She cleared her throat and fiddled with the end of her braid. She was clearly very uncomfortable with the conversation.
“Because high school was a million years ago and I was a very different person then. It’s not a time that comes with the fondest memories; in fact I prefer to pretend it never even happened. I’m sure that’s not something a guy like you can understand. Have a nice night; try to avoid any more knife-wielding bikers if you can, Mr. Archer.”
She swept out in a haughty cloud, leaving both of us dumbfounded and gaping at each other.
“Whoa. Were you a dick to her in school or something? That was a whole lot of hostility for something that happened so long ago.”
He shrugged and helped me get up onto my feet. I wobbled a bit from the mixture of alcohol and blood loss, so he didn’t let go until I was steady.
“Probably. Rule, Jet, and I were a bunch of punks. Remy was the nice one.”
“What do you mean, ‘were’? You probably teased her for being fat or something.”
He had the good grace to look ashamed. “That is entirely possible. I wasn’t exactly in a great place when I was in high school either. There was too much stuff going on with my mom and that idiot she married for me to really give a crap about anything or anyone else. Man, that blows. She’s a total babe now.”
I didn’t even consider putting my blood-soaked shirt back on as I hobbled out of the emergency room.
“She sure is.”
We got to Nash’s fully restored ’73 Dodge Charger and I slumped down in the seat. It wasn’t the worst Independence Day I could remember having, but it sure wasn’t one of the best either. All I wanted to do was crawl into bed and forget about everything, not that that seemed to be working out for me so great as of late.
“Listen, dude, I’m sorry about today. I’ll touch base with Rule and make things right. I’m just a little off balance right now.”
The massive motor rattled so loud it made my teeth hurt.
“We all get that. You just aren’t giving anyone a chance to try and help set you straight.”
“I’ll chill out.” I wasn’t sure how I was going to go about that exactly but I knew I needed to get on it. “You can tell the rabid pixie to back off.”
He laughed. “No can do, my friend. Cora is like a pit bull; when she sinks her teeth into something or someone she doesn’t let go. You might want to try and apologize. She just wants to look out for all of us and she does a good job of it.”
I closed my eyes and let my head drop back on the seat.
“I remember when that was my job.”
Heavy silence filled the car and I didn’t think he was going to say anything else about it, but after a minute he muttered, “You went off to save the entire world, Rome, we just did the best we could while you were gone.”
Just like being a big guy often had its disadvantages, wanting to be a hero to everyone and anyone often had the same dangerous pitfalls. I got used to everyone needing me, to them relying on me, and now that I wasn’t needed anymore I simply didn’t know what to do with myself. That honestly terrified me more than any war zone or bar brawl with armed bikers ever could.
CHAPTER 3
Cora
Summertime was always busier at the shop. It was the Tuesday after the ill-fated barbecue, and the ink bunnies were out in full force. The warm weather and lack of clothes led to people wanting to get all kinds of adornment in all kinds of interesting and visible places, and I swore to God that ever since Rule had officially gone off the market, the girls who came in to get work done specifically by him had doubled in number. I would never understand the allure of wanting something you clearly couldn’t have, but I had to admit it was a riot to watch them try to get it.
The Terrible Trio were booked solid for the next six weeks, as were the other three artists who rounded out the crew at the Marked. I wasn’t as busy since I had to schedule appointments around my other obligations at the shop. Today a young guy had wandered in talking a big game about getting a full Jacob’s ladder, but hadn’t even made it past the point where he actually had to take his pants and underwear off to let me get at the goods. That happened a lot, so I found myself with an hour of downtime that I was using to stalk Jimmy on Facebook.
For the last five years Jimmy only popped up in my mind when something or someone reminded me of him, but ever since that wedding invitation showed up in the mail, I was obsessed. It was like all the old hurt, the old embarrassment, was fresh in my mind and all the wounds he had left me with were opened back up and bleeding. I really owed that jackass a punch in the nuts if I ever saw him again. I hated to admit that the girl my ex was going to marry really was lovely and that they looked happy together, but then I remembered that he and I had looked that way as well at one point in time and it hadn’t kept him faithful to me.
The guys were listening to some really loud punk rock and I wasn’t really paying attention because I was lost in my own memories when I realized someone was leaning on the counter across from me. The waiting area had people milling around waiting for their friends or family members to finish up with their appointments, but I hadn’t heard the chime of the bell over the door ring to indicate a new arrival. At first I thought it was a walk-in wanting to set up a consult, but it was only when I had to lift my gaze up, and then even farther up, that I realized it was not someone I was particularly happy to see. My feelings must have been reflected on my face because the hard mouth I was used to seeing in a harsh downturn actually kicked up on one side in a grin that transformed Rome’s entire face.
There was no denying the Archer brothers had won the genetic lottery. Whereas Rule’s good looks were camouflaged under self-adorned artwork and flair, Rome’s were totally in your face and impossible for all the girly parts of me not to notice. If the army wanted to guarantee the recruitment of every ninety-pound weakling from here to Brooklyn, all they needed to do was slap Rome Archer on their recruitment posters. He just emanated a sense of “take care of business” that was heady, and I shouldn’t have found it attractive, but I totally did. He was as gorgeous as he was annoying.
I cleared my throat and clicked off the browser.
“You look terrible.” And he did. He had a black ball cap on with a white Broncos logo on the front, but even under the shadow of the brim I could see that he had the shadow of a bruise under one eye and that the knuckles of the hands he had placed on the counter where he was leaning were torn up and covered in scabs. All that aside, his eyes were still the bluest blue I had ever seen and that tiny little grin did more to make him look like an actual, breathing human than I think a full-on smile ever could.