Chapter 2
Chapter Two
Waverly
Nothing about this is what I expected. I imagined men with giant arms, naked women, and a plethora of hedonism. Instead, I got a large lobby, black leather couches, framed artwork, and screens scrolling through the artists’ portfolios. It has the sophistication of an art studio with a burst of color.
The girl behind the counter looks up from her phone. Her hair fades from navy blue to teal to green in perfect ringlet curls. Two dragons fight across one of her arms, one breathing fire and the other some sort of blue liquid. She has more jewelry on her ears than I have at home. And her black tank top and black choker make all the other colors more vibrant. I wish I had hair I could dye and change without everyone screaming, “Why would you destroy such a pretty natural color?”
She’s stunning.
And she knows I don’t belong here.
Her voice is light and welcoming, like she’s talking to a lost kid or puppy. “Hi, sweetie, can I help you?”
I swallow the saliva building in my mouth before it chokes me. “I have an appointment with Lukas.”
She raises her metal-clad eyebrow. “Um, today he's in the office, he doesn't have any appointments booked. Are you sure you have the right day?”
My appointment was supposed to be three weeks ago, but life happened. “Yeah, I had to reschedule.”
“Ohhh. Lukas hates rescheduling. Hope you had a good reason.”
I really didn’t want to go into all the details, but I did, in fact, have a very good reason. “It was an emergency.” An emergency in the form of the Mastodon Security building blowing up, sending three of my friends to the hospital. I’ve been trying to get them back on track ever since.
I give the receptionist a half smile. “It’s been a crazy month. But things are getting back to sort of close to normal.” I check my phone and nod. “Yeah, his sister Angie told me to come today.”
The receptionist frowns and types on her phone. “Just texted him. He should be out soon. Go ahead and take a seat.” She points to the couches like I was going to sit on the floor or something. “Grab a tablet and start scrolling through to see if anything catches your eye.”
I’m already well versed in Lukas's portfolio. There isn't much he can’t do—simple outline, watercolor, hyper-realistic art, tribal, and the thick lines of the America style of the fifties—Lukas is a master artist. I’m not going to say I stalked his work over the years, but, I might check on his Instagram page every morning while I’m drinking my coffee.
An office door creaks open, and he steps through the door frame. His light brown hair and stubbly chin haven’t changed, but everything else has. He seems taller, more fit, and his shirt is rolled up past his elbows, exposing his tattooed arms. But none of his other ink is exposed. That’s the thing—he’s always seemed hidden and secretive, almost mythical.
Lukas doesn’t even notice me as he checks in with his hair-looking-like-a-gorgeous-waterfall receptionist. “Jade, what's up?”
She makes a little nod with her chin in my direction. “The girl over there says she has an appointment with you and your sister booked it.”
“Shit, that’s today?”
“It wasn't on your schedule.” Jade points to the computer screen.
Lukas pushes his hair back and sighs. “Yeah, it's a cover-up. I didn't put it on. Angie said it should be easy.”
Finally, after being invisible for what feels like forever, he sees me. His head tilts to the side, his frown deepens, and a part of me wants to die inside. Was this the way he always looked at me? Frowning, disapproving.
“Waverly?”
I try to push my body up off of the couch, but the damn thing is so low and it takes me two tries to get up. And then I glance down at my pants. Wrong. My legs are wrong. Purple polar bears wearing roller blades. Right. My pajamas. I’m out in public in my PJs and a T-shirt. God, I look like a middle-schooler begrudgingly going to the grocery store. But I didn’t want to wear anything tight and my leggings were in the wash. My grandmother should be rolling over in her grave right about now.
“Hi.” I smile and pull at the hem of my shirt.
Lukas crosses his arms over his chest and blinks at me a few times. “You're my cover-up?”
