Chapter 31 #2
“I don’t think you’re a bad person for it, Alls. I just think you should end things with Declan. Period. He sucks, and you deserve to be with the person you actually love.”
“She’s not wrong,” August chimes, returning from his office with printed stencils of our tattoos. “Time is too precious to waste on anything other than the people you want to spend it with most.”
She groans, dramatically throwing herself back on the couch and covering her eyes with her hands, pouting. “Leave me alone. I didn’t want to be sad today.”
August laughs, taking a seat on a rolling stool beside the bench I’m on before pulling a tray from the corner and placing my arm across it. As he’s sanitizing me, my phone buzzes in my pocket, and I pull it out with my freehand, sliding my thumb over the screen.
“Hi, Wes.”
“Hey, baby. I came down to the boardwalk early so I could see you before my shift, but your mom said you left already.”
“I’m at Ultraviolet getting a tattoo. Come over here.”
“We’re getting pussy willows!” Allie shouts into my phone, pulling the attention of the other patrons in the studio.
“Sorry . . . what?” Wes asks into the phone.
“Just come here.” I laugh before hanging up.
He glides through the doors thirty seconds later, looking fucking delectable in a pair of light-wash jeans, a white Heathen’s tee, and a navy blue baseball cap turned backward.
“What is Allie shouting about your pussy?” he asks, striding directly to me and planting a kiss on my lips before pulling back with a playful grin.
“Jesus Christ,” August mutters.
“Pussy willow,” Allie corrects. “It’s a type of tree, and we’re getting matching tattoos of its branch.”
Weston leans over, eyeing the stencil August placed at the center of my forearm, outlining the bundle of branches and the small, furry catkins blooming at the ends. “I mean . . . it’s cute. The name is awful, though.”
“Well, that’s the point. We call her Allie Cat”—I nod to my best friend—“and a pussy is the same thing, right? Then, you know, I’m Willow. So . . .” I shrug. “It works.”
“It’s fitting.” He smiles. “Can I watch?”
“Yeah.” August nods toward a row of chairs at the front of the studio. “Grab one and drag it over here.”
Weston does, twirling the chair and straddling it backward as he sits between August and me, watching intently as the tattoo gun buzzes to life and my uncle presses the needle into my skin. I bite back a hiss at the sting, but it only takes me a moment to adjust to the discomfort.
I’m still tense, and Weston’s hand finds my leg, squeezing gently. “Does it hurt?”
“Not terribly. You should get one and find out for yourself, though.” I wink.
“I told you I’m afraid of needles.” He deadpans.
“This is kind of like immersion therapy, then. Isn’t it?
” August smiles, gaze focused on my arm behind his black-rimmed glasses.
Chestnut curls fall against his forehead, pierced brow furrowed in concentration as his tattooed hand glides the needle over my skin with precision.
“If you were to get one, what would it be?”
“I don’t know. I’ve never thought too deeply about it, on account of the trypanophobia, but I always assumed I’d get something in my mom's memory.”
“He actually looked up the name for fear of needles,” Allie murmurs from the corner of her mouth, scrolling through her phone as she sprawls across the couch.
Ignoring her, Weston continues with a bemused smile, “I mean . . . I don’t think it’s actually that serious, but it seems unpleasant enough that I’ve never had the urge.
Plus, I think if I were to actually get a tattoo for my mom, it would make her feel more .
. . permanently gone? I don’t know if that makes sense. ”
I know the question was directed at me, but my uncle answers, “It does. It’s been twenty-five years for me, and sometimes I still have trouble convincing myself it’s permanent too.”
“You lost your mom?” Wes asks him softly.
“Brother.”
Wes swallows hard, clearing his throat. His stormy eyes dart to me, swirling with sorrow. I place my hand over his, squeezing it four times.
“I’m sorry,” he tells August.
My uncle pauses, lifting his head, eyes locked on Wes. “Me too.” He smiles softly. “I’ve found that inking myself with the things that make me feel most alive is a type of healing all on its own. Maybe that’s what you should consider, if you ever find you want to get tattooed.”
Weston nods, eyes becoming unfocused—deep in thought—as August finishes my pussy willow, covering it in Saniderm before starting on Allie’s.
Wes and I sit together on the couch as Allie prattles on about a book we are both reading.
