Silent Is The Heart

CHAPTER 11

Easton

Tattooing isn’t for the weak. The urge to roll and crack my shoulders is strong, but I’m almost finished adding the color to this piece I did for Hank, one of my regulars, so I press on. He travels a lot, and I don’t want him out there in the world with naked art on his arm.

See, Wolf? Who says I don’t help advertise?

“Man, that’s sick. I love it,” Hank gloats when I finish and grab the wrap to seal him up. “No one does color like you, Easton. Don’t ever get so booked up you can’t fit me in.”

Snorting, I stretch the aftercare film over his ink, lining it up to cover the area. “Always a spot for you, Hank. You know that.”

He praises me a few more times before shaking my hand and heading out of the stall to go settle up with Shannon at the desk. That part always supplies me with validation. Granted, I don’t think my art is anything to be praised since it came naturally, but the fact I learned to apply it to flesh professionally is something I take pride in. I’m happy when my customers are happy, but tonight Hank’s flattery doesn’t do for me what it usually does. I’m itching to get out of here. So help me, if I get a walk-in, I’m going to feign an illness.

Glancing over the half-wall to Wolf’s stall, I wait for him to feel my stare. Arching a brow, I glance at my wrist, where a watch would be, with a satisfied smirk. A little friendly competition is healthy amongst friends. His mouth forms a thin line, and he shakes his head dismissively.

Sore loser. Not my fault he’s a slow poke.

Snickering, I start cleaning up my station until I feel a pull from that unspoken, silent bond we’ve shared for years. Catching his gaze, I watch his eyes flick to the front of the shop and then back to me. That’s a warning signal if ever I saw one.

Son of a bitch. Did we seriously get a walk-in?

Spinning my stool around, I regret my curiosity. I read Wolf’s signal wrong. I expected it to be someone drunk or possibly a difficult regular, but it’s worse. So much worse.

Aaron stops a few feet away from my stall. I’ve never seen him in blue jeans and would have preferred to keep it that way. The snug, faded denim fits him exquisitely in all the right places. The blue Henley under his jacket compliments his stupidly pretty eyes.

Ugh. I should jam this tat gun into my cerebral cortex. What the fuck is wrong with me?

Throwing me a sheepish wave, he smiles. “Hey.”

There’s that trembling sensation again, bubbling under my surface. My lungs feel thick, almost like I’m holding my breath underwater. What was the point in learning how to speak again if I can’t seem to think of anything to say to him each time I see him?

I went the whole damn week convincing myself I’d struck him from that pathetic mental record in my mind only to have him reappear like a bad penny. A still terribly sexy bad penny that has no business being voted as ‘sexy’ by yours truly.

Turning back around, I busy myself cleaning up my work tray from Hank’s job. I went with signing last time Aaron appeared in my life, so if I look indisposed, he’ll know why I don’t answer. That, and I’m pretty sure I told him in so many words to fuck the hell off, so he shouldn’t even expect me to respond.

“Easton…I owe you an apology.”

Fuck.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

“I’m so sorry I just barged in on you like that. I didn’t know you lived upstairs. The girl at the desk just told me to go on up. I thought it was the office or something. Not that it makes it okay,” he lets out in a rush.

That explains part of it. Shannon is so getting demoted.

“And I’m sorry it probably seems like I’m barging in on your life again right now too, but I feel terrible about last weekend. Really terrible. Your…” he trails off. “How you’re doing is none of my business. I didn’t mean to stir up any unpleasant memories or come off as pompous, like you need anything from me or Hampton. I… I’m just so sorry. I hope you can forgive me.”

Jesus. Is he finally done talking?

It’s like there’s an invisible cord tethered between the two of us. I can sense every shift of his body and feel every ounce of tension between us. What do I even sign after that ass-kissing?

He’s sorry? Not as sorry as I am.

It still explains nothing as to why he came knocking at my door. And it explains even less why my mantra of ‘ forget Aaron Manicki ’ all week was as weak as a puff of smoke. As much as I thought I adored him years ago is how much I can’t stand him now. Or… can’t stand that my body hasn’t yet realized that I can’t stand him.

I spent so long hating Leonard that it turned me into a cynical prick—until Wolf and Nancy finally knocked some sense into me in their own subtle ways. Hate and I do not mix well together. It makes me reckless and ugly—it makes me like Leonard Bennick. I may never be or do anything noteworthy in my life, but I refuse to be like Leonard.

So, I angle my stool around and let my nitrile-gloved hands dance the lie I presented to him. No problem. Forgiven.

“Thank you.”

His sigh is audible. The fact my forgiveness brought him relief sends a tremor through me, a heady sensation over his approval. And then the bastard’s face lights up.

Damn it.

That face. That smile.

I’ve had a week to relive that moment in my apartment. A week to realize there was something broken and different about him. Less confidence. An anxiousness he never had before. Right now, though, the smile on his face is bright and beautiful, highlighting every gorgeous feature of his handsome face. It’s the smile I fell hard and fast for all those years ago—that sweet, innocent, genuine Aaron smile.

I swallow. Hard.

He needs to fuck right off again, pronto.

But he doesn’t. He speaks again because Aaron of the present is a cruel pain in the ass that has zero compassion for my internal dilemma.

“Um, would it be all right if we could hang out sometime?” he hedges. His hands come up quickly, cautiously. “And not talk about anything to do with Hampton. I just moved back and I’m a little short on friends. Even if I wasn’t though,” he adds in a rush, like he realized his admission wasn’t exactly a compliment, “I’d be really happy to be one of yours.”

He wants to be friends?

I’d bark out a laugh if it wouldn’t break my code of silence. I’m so fucking mad right now, there’s probably steam coming out of my ears. What the hell were we before, I want to ask, instantly regretting the question flitting through my head.

Nothing. You were nothing to each other, you idiot. Remember?

Shifting anxiously, he fidgets with the collar of his jacket. His wedding ring only adds fuel to the fire. ‘Short on friends’. What the fuck is that supposed to mean? Married people aren’t short on friends. They’re freaking married—they don’t need friends. They stay home at night, cuddling like Wolf and Melissa, or go everywhere together. Does his husband know he’s here slumming it in a tattoo shop at nine o’clock at night with a former patient? I smell trouble in paradise, which rouses not a drop of pity in me.

Glancing over, I catch a look from Wolf. Brows hiked, he eyes me curiously, silently asking if there’s a problem. It’s the answer I need right now.

Smiling, I turn back to Aaron-wants-to-be-my-friend-Manicki. I’ve got just the hangout for a lonely married man.

Grabbing a pen from my workstation, I scribble down the address to Pulse on the back of one of my business cards. Handing it over, I soak in his dumbstruck expression.

We’re heading out for drinks after we close up. I can meet you there in about an hour.

“Oh. Uh…okay. Great.” His surprise as he checks the time on his phone tells me that will probably keep him up past his bedtime.

Good. I hope hubby shows up to drag him home. Until then, I’ll enjoy every minute of seeing the new Aaron survive the snake pit he just walked into with his offer of friendship.

I can’t be friends with this guy. I thought we were friends years ago and look where it got me—eight years of ignoring that I was still obsessed with my first real crush. I’m not making that mistake again.

No way.

I’m a fucking mature adult now. There’s only one clear solution—I need to fuck him out of my system.