“Um, yeah.” I drop my T-shirt and wipe my sweaty palms on my oh-so-fashionable PJs. “Angie picked a very low-cut bridesmaid dress. It's super cute and I love it, but...” Instead of trying to describe the issue, I walk over, turn around, and push down my pants and lift my shirt to show him the horror on my back. “The tattoo is...”
Waterfall Hair Jade cackles. “Oh my God! You’re the grand champion of the Worst Tattoo Award.”
“I was drunk,” I whisper, “and lost a bet.” Can the earth open up and swallow me right this instant?
“With Satan? Because who else could possibly hate you that much?” Jade gasps between laughs. “Everything about it is awful. The line work, the placement, the perspective, everything’s not only wrong, but bad. Don't even get me started on the subject. Jesus, did you shit on a puppy or are you atoning for some sins from a previous life?”
I pull my pants back up. I knew going in, this would be humiliating. I will not cry. And I’m doing a damn good job keeping it together until I see Lukas's face.
His eyebrows twitch, deep lines cutting through his forehead. His hands are balled up in fists and his arms are starting to shake like he’s holding back a weapon. “Who did this to you?” he growls in such a low decibel, it takes me a moment to process what he said.
“Um, some guy?”
Still clenching his fists, he turns away, storms into his office, slamming the door behind him, and screams.
Jade jumps at the sound of his shouts and starts fidgeting with stuff on the counter, looking at anything and everything but me. It’s like when you’re in school and the kid next to you is getting yelled at and you don't know what to do. I’m right there with her, and I return to playing with the hem of my shirt.
The door swings open and he stands in the frame with a conflicted look on his face, like he isn't sure if he’s ready to come out. “I guess it's pointless to give you a lecture on the importance of researching your artist, the studio, and body placement.”
He’s aware of the irony. I research everything for a living. I had a tattoo picked out years ago, same with the placement and the artist… things just didn’t go according to plan.
Jade leans over the counter, breaking the awkward stare down. “Sweetie, the tat’s kinda old. Why didn't you get it removed?”
Why does everyone assume I didn’t do my research first? It wasn’t a big issue until now.
I drop my head, looking at the navel rings lined up in the display case in front of her. “Mistakes shouldn't be erased and forgotten. You should learn from them and turn them into something beautiful.”
“Kintsugi,” he says, his voice deep and barely above a whisper. He heaves out a breath deflating his lungs. “Did you have any ideas of what you want?”
“Literally nothing you pick would be worse than what you have,” Jade offers, not even trying to stifle her laugh.
I shrug. “Flowers, maybe.”
“What type?” he grits through his teeth. His jaw is so tight I worry it might snap off if he tries to speak again.
“Whatever is easiest.”
He sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Jade, go take some measurements. Anything else?” The exasperation in his voice is palpable.
I bite my lower lip as Jade opens some drawers. “Um, it's probably not worth mentioning…”
Jade pauses, her hand hovering in the space between the counter and the desk. “If you're not sure, you should say it.”
My thumb tries to crack my knuckles but it’s silent, as always. A nervous habit. I suddenly became very interested in a balled up gum wrapper on the floor and push it around with my toes. “Um, last time I passed out a couple of times during the session. Or, at least, that’s what I was told. I don’t remember because when I stood, I blacked out and hit my head on the chair,” I mumble under my breath, shrugging. Almost as an afterthought, I add, “I got a small concussion.”
Lukas has moved from pinching his nose to full on scrubbing his face. “Jesus Christ. And you don't know where you got that abomination or who gave it to you?”
“Nope.” It was a drunken night in a college town. Boston, maybe? I can’t recall. But I still feel the soul burning betrayal of letting someone else’s ink mark my skin. I had promised Lukas he could give me my first tattoo. Five years later, he’s left cleaning up the mess of some hack that I didn’t even bother to learn the name of.
Lukas switches from rubbing his face to pulling the hair out of the back of his head. He turns away and slams the office door. Again.
