Chapter 3
As usual, I’m working late. Kelly often keeps me company, but this week is different.
This week she hasn’t been in as often. The other night, she had dinner with her neighbor across the street, and tonight, she’s got a date with her toolbag of a boyfriend.
Normally, I could escape into my art as a distraction, but ordering swag for the upcoming tattoo convention in Bozeman, Montana, makes for a shitty diversion.
Stickers, drink koozies, hats—everybody loves free shit.
I still have to put in the T-shirt order and secure a rental van big enough to haul us and our supplies. God, I’m never gonna get out of here.
The chime of the studio’s after-hours doorbell breaks my concentration, and I amble out of my office to the front of the shop.
Then I see my stepbrother, Camden, standing outside with a six-pack of beer.
His furry Alaskan shepherd sits at his feet, wagging her tail.
Originally, she was his wife Jordan’s dog, but Camden has fallen in love with her too.
I unlock the door and shove it open. “Chicken Salad has to stay outside.” Such a stupid name for a dog. Only service animals are allowed in the shop. There’s too much we need to keep clean and sanitized in here; there can’t be dogs walking around.
“Nice to see you too. I’ve already got her tied up on the sidewalk. Just picked her up from Mom and Dad’s, they watched her while we played in Denver.”
“Better not tell Kelly, she’ll be jealous.” Kelly loves their dog and will sometimes watch her when they’re out of town. “Come on in.” I push the door open wider for him to enter. I’m not sure why he’s here so late. “Need a touch-up or something?”
“No, I’m actually here to ask for a favor.”
Great. “What do you want?”
“We’ve got the annual gala coming up for Safehouse.” That’s the organization Camden founded to help people experiencing domestic abuse. “Wondering if you would be willing to part with any of Clyde’s flash for an auction item.”
He gazes along the wall of Clyde Everhart’s original work—his flash designs. He painted each and every tattoo by hand. They stay up in his memory, and people come through just to take selfies in front of his art.
“I’ll handle getting it framed,” he assures. “I’ve gotta check with Kelly first.”
He furrows his brow. “Isn’t it your shop?”
It’s not about whose shop it is. “She’s sentimental. I can’t just give away her dad’s art without asking her. I’ll talk to her. If she doesn’t have anything, I’ll donate twelve hours of tattooing. Fair?”
He nods. “I can text her about it if you want me to.”
“I said I would talk to her,” I reply firmly.
He grins. “Still on your bullshit, I see.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Feeling lucky, or just loud?”
Camden plays in the NHL, and I may be taller than him, but he’s probably got forty pounds of muscle on me.
He could kick my ass if he wanted to, and is known for being an enforcer on the ice, but even when we were kids he cowered from a fight with me, so now it’s become part of our stepsibling banter.
A wicked grin spreads across his face. “Always . . . Hey, speaking of Kelly. I’m currently winning the betting pool for when you decide to make a move, so if you could do it sometime this month, that would be awesome for me.”
I blink at him. “There’s a bet?”
“Obviously!”
“Who’s in on it?” I ask out of curiosity.
“Mom, Dad, Jordan, Hailey, and Alexis.” I love them, but my parents, sister-in-law, and stepsisters have too much time on their hands.
Camden holds up his palms. “Don’t shoot the messenger.” He glances out at Chicken Salad on the other side of the glass, where’s she’s flopped on her side, her belly gently rising and falling in relaxed breaths as she snoozes.
I roll my eyes. “So, was that all you needed, or. . .”
“Jesus. Can I just sit down for one goddamn second and catch up?”
I drop into one of the upholstered chairs in the waiting area. He grabs a beer and twists off the top before handing it to me. Then opens another for himself.
“So . . .” he begins.
“So . . .” I echo. I’m not sure what to say. I know he’s about to bring up Kelly. I can feel it.
Camden sits across from me, leveling me with a stare and taking a pull from his beer.
I glare right back.
“You realize you’re wasting time, right?” he asks.
He’s always giving me shit about this. I don’t know why he cares so much about Kelly and me getting together. I’m extra annoyed tonight because she’s with Jason when she should still be here with me. I can’t help but imagine her in his bed, and it pisses me off.
I bring the lip of the bottle to my mouth. “I’m biding my time.
That’s different,” I say, before taking a sip. “I heard she has a new boyfriend.”
I scoff. “Yeah, he’s a fucking idiot.”
“Of course you’d think that. He’s taking your job,” he says. “She like him?”
“Does it matter?” I reply.
He furrows his brow. “Yeah, I’d say that it matters a lot.” That makes me laugh.
“What’s funny?”
Leaning forward, I rest my elbows on my knees. “There’s no universe that exists where we don’t end up together in the end.”
Cam shakes his head. “You fucker. I knew it.”
“I’ve just been waiting for the right moment.” Which I’ve recently learned is right fucking now.
He slouches in his seat, stretching his arms over the back of the sofa like he owns it. “Well, you better figure that shit out. Kelly’s a great girl; if she likes this guy, then you better make your move before the two of them get too comfortable.”
