Mateo
Chapter thirteen
My phone buzzes on the counter, lighting up with a text.
Storm Cloud
I'm here, let's go. Need caffeine.
I spit into the sink and put my toothbrush away.
My phone buzzes with another text.
Punk
hurry
That bad?
Punk
worse
Awesome. Good thing I've picked up on a few things about Jade. Like how she lives on sugar-free Red Bull. I grab a can from the back of the fridge, and then a second, just in case.
I hesitate at the door, turning my hat around.
Pretty sure I saw her play with her lip ring last night, and I'd bet my Championship Series ring it wasn't out of unease.
I think she's got a thing for me too, and I'm not sure I want to, or can, ignore it any longer.
I won't invite it, but I'm no longer fighting it either.
With the Red Bulls tucked safely in my hoodie pocket, I head outside to my SUV. Not gonna lie, she looks badass driving it. I don't think I'll ever drive again. When I no longer need an assistant, I'll hire her as a chauffeur.
The passenger seat is more difficult to climb into than the driver's seat.
Even with my increased mobility. It takes a certain amount of finesse that I'm embarrassed to admit I lack.
With the brace unlocked now, I can bend my knee, and it helps a little, but not as much as I hoped.
I buckle and prop my crutches between my legs.
Jade doesn't acknowledge my presence, so I turn back and raise my brows at Cooper. He shrugs and holds out his fist. I bump it with my own and remove a Red Bull from my pocket, crack it, and hold it to my lips.
From the corner of my eye, I watch Jade's face tighten. If looks could kill, I'm not sure you'd ever find my body.
"Kidding," I say and hold it out to her.
She bites the inside of her cheek and takes it from my grasp. The tension in her shoulders eases. I place the second can in one of the cup holders. She side-eyes it.
"Seemed like a two bull kinda day," I say with a wink.
Her attention shifts back to the road, but not before I see the smile she tries holding back.
Jade has quickly become a double-edged sword. On one side, she's a welcome distraction from my pathetic retirement, but on the other, she's a reminder of what I want. A challenge, a friend, and a family of my own.
"Wait," she says. "Why the fuck aren't you driving yourself? I'm your assistant not your chauffeur."
Shit. I meet Cooper's eyes in the rearview mirror, and the look he gives me tells me I'm in deep shit.
"I uh…" I say. "I lied last night. I haven't been officially cleared to drive yet."
Her jaw clenches.
"I will be next week, so what's a few days?" I say, regretting the words the moment they're out. The scowl she gives me confirms it was the wrong thing to say.
"I could have ordered a ride. I'm not some damsel you needed to save."
"I wasn't—" I start.
"You were. I don't need a fucking hero."
"You asked for help. That's what friends do."
"Is that what we are now, boss? Friends?"
If she's expecting an answer, I don't give her one. I turn the music up and we drive. It's not long until she pulls into a warehouse parking lot and parks close to the entrance.
According to the sign by the elevator, Tonic Tattoo is on the third floor. Jade keeps her arms crossed and her jaw tight the whole ride up. Worse, she won't look at me. The door opens, the metal screeching with the effort, and Cooper runs ahead.
"I'm sorry," I say, not sure if I should be apologizing. "You needed a ride. I know I shouldn't have lied, but I wasn't busy. I wasn't trying to save you. You needed help, and I was available."
"Whatever, Mateo."
My name sounds fluid on her lips. Sexy and sweet, even though the look on her face is anything but. How do I get her to say it again? I want to memorize the way her lips press together on the M and form a small circle on the O.
"So, how was your date last night?" I ask, when what I want to ask is why he didn't bring her home? Why was she outside alone in an unlit parking lot? But what she'll see as a hero complex, I see as basic fucking manners. Respect.
"Oh, hell no," she says and picks up her pace. A pace I can't keep up with. Driving a few days early was one thing, but speed walking even with the aid of crutches is another.
Her hips are hypnotizing as they sway with each step. The dark denim of her jeans hugs her in all the right places, as if she was poured into them. Molded just for me, even if she doesn't know it yet.
I hobble along as she turns a corner up ahead. I'm moving pretty well, and with each day that passes, I rely a little less on the crutches. At home, I'm walking short distances without them. It's more like an awkward skip, but I'm doing it. Baby steps. Literally.
When I round the corner, I find her with her back against the wall, head tipped back, and one boot on the brick behind her.