Jade walks around the counter and leads me to the snack station. She points to three pitchers with various fruit infusions. “Drink some water, eat a snack, and we'll take good care of you.”
“Thanks. This isn't exactly my proudest moment.” I pour some strawberry water into a paper cup and chug it down like it can wash away the last fifteen minutes.
Jade pats me on the shoulder. “You're not alone. Everyone fucks up. At least it’s fixable.”
I’m not used to having someone comfort me, not like this. I never have emotional glitter bomb explosions. I’m the emotional cleanup crew. “How long does it take to get your hair like that?”
She twirls a curl around her finger. “Way too long.”
Well I guess I know one benefit to my hair… free time.
While we chat, Jade takes the measures of my mistake and walks it back to the office. A few minutes later, Lukas emerges looking way more composed than I feel. How does he do that so fast?
“Ok, here are a few basic ideas, pick what you want. All of them are pretty much the same amount of work. We’ll do two sessions. I’m not putting your body under any more stress than it needs to be. You need to schedule them two to three weeks apart. It should be healed by the wedding.”
He places the pictures on the counter. The first is a series of roses, very traditional. The second is a highly stylized ivy with a bouquet of flowers. But the last picture makes me gasp. It’s a hydrangea. Nana had one in the front yard and it bloomed in the summer. The pink and purple puffs were like pom poms cheering on the change of the season. I used to love summers—no school, a week with Angie at her parents’ beach house. And Lukas. “This one!”
He sighs. “I knew you were going to pick that one. The sessions will probably be closer to three hours.”
“But you said it was all the same amount of work. I don't want to inconvenience you.”
He shakes his head. “If this is the one you want, then it’s what you're getting. We'll get you prepped for your first session now.”
Annoyance wafts off of him like a fresh splash of cologne. I could always hear his emotions without him saying a word. It was in the way he breathed, flexed his fingers, or the cracks when he moved his neck from side to side. I’m fluent in his body language.
“Jade, can you prep her?”
Ten minutes later, I’m face down on a table, trying to get comfortable. And then it dawns on me, my ass will be on full display. Awesome. As if this wasn't already the most humiliating moment of my life. I will straight up die if a fart sneaks out.
He rolls on his chair to the front of the table. “You're shaking.”
“It's cold.”
“Waverly, you don't need to do this.”
I want to hide, and bury my face under a blanket of my hair. “No, I can't let Angie down. The dresses are already ordered. It has to be now.”
His gloved fingers push back my protective follicle blanket and his features soften. “You could’ve gotten this done by any artist. Why did you come to me?”
I should tell him I needed to see him before the wedding and get this awkwardness out of my system. Or make a joke about wanting to check out the shop in real life instead of stalking it on Instagram. It doesn’t matter, because before I can decide which tactic to use, the truth slips out. “I always felt guilty I let someone else tattoo me.”
He makes an angry huffing sound. “Now I have to fix someone else’s mistake.” His voice is cold. His fingers move down my spine until they hit the exposed skin on my back, his canvas. He presses firmly, securing me. He becomes my whole world, his face filling my vision, his hand the only warmth and safety I’m aware of. “I'll never hurt you, but you have to tell me the truth. No lies.”
“Honesty is my best trait.” I flash him a smile, but it’s not returned.
The stool rolls and he’s gone.
I need to fill three hours of small talk with Lukas. I can do this. We have a lot in common. I have about fifteen years of experience to build on. Surely, I can come up with something. “How was Seattle?”
“I got back a year and a half ago.” I feel pinprick pressure on my back. I flinch and he says, “It’s only the marker outline. No ink yet, okay?”
“Ok.” No needles yet, I’ve got this. “How was it to be back where you grew up?”
“Weather sucked, but it was nice to be with old friends and a few mentors.” He’s quiet for a beat. “It's not home.”
“And here is?”
“This shop is.” He cracks his knuckles before returning to his work.