My jaw clenches. “What does it look like I’m doing?”
He tips his bottle toward me. “It looks like you’re plotting all the ways to turn her boyfriend into a hashtag.”
He’s not wrong.
Camden glimpses at the furry mutt on the other side of the glass. “You could always do what I did . . .”
“That’s cute, sport, but I don’t play hockey. I can’t just steal center ice and make some big proclamation.” It was all over the news when he did it with Jordan. He’s a walking cliché.
“No shit.” He points at Chicken Salad. “I’m talking about a dog, dumbass.”
I chuckle. “I’m not surprising her with a pet.”
“Why not? I did.”
My head rolls to the side. “No, Chicken Salad was already Jordan’s.
You just returned her to her.”
He groans. “Fine, then you get a dog. Hell, you could pick up some stray off the street and she’ll be all over you.
She’ll wanna spend every minute with the dog, and by the transitive property, she’ll want to spend every minute with you.
Or . . . and hear me out . . . you quit being a little bitch and just tell her how you feel. ”
“You realize Kelly and I are friends, right? I don’t have to lure her with animals,” I remind him. “But a dog isn’t the worst idea in the world.”
He throws his hands up, and thankfully, none of the beer in his drink spills on the sofa. “God, you’re fucking pathetic. This whole intimidating, dark vibe you have going on is such a sham. Can’t even tell a girl how you feel. Jesus Christ.”
I smile and take a sip of my beer. He seems genuinely irritated about it, which I find amusing.
She’ll know soon enough, but this isn’t something I’m leaving to chance.
In order to keep the situation under control, I can’t become hasty and skip any steps.
The timing is essential. I promised Clyde I’d let her choose—or at least give her the illusion of choice.
She has to come to the conclusion on her own that Jason isn’t good for her .
. . but that doesn’t mean I can’t speed up the process.
After Camden left, I was able to finish ordering all the promotional gear for the expo.
I went through our quarterly profits to make sure we’re on track and, as usual, we are.
When I exit out of the spreadsheet, the last open window is the shop’s calendar.
Kelly’s birthday is next week. I’m almost finished with her gift.
My eyes catch on the wooden lockbox along the shelf.
Clyde gave it to me about a month before he passed.
I stare at it for a moment before pulling it down and turning the six numbered dials to the right combination—his late wife’s measurements.
If I were to guess, I’d say they’re probably the same as Kelly’s—fucking stacked.
Clyde had lots of pictures of Nancy in his office, most from before Kelly was born.
The similarities between mother and daughter are staggering.
Alberto Vargas is probably rolling in his fucking grave that he didn’t get a chance to paint either of the Everhart women.
Kelly is all curves with a pretty face, the perfect pinup model.
I open the box to the stack of sealed envelopes. The sight of his penmanship is a heavy blow. He entrusted me with these handwritten letters to give to Kelly as she got older. There’s one for every birthday until she’s fifty. The man squeezed every drop of life out of his time on earth.
He lost the love of his life early, and even through his grief, he somehow managed to raise an incredible daughter on his own. I wish he were here to give these letters to Kelly himself. I flip through some of the non-birthday ones.
WHEN KELLY FINISHES HER APPRENTICESHIP
WHEN KELLY SELLS MY HOUSE
I chuckle. Kelly will never sell that house; it’s her most prized possession, and she sees it as a literal connection to her dad. I read on and my shoulders tense.
WHEN KELLY GETS ENGAGED
WHEN KELLY GETS MARRIED
WHEN KELLY BECOMES A MOM
These are the ones that make me nervous. It wasn’t until a few months ago, when I found a letter from Clyde reminding me that my time with Kelly was finite, that I realized it was time to put my plan in motion. That was when I went out to Bozeman.
I can’t stop her life from moving forward, but I can slow it down and make it work in my favor.
Behind the stack is the open envelope that reads:
FOR LOGAN – WHEN YOU’RE READY TO ADMIT I WAS RIGHT
In typical Clyde fashion, he gave me sage advice at the exact moment I needed it. I pluck out the note and read it again:
Stop being a pussy. Take care of my girl.
—Clyde
“You’re a poet, old man.” I tuck the letter back in the envelope and put it behind the stack, then close the lid and swipe my fingers across the numbered dials. Stick to the plan. Be patient.
I grab my jacket, my phone, and the cardboard box containing her birthday gift, then head toward the rear employee exit.
I’m just setting the security code when a car whizzes by, honking their horn twice in quick succession.
I smile and shake my head, dragging my phone from my pocket, anticipating the text.
Sure enough, four seconds later, her message comes through.
Kelly
Go home!
Heading out now.
Kelly
About time. I’m gonna swing by the coffee shop in the morning. Medium Earl Grey?
That would be great. Thanks.
Kelly
Good night!
Night
At least the date didn’t end with her staying at his place. Silver lining.