” he finally says, and from the way he phrases it, it sounds like a compliment.

“Good.” Zeke winks at me, and surprisingly, my heart skips a beat. “If she reminds you of your sister, I don’t have to worry about you stealing her away from me. We’ve got a good thing going on.”

“Speaking of sisters,” Jordan begins, and then noisily clears his throat and trails off.

Nick looks down at the floor, and then up at Zeke, looking uncomfortable. “Sorry to hear about Cindy. We tried to call you since you hadn’t been in for so long, but figured you were… dealing. So it’s good to see you’re back.”

“Yeah.” Zeke sounds uncomfortable, and I find his hand and give it a discreet squeeze, and he looks down at me with a grateful smile before turning back to his friends. “That’s actually why I was here, sort of. I want to get a tattoo for Cindy.”

“Right on,” Nick says, going behind the counter nearby, which houses a cash register and is covered in binders of what I assume to be tattoo designs. He pulls out a pair of big, black plastic rimmed glasses and holds out his hand. “I’m guessing you already designed something?”

“Much as I’d like to stay and watch, I’ve actually got somewhere to be,” Jordan says, and he and Zeke bump fists, and he points to me and Nick as he pushes out the door. “See you all around.”

I wave goodbye, and then Zeke and I head over to the counter. Zeke opens his sketchbook and slides it over to Nick while I crane my neck to try and catch a glimpse. I don’t see much before Nick picks it up and studies it.

“Nice,” he says, turning the book this way and that. “On anyone else I might say it’s a little girly but-” Zeke glares at him and Nick hastens to add, “
But
you’re so tough as nails and such a hardass, I’m okay with it. Where were you thinking of putting it?”

“Right here,” Zeke says, tapping his left pectoral, nearly above his heart. “We were saving it for something to tie in the other stuff, but I like this here. We can work on connecting stuff later, but it’s got to be over my heart.”

“Sweet,” Nick says. “Let me go grab the paper, I may need you to draw it on there for me.” He gives Zeke a glare in return. “I know how picky you are.” He circles the counter and disappears into a back room, and I grab the sketchbook because I can’t contain my curiosity any longer.

It’s a pair of ballet slippers, on the small side, dangling down from their ties. One long ribbon is waving out, circling the design, disappearing behind the slippers and reappearing with words written along it.

I slowly rotate the picture, reading aloud, “
Tomorrow is never promised.
” I look up at Zeke, sudden tears stinging my eyes. “That’s beautiful. It’s perfect, Zeke.”

“Thanks,” he says, looking uncomfortable. “Just, don’t cry. I have a reputation, and they take it seriously here. You can’t cry in a tattoo studio. Unless you’re actually getting a tattoo.”

“Right,” I say, my voice sounding wet, and I quickly set the book back down and reach for one of the dozens of big black binders scattered on the counter. “So, is Nick how you get the hook up with all your tattoos? Because I’ve always wondered how you have so many when you’re not even eighteen.”

“Yeah, he lived in the apartment next door to us when he was growing up,” Zeke explains. “We hung out when we were kids, and when he opened this parlor three years ago, I used to hang out here. I didn’t like staying at home all the time. He’s a good artist but,” he smirks self-righteously, “I’m better. So I would hang around and help him out with designs and stuff.”

“I heard that,” Nick says as he reemerges from the back room, scowling at Zeke. His gaze turns to me as he circles the counter once again, handing the papers in his hand to Zeke. “But, unfortunately, it’s true. Zeke here has a way of exactly translating what people have in their heads onto a piece of paper. That’s what’s important for a tattoo artist, not just being able to draw.”

“A talent Nick is still working on,” Zeke says, smirking still as he takes everything from Nick and rounds the counter himself, sitting at a desk in the corner with a light-tracer on it, familiar and easy, as though he’s done it hundreds of times. “But in exchange, I get free tattoos under the table. It’s not illegal if you have your parents’ consent. Of course, mine never actually gave
consent,
but nor did they particularly care.”

Nick lounges against the counter, watching as Zeke replicates the design onto the new paper. “It was inevitable and I had to thank him somehow, so it ended up being free tattoos. I got so many repeat customers requesting Zeke to design for them, like Jordan, that I had to offer him a job here after he graduates. He’ll probably end up stealing the business out from under me.”

Zeke laughs softly but then seems focused on his work, and Nick nudges the albums toward me. “This is Zeke’s book.”

I snatch it off the counter and flip through it, recognizing Zeke’s style almost instantly. There are designs on blank paper, but also portfolio type pictures and I go through the whole thing eagerly. Some are just simple designs, others more intricate, clearly special requests, but all have that same attention to detail that is a hallmark of Zeke’s trade.

“See anything you like?” Nick asks, and I realize as I close the binder that he’s been watching me closely. “I’m running a two for one deal just for you guys; it’s always more fun to get one together.”

“Oh,” I say, honestly startled. “I’m not getting one. I hadn’t even thought about it.” And I really hadn’t. I’d never entertained the idea of getting a tattoo. Partly because Tony would have killed me, screaming that I was a slut who painted trash all over her body, and partly because I wasn’t even eighteen yet and my dad, the doctor, would never have given permission.

“You’re gonna make the guy do it alone?” Nick groans. “Don’t you have the tattoo fever? Being in a parlor is supposed to automatically make you want one.”

I take in the big poster prints on the wall, skulls and fire and tribal patterns, and make a face, though I can’t deny there’s a certain air of excitement and anticipation hanging around. Still, it’s fun to tease. “Is that a proven fact?”