The studio is bright and clean, and each artist has their own chaotic station filled with toys, stickers, and trophies reflecting their personality. Between cartoon dinosaurs, realistic looking Pokemon, concert posters, and anime stickers, it has an 'all are welcome’ vibe. “I can see why. It's amazing.”
“Thanks.” His voice drops like I’m not supposed to hear his gratitude. “How's your grandma?”
The question seems innocent enough, but it guts me he has to ask. “She died two years ago.”
Nana was complicated. She was one of four grandmas who were the glue holding different crime families together. Nana was my mother's mom. Crime runs deep through the blood of the women in my family. But everyone else worked hard to make sure it skipped me.
Lukas lifts his fingers away from my skin. “Shit, I'm sorry.”
“Nana had a good life. She died peacefully in her sleep.” It was a better fate than most of the people I know.
Hydrangeas need to be cut back in the fall for better and stronger growth, but the year she passed away, it didn’t happen. Now the flowers don’t bloom as bold and bright, and it looks sort of straggly, like a ghost of its former glory. I lost more than my Nana. Honestly I didn’t even think about them until now.
His voice drops. “We don't have to do this. Small talk.”
Message received. Conversation over. I’m not sure what stings more, him carving into my flesh with needles or his rejection.
“Outline’s done,” Lukas says. He moves around from behind me and hands me a mirror. “If there's anything you don't like, tell me now.” He sounds stern and annoyed. “Don't pull one of your Waverly moves where you say it's fine when it's not.”
Well, that definitely stings worse than the needle.
To get away from his judgment, I sit up, and black specks fill my vision. The wobbles start as the ever-shrinking world spins out of control, and my head throbs.
Arms wrap around my shoulders. “Easy, nice and slow.”
Lukas smells like rubber gloves, rubbing alcohol, and sandalwood. His heady scent makes me even more dizzy. He holds me steady as the pounding slowly fades away and my brain stops screaming. I should say I’m okay, but I’m soaking in the guilty pleasure of being so close to him for a second longer.
The backdoor swings open and blinding light floods in through the studio, breaking the spell. “I'm fine now.” See? I can fake it till I make it.
Sliding off the table, my feet touch the ground like a cat touching snow for the first time. Lukas keeps his grip on me. It isn't until I’m stable that he takes his hands off but lets them hover inches off my skin, ready to grab me again if I start to fall. I twist to look at my back in the mirror, and the very detailed purple outline of hydrangeas looks incredible and complex. God, this is going to take forever. “It's beautiful.”
“What about the leaf on the corner? Do you want it up higher?”
“No, it's perfect.” It’s a thousand times better than I imagined.
“Are you ok, or do you need a break?”
Lukas watches me through narrowed eyes, but I'm already laying down. “I'm fine, you can do your thing.”
The rest of the time goes by without any incidents. Lukas works and doesn't speak. I only know when he's done because he taps on my back. “Jade will give you instructions about care until your next session.”
This time, I lift myself carefully, not wanting to black out again. Lukas looks at me like I’m a baby antelope he’s trying not to startle.
“Waverly,” he starts, “try to stay out of trouble.”
God, I forgot how beautiful his eyes are.
I nod and slide off the table before I do something stupid, reaching down calmly to grab my purse from the floor. Righting myself just as slowly, I shift from side to side. I’ve never known how to say goodbye to Lukas. Not even when we were kids.
“Yeah, well, guess I won't be able to go a couple of years between Lukas encounters.”
His lips part, but he shuts them quickly. That line shows up between his brows and I realize I confused him.
I scramble for an explanation. “Because I'll see you in a few weeks and at the wedding. By the time this is over, you'll be sick of me.” I stop myself from rambling before I shove my foot in my mouth any further. It’s truly a Herculean effort. I half expect him to say something, but, once again, he's silent.
Of course, he is. I shouldn’t have even bothered. I don't know what else I was expecting from the man who unapologetically shattered my heart five years ago.