Race Me Wilder (Ink our Hearts #4)

1. Blakely

Blakely

“ I ’m not your secret. I don’t deserve to be a secret. Either you choose me or I willingly walk out that door and never return.”

With my black Converse crossing the room back and forth, my body restlessly paces the polished marble tiles of Aiden’s apartment.

“Why after all this time, do I need to pretend I don’t belong to you? Why can’t I hold your hand in public?” I add in anger and my nerves spiking up.

“Blakely, you’re exaggerating.” He always has the same goddamn answers. He never takes responsibility for his fuck-ups and I NEED to accept it. Be his dirty little secret while I make a huge deal out of nothing.

Guess what? It’s not nothing. I deserve someone who will choose me. And show me off to the world.

The lack of interest in his studying gaze turns lackluster, “This is simply business. You knew that from the start.” He states without batting an eyelash.

I most certainly did not. He had just started his career, and then, one bright day he said it’d be better if we kept it to ourselves. Stating he didn’t want people involved in our relationship which I was fine with. Something didn’t add up when rumors surfaced about him dating his co-star actress. He immediately confessed it was a publicity stunt to raise their series rating and she had a secret relationship of her own.

I may have been na?ve at the beginning but now, I want something real—someone who will take me outdoors hand in hand, or maybe I want to be alone.

I muster my steel expression, “I deserve better.” The words taste like venom on my tongue because I already know he’ll try to divert this conversation like the talented actor he is.

He stops me with his body, resting his palms on my hips, “You’re cute like this.” He nuzzles my hair, “Feisty and sexy.”

Clicking my tongue, “No,” I shove him away from me, “I won’t let you manipulate me into staying.”

In a skip of a heartbeat, his features turn cold, the cheekiness he adopted a second ago, gone. “Blakely, I’m not having this conversation again. It’s good for my career at the moment and I’m not going to apologize for it. End of discussion.” His voice is full of crass, connecting with the apathy he exudes.

I take my keys from the kitchen counter and spew, “End of relationship.”

He chuckles menacingly. “The other day, the guy who said you’re too impulsive was right. We’re better off that way. Good luck finding someone better who tolerates your bullshit.” He says right as I storm out and slam the door behind me.

I organize my drifting thoughts as I clean all our tattoo equipment at Dad’s shop.

“Earth to Blakely.” Dad’s low voice snaps me out of the images of my breakup with Aiden six months ago. That could’ve been handled triple times better and ended with the same result.

After three years, I expected more of a fight—none was given.

With a quick wipe, a layer of grime is off the window as I gaze through it and watch the bustling street for a moment before I clean dust motes that stick in the corners. “Sorry Dad, I’m just tired. I need a break from this place.” My hand automatically wipes another trail of dust off the shelves.

He gets quiet for a minute before he takes a long breath and sighs. “There’s a meet-up in two months, you know, where I tattoo bikers at their hangout site.” The seat creaks under the shift of his weight.

The side of his mouth twitches and I know this part of his chronic condition is taking its toll on him, taking away his love of tattooing people and granting them a piece of art and a piece of himself. It’s breaking my heart to see him like this. The light in his brown eyes dims as the days tick away and I wish there were some miracle to rewind them backward. But there isn’t.

Fibromyalgia is a silent condition, no one can see it, but the person who has it can feel the pain in their bones. Dad feels it every day. He suffers quietly, although, some days he is on edge.

There’s no cure either, only different treatments to ease the pain.

“Go there on my behalf. They would love to see my daughter continuing my legacy.” The pride casts his features, “I tattooed almost everyone out there, except the younger kids. You’d be welcome to stay and spread your designs.”

That is a tempting offer. I had heard his crazy stories about this place since I was a kid and knew he had a blast tattooing whoever came there. “I don’t know, Dad.”

“Nonsense.” His eyebrows knit, nose crinkles. “Go!” he gestures with his tatted arm. “You’ve got nothing to lose.” His finger points at me in accusation, “Dwelling on your past won’t solve anything. Besides, it’s fun. It’d be a breath of fresh air because you’ve never been there before and you’d make me very happy knowing I won’t have to cancel my attendance.”

That last note twists the sharp blade stuck in my heart. “You don’t play fair, mister.”

He waves in dismissiveness, “Fair has never been in the cards for me. You either create your own game or someone else takes your spot in the present one.”