I wish I could take a photo of her like this.
Even as resigned as she looks, she's a vision.
Her dark hair pulled back off her face, half of it in a tie, the other half down her back.
She always leaves a few strands loose in the front.
I want to brush them behind her ear and be the gentle she isn't. The sunshine to her storm.
She must sense my presence because she straightens from the wall and walks to the Tonic Tattoo door across the hall. She opens it and looks at me, spinning that silver ring. I take it for the truce it is because an apology it isn't.
The shop is interesting to say the least. It's not at all what I expected. I guess the name should've tipped me off. It's decorated in black, deep purple, and green. The décor screams Victorian and gothic, but earthy. A tattoo apothecary.
"Coop and I are going to go home, for a bit. We'll be back later, okay?" Jade asks as she walks around the desk and turns a tablet toward me.
I nod and fill out the digital waiver.
"Em," she yells. "Your eleven o'clock is here." Then to me, "Have a seat."
I don't sit. It's bad enough I'm going to be sitting for the next couple hours.
I'll be lucky if I can walk out of here later.
Instead, I take a better look around. The art on the walls is impressive even if it's flash.
I'm excited to see what Emily came up with.
I gave her a little context, and she seemed confident she could pull off what I'm looking for.
"You didn't tell me you were Jade and Cooper's Mateo," a woman says, her voice teasing.
"He is not my Mateo," Jade says, a little too harshly.
I turn to see a petite woman with cotton candy pink hair. She's wearing a pink sparkle tutu and a leather lace-up top. Somehow, she's Jade's complete opposite and her perfect compliment. She's Bubblicious, all pop, while Jade is Big Red, all bite.
I hold out my hand, and she shakes it. She's pint-sized. Her small hand fragile in my large one. I'm careful not to squeeze too hard, afraid of breaking her.
"Come on back, big guy," she says. "This is gonna be a fun one." She sticks her pierced tongue out at Jade, and I follow her past three other stations to one tucked into the back corner. Privacy. Small mercies.
"Can't say I've ever had a phone call like yours before," Emily says and gestures to the chair against the wall. "Have a seat."
I nod and lower myself into the chair.
She grabs a paper off the sideboard and holds it out.
I take it from her. To be honest, I'm not all that concerned with the art itself, it's more about where it's going for me.
But figure I should at least review it. Make sure Em didn't misinterpret a snake for a dick and hairy balls or worse, a fucking bug.
That would be the icing on Jade's cake today.
It's not a bug, thank God.
No, in fact, she killed it.
"What do you think?" she asks.
I think, fuck PT and fuck pain meds. This is the healing I need.
"Holy shit," I say in disbelief. Fucking artists, man.
"Right?" she says, clapping her hands together, giddy like a little girl.
"It's perfect," I say.
"Cool. We may have to make some small adjustments once we get the stencil on."
I place the paper on my hand to gauge the fit.
"Bigger," she says with a nod, and I'm inclined to agree. "What about the tongue up to the knuckle like that?"
"Works for me," I say.
After several modifications, we get the right size and the stencil in place. Then she opens her marker, squeezing the cap between her teeth and presses the tip to my skin, dragging it over my arm.
"Thoughts?" she asks when she's done.
I face the mirror, rotating my arm this way and that.
The body of the snake slithers up my arm, weaving around the chef's knife stabbing through a skull, with herbs growing from its eye sockets and cracks on my forearm.
It crawls behind the eye on my bicep, my tribute to Abuela and her "evil ojo" and behind the clock with its broken face that fills my shoulder—the piece for Mom and Dad.
All at once, the tattoo I need, the only one that's for me, has become the piece that brings it all together.
"It's perfect," I say, and hold up my earbuds for permission.
She nods, and I get settled, opening the doors to release the monsters crawling inside my head. It's the only way back to myself, and that's somewhere I desperately want to be. The name of Em's tattoo shop should be Monster Slayer because she tears them down with each line of ink.
I can still hear mine. My monster. The single step that ended my career.
Over his shoulder, the pitcher stares me down from the mound. I shift my weight onto my toes, increasing my lead. It's the eighth inning against Boston, and we're down by one. I'm the tying run, sitting real pretty on first base.
The crowd is on its feet; the noise deafening. It's a familiar sound—one I've been listening to since I first watched my dad play here thirty years ago. The flutter of my fingers outstretched at my sides echoes the pounding of the feet in the stands.