“She’s getting one, just not anything from the book,” Zeke says from his corner, without even looking up. He blows at the drawing, smudging something with his pinky finger and then continues working. “It’s on the next page of the sketchbook. I designed something for her.”

Nick and I look at each other in surprise, and he flips the page of the sketchbook, looking at it for a moment and then pushing it over toward me. I look down at it, instantly loving the swirly, loopy style of writing and the little swirls and embellishments that interweave with the words.

“
I carry your heart with me.
” I read it aloud, and then look over at Zeke, my own heart seeming to stop.

He’s looking at me steadily, his eyes trained on my own. “For your dad,” he says simply. “I’ll say goodbye if you will.”

I look back down at it, loving it, wanting it, but… a warm flush suffuses me.
Tony
. He would have killed me if I’d ever dared to get mark my body. But then… maybe that meant that I should do it. Cool, steely resolve flows through me, not hesitation like all the times in the past, not a sinking feeling that even though it feels a little wrong, it’s right. No, this just feels right. I like the idea of carrying my dad with me forever, symbolically putting it on my body, reminding me of him every time I look in the mirror. Just the way Zeke is marking Cindy on him, forever, for the rest of his life.

“Okay.” It’s a quiet word, but it echoes through the room.

“All right!” Nick fist pumps and then eyes me speculatively. “Where are we putting it?”

“Um,” I say, and look to Zeke for help. “I like how you have yours over your heart, but…”

“A boob tattoo?” Nick says, and I don’t miss the way his eyes light up. “Right on.”

“Shut up, you perv,” Zeke says, smacking Nick on the back of his head as he walks up and hands him the paper with his own design on it. “Boob tattoos are trashy, and she doesn’t want you touching her boob either. How about underneath?”

“An underboob tattoo?” Nick asks, rubbing the back of his head and scowling at Zeke. “Really?”

“That sounds, um, painful,” I say, swallowing hard. I’ve only just realized what this means; Nick needs to touch me. Touch part of my body, intimately, and I’m not sure how that will go.

“Not literally the underside of your boob,” Zeke explains, and then reaches out a hand. “If I may…” He traces the middle of my left ribcage with a finger, just below where my bra ends. A trail of fire stays behind, even when his touch is gone. “Just, underneath the boob. More on your ribs. You don’t want your bra rubbing against it, it’ll hurt like hell.”

“Fine,” I snap, suddenly uncomfortable and feeling a little cranky at my reaction to his touch. “That’s good with me, if you could both quit saying the word
boob
.”

“Boob! Boob! Boob!” Nick chants loudly, and he and Zeke both laugh like it’s the funniest thing they’ve ever heard, and I roll my eyes.

“Immature,” I mutter, but I’m smiling inwardly. I consider, and then nod. “Okay, I like that. Can we, like, curve it or something?”

“Sure,” Zeke says, after studying the words for a moment and then picking up the book. “Let me draw it on the paper real quick. He sticks it on you like a temporary tattoo first, so you have time to back out if you really don’t like the placement, or to change it.”

He moves back to his little desk and I follow him around the corner as Nick goes to the reclined chair in the corner and begins to ready his supplies. I watch over Zeke’s shoulder as he begins to redraw the words onto a thin piece of paper, writing it on a curve. He’s halfway done when suddenly I say, “Hearts.”

He jumps, whirling around to look at me as though he didn’t know I was standing over his shoulder. “What?”

“Can you make it say hearts, not heart?” I ask, struck by the idea. He only stares at me, and I explain, “For my mom. I’d like it to be for her too. So,
I carry your hearts with me,
not
your heart
.”

Zeke studies me for a moment, and then gives a nod and turns back to the drawing. “Hearts it is.”

He finishes the drawing and holds it up in front of the light so we can both study it, and I can’t help but smile. It’s stunning, beautiful and delicate, and once again I’m amazed that something so pretty and dainty came from someone who looks so big and tough.

“Girly ass handwriting,” Nick says in a muffled voice, and he walks up with a lit cigarette hanging from his lips, using a forefinger on the bridge of his glasses to push them back in the classic universal gesture of nerds.

“Shut up and get the green monster off your back,” Zeke replies snidely, passing the paper over to Nick so that he can look at it.

Nick holds it up to the light and studies it for a long moment, and then lowers it with a sigh. “Right. Who’s first?”

Zeke looks at me with raised eyebrows and I shake my head vehemently.

“No way,” I tell him. “You’re going first. I’m already nervous enough about this.”

“Fine.” Zeke follows Nick to the chair and takes off his shirt in a practiced gesture before sitting in the half-reclined seat, and I look away until he’s settled, and then I look my fill.

Zeke was no lightweight before, but working outside in heavy labor all summer has done nothing but enhance his good looks, and also his muscle tone. The tribal tattoo that runs down his arm covers his entire shoulder and side, half of his back and disappearing into his jeans as I’ve seen before. I can see more of the stars on his neck, too, where they trail down past where his shirt collar normally is and end in a swirling pattern between his shoulders. He sits before I can see more, though, and I’m distracted as Nick presses the paper with the design on it over his blank left pectoral and then peels it away, leaving a perfect image of Zeke’s design.

“Weird,” I breathe, stepping closer to look.

“You’ve really never seen someone get a tattoo before?” Nick asks, sounding as amazed as Koby did when I said I’d never played video games before. “Even on TV?”