“Always the smart cookie,” I comment, shoving the soiled rag into the trash and grabbing the garbage bag on my way out.

Dad grins, patting his flat belly. “I could use one.”

“I’ll go buy you some. Do you want anything else?” I turn halfway, holding the door open.

His fingers scratch the back of his neck. “For you to go.” Stubborn man. He won’t let this go until I agree.

I’m not sure it’d be the right move for me. They expect Jim Wilder to attend their festivities. Not his twenty-four-year-old daughter, although, I’m no different. I’ve been in the game for six years. And studied it even longer—my whole life.

“Fine, I’ll consider it.”

“Blakely,” his soft voice stops me from fully exiting the door frame, “Spread your wings, and don’t let this one stone crush them.” This man always knows how to lift my spirit. How to guide, support, and be a shoulder I can lean on. Even when I’m the one he leans on now. Despite the physical and mental pain and the struggles he must face every new day, he still manages to be there for me.

“I love you, Dad.”

“I love you too, sweetie.”

One tattoo session throws him backward. The pain slowly crawls back and paralyzes him for days. It exhausts him although it also brings him some sort of satisfaction. I never intervene with his decisions because I know that some days he needs it for his soul, despite the warning signals his body sends.

He told me that watching me tattoo brings him so much pride that he can rest more, knowing he has me. He also said it brings him peace which is exactly how I feel.

I always knew I wanted to become a tattoo artist. I was the little girl who ran around his shop, and handed him the tools he needed, the bottles of ink he asked for, and helped him clean everything afterward.

For me, Dad was always the coolest person around with his tatted skin, his friendly personality, and loud laughter .

He even let me get my first tattoo when I was sixteen, only because it was him behind the machine.

I laugh at that thought as I throw the bag in the dumpster a few feet behind the shop. I glance at my wrist where he inked a bow and arrow. I was so excited when I got it. I felt like the coolest kid in the world, and the luckiest to have him as my dad.

It’s always been the two of us.

He taught me everything I know; how to switch gears, and how to change water and oil in old manual transmission cars when I was four. He allowed me to play with his various toolboxes as I pleased. Maybe that’s why I love to do everything on my own. I feel confident enough to approach different tasks even if I never tried to do them before.

After all, I find everything I need on the internet and I hate asking for favors anyway.

Dad made sure I was raised with a wide set of skills. “You don’t throw life a tantrum. You raise hell instead and take matters into your own hands.”

Yeah, sometimes I tried to play by the rules even with the warning signs, and got burned by it.

My biggest weakness, I give too many chances to people who don’t deserve them like my ex-boyfriend, and my two friends who disappeared without a word after they mistreated me a bunch of times in the past.

I gave them the benefit of the doubt repeatedly because I wanted them to live up to their words. I believed them. Tried to show my vote of confidence .

When I realized that no one cared. Not one bit. It blackened my entire soul. I questioned everyone.

How far can they smear the shit beneath the soles of their shoes?

People use kindness and abuse it for their own gain and when we’re out of necessity, they ditch us with no warning. I’ve seen it in this shop countless times with different clients who mistreated Dad after he was nothing but fair with them. I hate when people pretend, fake it, and tell me things they think I want to hear. If I have something to say, I say it. If I don’t, I don’t bother.

I don’t want to be cold even when society pushes me there. I want to be more like dad, living life to the fullest like I’ve witnessed him accomplishing my whole life.

My stomach drops as worry washes over me.

I want him to smile more like he used to. And shower me with his endless wisdom, crazy stories, and silly jokes. I want that light to shimmer in his eyes and stay there for days. And I can’t give him that right now, I can’t be the shoulder he can lean on which is so unfair because he has always been mine and when he needs me the most, I’m failing him.

I feel like I’m being sucked into a black void and darkness is coming out to replace me. That is why I need to step away. I need to get out of my head. I need to live and do something fun for a change other than maintaining my bike accounts around social media where I only post videos with my helmet on so no one would see my face.

I do what I want and keep my privacy.

When it started growing and gaining more attention I felt extremely grateful to initiate it. It was just for fun, but now, it helps me cope with a lot of things. I get to help others as well and entertain them the best way I can.

I don’t ride with anyone else except Dad, so maybe it’s time to meet some new biker friends and step out of the shell I hid in lately.

I miss the old me who didn’t give a fuck about anything and had fun any chance I got. Perhaps, it is time to rehearse that for the meetup?