His gaze shifts to the batter, and he winds up, right as I start my creep toward second base. The ball cracks against the bat, careening over first base. I pause…watching, waiting. Go. Go. Go. As soon as I can see it cleared the right fielder's head, I'm gone, and rounding second base.
My right foot lands on the corner of the bag, my left lurching toward third.
Pop.
I need to stop feeling sorry for myself.
I was retiring anyway. It wasn't the way I wanted to go out, but it could have been worse.
I could have gone out a washed-up old man.
But believe it or not, I was still one of the best, even being the oldest. Did I push it a little too far?
Maybe. I can admit that. I ignored the aches and pains from squatting for thirty years. They'd become part of me, like my mitt.
I can accept the fact I built the wall keeping me from real relationships.
Nobody else is to blame for that. I did it.
I alienated myself from friends and possible girlfriends to focus on my career.
Addie too. I think. But that's one I can get back.
I hope. And Kyler, I should FaceTime him later, really check in.
Friendship is like a relationship; it's not always fifty-fifty.
Sometimes it's seventy-thirty, and it only takes one of you to step up.
The wall is crumbling, but it still refuses to fall for love. I could be happy being the fun uncle. The uncle who plays games and builds booby traps. I'm damn good at it.
The key word though, is could. I could be happy alone, but I don't want to be.
When I really let myself think about it, it's not the wall that stopped love, it's that no woman ever took a sledgehammer to it.
They didn't want the heart. They wanted the superficial shit that came with it.
My body, my fame, my connections, and my money. They didn't want me.
This tattoo is the first step back to myself, and it truly is the perfect piece.
Emily catches my eye, and I remove an earbud.
"You can stretch for a beat," she says. "Need a water or anything? We've got about three hours left."
"I need to stand for a minute, but I'm good." It feels good to get up and relieve some of the stiffness in my leg. I stretch a bit and check the time. Holy shit, we've been at this about four hours already. Guess time flies when you're fighting demons.
"The kid really likes you. Hasn't shut up about you," Emily says, taking a hit of her vape.
"He's a good kid. I like hanging out with him."
"Jade on the other hand, she's going to kill you, and me honestly. But she loves me, so I have a better chance of survival."
"I don't know what I did to make her dislike me so much," I say, sitting in the chair and propping my arm up the way she had it.
Em quirks her pierced brow. "Easy," she says. "You have a dick."
My face must say it all because she laughs.
"If I'd known you were you, I probably wouldn't have agreed to this." She shrugs. "Okay I probably still would've, because this piece is bad fucking ass."
"You're talented," I say. "I was admiring some of your flash out there."
She twists her lips. "Most of those are Jade's."
"Seriously?"
Em nods.
"Why doesn't she do this?" I ask, gesturing to the tattoo gun in her hand.
"That's a question you'll have to ask her."
"Sure, I'll just hand her the knife to stab me with."
"She's got shields for good reason, but they aren't impenetrable. I just don't think anyone's ever tried hard enough to get around them."
She presses the needle to my skin again, but it's not pain I feel; it's tranquility.
Em finishes my tattoo in silence, leaving her words to rattle around in my brain.
Jade seems like a woman who could handle a sledgehammer, albeit to me and not the walls.
But I think I'd like to find out. Would it really be that bad?
I don't think she actually hates me, but she wants to. There's a difference, right?
Jade's jaw is tight as I hand her my card to pay.
"Of course you did," she says.
"'Did what?" I ask.
She rolls her eyes but doesn't answer.
"Let me see," Coop yells, running around the desk.
I hold out my hand for his inspection and then rotate my arm.
"Whoa, that's sweet. But why did you get it on your hand?" he asks.
"Hey," Jade says, and he winces.
"I know, Mom," he says.
"What?" I ask, thoroughly confused.
"Tattoos are personal," he recites. "They are not for other people to like or approve of."
"Do you not like it?" I ask.
"Oh no, I love it. But it was rude of me to ask why you got it on your hand. That's your choice."
"How about we make a deal?" I ask.
He puts his hands on his hips and waits for me to continue.
I lean down to whisper in his ear. "I'll tell you why, but first you need to convince my mom to make Friday night pizza for Sunday night dinner."
"Deal," he says and holds out his hand to shake mine.