Chapter 26
Jodi Castle
“You got a tattoo?”
“Yeah, do you like it?” Lee grasped Jodi’s hand to take a better look, though it was hard to see beneath the protective wrapping.
“Cats, right? It’s cute.”
She gave him an enthusiastic nod. The first tattoo parlour hadn’t done walk-ins, nor did the second one, but the owner had recognised Rock Giant and wasn’t about to leave a well-known heavy metal bassist standing in his foyer.
Sure enough, when they’d been directed through to the studio, Black Halo were among a gathering of metal legends sprayed onto the walls life-sized, or almost life-sized.
Wall Rock Giant was three inches too short.
Paul had sketched out what he’d wanted for the guy, who’d agreed it was simple enough that it could be done right away.
His design comprised three narrow bands around his wrist that were joined by a trinity knot.
She hadn’t needed to see him finally snipping off the ribbon they’d been handfasted with to know what the ink signified.
She’d tried to be mad about him permanently inking it onto his skin but failed.
It was hard to dismiss that much conviction, especially when she’d given him no reason to hope for the future he wanted.
Didn’t matter, he claimed, he remained committed to her anyway.
What girl wouldn’t be a little swayed by that?
He'd saved that grubby ribbon too. Coiled it carefully around his fingers and then stowed it in a pocket, muttering something about a treasure box. It made her curious to learn what else was stowed in Paul Reed’s treasure box.
Meanwhile, she hadn’t set out to get inked. Nothing in the various design brochures she’d browsed while Rock Giant was in the chair called to her. It wasn’t until she’d seen his design that the idea had come to her.
It was probably a mistake. The lead weights in her stomach certainly implied so.
People wouldn’t understand.
Nash wouldn’t.
While the handfasting didn’t hold the same significance to her as it did to Paul, it did mean something.
There weren’t many people in the world who put themselves out for her. Paul Reed was one of them. She wasn’t sure why. It obviously wasn’t just about sex, because she’d categorically told him that wasn’t on the cards, and it hadn’t chased him off.
The tattoo… Her tattoo consisted of three thin knotted bands that formed a bracelet around her wrist, along the top of which were silhouettes of three tiny cats in different poses.
Why the fuck shouldn’t she mark the intersecting of their lives if she wanted to?
It was her skin. Her… their history. Considering the changes it had brought about, it was worth marking.
Rock Giant had nodded his approval. Lee wasn’t making a fuss, so that was a good start. He was kind of her test case to see what the response would be like from the Ghost Boys.
“You’re back.” Nash entered the backstage room along with Balin, the two of them tucking into burgers and fries from a fast-food joint.
Usually, she perked up at the sight of her future hubby, but he looked decidedly unwashed, unshaven, and unsavoury after their sound check.
He was still dressed in the same clothes he’d fallen asleep in at the crack of dawn and that he’d worn on stage the night before.
He needed a shower. Ketchup dripped from his burger and landed on him mid-chest.
“Fuck!”
“Here.” Jodi held out a tissue to him. He looked at her through decidedly bloodshot eyes, but took it and daubed ineffectually at the mark, before swearing again and pulling the shirt off and chucking it onto the seat beside her.
“Where the fuck have you been all afternoon?”
While his tone was light-hearted, her shoulders still hitched. He took a perch beside her and continued to tuck into his meal. Jodi’s tummy rumbled.
“I did the shopping and then explored a bit. I wasn’t needed here, and you were busy. I didn’t think it’d be a problem.”
“Except I did need you.”
He had?
Lee, on the left of her, made a noise in the back of his throat. “Don’t be a dick, Nash. You wanting someone to fetch you coffee and snacks isn’t the same as needing her. Why shouldn’t she go look around Bergen? If it’d been an option, I’d have gone, too.” He gave her a nod.
“Could have mentioned that you were heading out,” Nash grumbled.
“I did. Guess you didn’t hear me.”
Nash cracked a can of lager and proceeded to tip most of it down his throat.
She watched him swallow, feelings of guilt creeping over her at the fact she was comparing his unkempt currently antagonistic self to Rock Giant’s earthy beauty.
They were chalk and cheese. Nash a waspish wisp of a man.
Nicely formed, but more boyish than manly.
Paul was all ink, sculpted muscle, and stoicism.
Nor did he seem to feel the need to draw attention to himself in the ways Nash did.
When he was there, you knew it, whereas Nash, you could easily lose in a crowd if it wasn’t for the fact he’d be making himself heard.