Weston has an arm wrapped around me, drawing circles over my shoulders, but that thoughtful haze doesn’t leave him through the remainder of Allie’s tattoo.
When she’s finished, she pops up, smiling down at her forearm—her piece a perfect twin to my own. “They look amazing.” She looks up at me. “Don’t you feel so much better now?”
“Better?” Wes asks. “What happened?”
“Oops.” Allie winces, stepping back before hitching a thumb behind her. “I guess I’ll wait for you outside . . .”
“Actually, I have lunch for Elena, but I need to relieve one of my workers, so I won’t be able to bring it next door. Can you drop it by for me?” August asks, eyeing Weston and me curiously.
“I can do that!” Allie says too excitedly, striding toward his office behind the front desk.
I give him a side hug, thanking my uncle for the tattoo before he disappears with Allie down the back hallway. I turn back to Weston, who is watching me, eyes shadowed with unsettled apprehension.
“I got a call from some weird number today. I didn’t answer it, so they sent a text. It was from Parker.” I swallow the brick in my throat. “He asked to talk to me.”
“Are you okay?” Wes asks, the words rushed. “What did you do?”
“I blocked the number, and I am okay.” I gently grasp his forearms. “You were still at the camp, and Allie was right next door, so I went to her. We walked around the pier until I calmed down and then came to get tattoos. I planned on telling you tonight . . . I wasn’t keeping—”
“I know, love. I’m not worried about that. I’m worried about you.” He sighs, stepping back from me, running a hand through his hair. “Can we talk outside for a minute?”
Trepidation trickles down my spine at this tone, uneasy with the newfound concern etched into his face as he bites his lip, and his eyes dart around the tattoo studio as if he’s searching for something.
I nod, silent as he places a hand at the small of my back and guides me out the front doors. There is a bench across the sidewalk, beneath the palms and overlooking the Pacific. Weston leads us to it, taking a seat and gently pulling me down beside him.
“Your dad didn’t want me to tell you this.” His knee shakes as his gaze drifts out to the horizon—he’s nervous. That trepidation in my spine morphs to pure fear, swirling in the depths of me. “But I think after today . . . you need to know what’s been going on.”
“Wes . . . what’s going on?” I grasp his wrist, squeezing, the gesture pulling his gaze back to my face.
“Parker’s been trying to contact you for weeks.
He . . . He called more than just the flower shop that one time.
He called your ex, Camden, who filed a restraining order.
Your dad threatened him, and . . .” He turns, facing me head-on as he takes my hands in his.
“He called me too. He never said his name, and he called from a blocked number, but he asked if I was dating you. Your dad was there, he took my phone from me, and the minute he addressed Parker by name, the line went dead. He’s been trying to protect you from all this, but if Parker is contacting you directly now, you need to know. ”
I pull my hands from Weston’s, turning away, directing my gaze toward the ocean as the information filters through me. I wonder if I’m supposed to scream, or cry, or be afraid. Perhaps I am, and may later on, when I’m alone, I’ll rage and sob, but in this moment, I’m numb.
I’m shocked to my core, and somehow completely numb.
“I’m sorry, Wills. You should’ve known this entire time. I’m so fucking sorry, baby.”
Weston doesn’t touch me, but sits silently beside me, giving me time and space to process.
I’m sure I have reason to be upset with him and with my father for keeping this from me.
I’m disappointed that they didn’t believe I had the strength to handle this, to be left in the loop when it came to my own safety.
I’m not angry with them for it, though. I can understand their reasons.
More than anything, I’m upset that it’s happening at all. That Parker has not only put me through this, but that it seems as if every person in my life is getting dragged down with me. That in my effort to ignore him until he goes away, he’s turned to harassing my loved ones in my place.
I’m fucking over it.
I pull my phone out of my back pocket, navigating to the text message he sent me earlier, and unblocking the number. I place my finger over the call button before my nerves can catch up with me and convince me to change my mind.
“What’re you doing?” Weston asks.
“Calling Parker.”
“Whoa, Willow,” Wes gasps, gently placing his hand on my arm. “I don’t know if that’s such a good idea.”
I hush him as Parker’s phone goes to voicemail. A blanket of relief settles over me at the realization that I won’t actually have to hear his voice or address him directly. I take a deep breath as the answering tone chimes, hoping what I say next will be enough to make him leave me alone for good.