It was why he’d ended up as the Ghost Boys singer, when in all honesty, Jez definitely had a way better singing voice.
Not that she’d ever upset Nash by saying that.
Not that any of them ever said that.
Well, Rune had once…
Anyway, it made sense for Nash to be their frontman. Jez was happy playing drums, and since Nash couldn’t play anything beyond a couple of power chords, there wasn’t another role for him to fit into.
Having finished both his burger, and the lager without even offering her a bite, he rested his damp and decidedly heavy head against her shoulder. “Where’d you go, anyway?”
“The park just across the way. There’s a lake.”
“On your own, for the whole afternoon? Didn’t think you liked keeping your own company.”
She frequently kept her own company.
“She went and got a tattoo.” Jez, whom she’d assumed was asleep, piped up from the other sofa. He was lying on his back, occupying its entirety, and had a leather jacket pulled up covering most of his head.
“Is he serious?” Nash lifted his head in order to gawp at her. “A tattoo? Jo? Where? What of? What sort of dive did you go to that they—”
Good grief, you’d think she’d just tattooed a target on her forehead.
“It wasn’t a dive.”
“Wasn’t it? How would you know? What do you know about tattoos? Were their needles clean? What if you’ve given yourself—”
Lee clipped him around the ear. “Give it a break. The correct response is, that’s nice, sweetheart, would you like to show me your new ink? She’s an adult. She can use her judgement over risk factors, same as the rest of us.”
“Aye, but—”
Lee glared at him. “Adult, with bodily autonomy.”
Nash frowned back, before returning his attention to her. “Let’s see it, then.”
Considering the attitude he was giving her, she didn’t really want to. “It’s still wrapped up. I’ll show you later. It’s of the cats.”
“You put those fleabags on your skin.”
Apparently that notion was hilarious.
“I happen to love those fleabags. Also, they don’t have fleas.”
“Unlike him,” Jez muttered.
Nash aimed his empty can at his bandmate’s head but missed.
He sat for a while, being fidgety, and picking at the sole of his boot. “Who went with you?” he asked when she got up, thinking she ought to find something to eat. “There’s no way you went alone, and we were all here. Who else do you know?”
When she didn’t immediately answer, he started nodding his head, and a hateful grin spread across his face. “You went with him, didn’t you? That’s why he missed their sound check. You fucking went with Rock Giant to get inked.”
Jodi bristled at his accusatory tone. The way he said it made it sound like a planned excursion, and it hadn’t been.
“The guy’s proper inked up. Best person to consult if you’re looking to get some ink of your own,” Balin said.
Thank you, Balin.
Nash glared at him.
“What? It’s who I’d consult if I was looking to get some ink done.”
“Do you now have matching tattoos?” Nash asked, ignoring Balin’s attempts to dial the level of tension down.
“We bumped into one another. I don’t know what you’re implying, but there wasn’t anything untoward about it. I went to get the stuff you all wanted from the shop, and he was kind enough to point me the right way.”
“And after picking up some johnnies and snacks you thought, ‘Hey, let’s go get inked together’.”
“Yeah… Sorta… No. I told you. I went to the park.”
Nash scratched his nose. “With him?”
She was too shit at lying to even attempt to say otherwise.
Not that it should’ve been necessary. She hadn’t done anything wrong.
She was allowed to hang out with her friends.
But Nash levelled her with the sort of stink eye her father had been a master of.
He’d look at her that way whenever she rolled home after curfew—a decidedly arbitrary time that was never communicated—before accusing her of being a little prossie, and telling her he’d throw her out, or worse if she ever dared to come home with a bun in her belly. And where the fuck was his tea?
Back then, she’d been far too busy borrowing cars to concern herself with mucking around with any of the racer boys she knew, and she’d not been their cup of tea, anyway. They all rode with skinny chicks.
Rock Giant was different. There was attraction there.
Attraction that ran both ways, but so what.
She was also attracted to Lee, sometimes got gooey over Rune’s beautiful soul, and indulged in celebrity crushes on members of both sexes and a few non-binary ones.
She wasn’t about to get off with any of them, because she wasn’t a cheat.
“I suppose he’s got a matching cat tattoo now?”
“No, he hasn’t.”
Nash gave a dismissive snort.
Jez sat, throwing off the jacket. “You sound jealous, Nash. What’s the matter? Not feeling too secure? Worried she’s going to dump your scrawny arse? Considering the way you treat her, she fucking ought to.”
Her fiancé lurched to his feet. “The way I treat her!”