CHAPTER 15
CARTER
“Jesus fucking Christ, Carter, will you stop fucking singing?” Gavin’s voice cuts through the epic Tom Jones classic playing through my earpods. As if that wasn’t enough to absolutely ruin my flow, his grumpy face appearing right in front of me almost sends me flying off my chair.
“I’m providing free entertainment and this is the thanks I get? You made me fuck up my sketch.” I put down the badass portrait of my client’s St. Bernard who is called Tom Jones, hence my music choice for this morning. I have the rest of the afternoon to complete this stencil for my first appointment tomorrow. I probably should have done it before now but I’ve been spending every spare minute I have either touching up Roman’s tattoos or ordering supplies for the house.
Roman has been living with me for three weeks now and not only has he rebuilt my porch but he's also sanded it down and painted it. Even going as far as hooking up some sweet fairy lights around the top. The fact he left Hulk’s paw prints in the paint like a cute design, makes me melt. He’s now moved on to the spare bathroom. Since neither of us are using it right now he figured it was the next project to be ticked off the list. I keep trying to help but so far all he has let me do is multiple trips to the hardware store. On the plus side with all the work he's doing around the house and at the center his body is in incredible shape, and I'm the lucky bastard that gets to enjoy every inch of it. We still haven't labeled whatever this is between us but everybody knows we are together and that he is it for me. I’m pretty sure he feels the same because he asked me if I would be his emergency contact for work. That may as well have been a marriage proposal, so I don't need labels.
He hasn’t slept in his own bed since the night of Nyx’s party, and when we hang out with the guys he's not shy with his affection. Which I love because I'm a slut for PDA.
“Your incessant screeching has bored a hole through my skull and my patience is leaking out. Shut the fuck up or get the fuck out.” Damn, Gavin is especially grumpy today. I wonder if it's because Trouble is off at some trunk show for his pet fashion line. The guy is super talented. The amount of clothes I have for Hulk now could rival my own wardrobe. Which reminds me I need to put in an order for a new sweater. My little man is turning into a chunky monkey and his current sweater no longer fits.
“Fine, rain on my parade if you must. But just so you know, Boss. It’s not unusual—” The slap of his hand to the back of my head has me biting back the rest of the lyrics and choosing to finish my sketch in silence.
The bell above the door chimes an hour or so later. Since Pete isn’t here today I sit up and stretch my back, getting a sick satisfaction from the sounds of all the pops from my back cracking back into place after being bent over a sketchbook for hours.
Standing up, I approach the reception desk and offer the guy waiting there my customer-service smile.
“Hey, man, how can I help you?”
“I’m looking to get a consultation for a tattoo.” I can spot a virgin a mile off and the way this guy's Adam’s apple is bobbing, he's definitely a tattoo virgin.
“Good thing you came to a tattoo shop then huh?” I go for a joke in the hopes of relaxing him a little. This is usually Pete’s job and he's really damn good at it, so channeling my inner Pete I guide the guy over to the couches and grab a consultation form. “My name's Carter, I'm one of the artists here. I specialize in portrait tattoos but I am experienced in all styles. Do you have anything in mind…?” I leave the end of the question open for him to provide his name. I don't want to just ask him questions like he's at the doctor's office. I see Pete doing this all the time. Giving the nervous clients time to relax before bombarding them with questions and liability forms.
“I, uh, want to get a mathematical equation within a geometric design. I um, have pictures.” He quickly reaches for his phone and I find his fumbling endearing. He shows me multiple images of the geometric design he is looking for and then the equation he wants incorporated into it.
“This is a pretty sick idea, man. Are you happy for the artist to draw up some sketches and email you their designs? We don’t do stock image tattoos here, everything is hand-drawn and unique. I think my girl Nyx might be the best artist for this style. Her line work is second to none.” I smile reassuringly. “Why don't I grab you her portfolio and you can have a look through it. I'll leave you the consent forms to complete if you are happy to go ahead and book. If not, it's no problem.” He lets out a long breath and nods. Handing him the forms, I pull out Nyx’s black portfolio and leave the rest of ours in a pile to the side so he can look through them too if he wishes. I have no doubt he will go with Nyx though. This type of shit is right in her wheelhouse.
“There you go, man, have at it. Just complete the forms and leave them on the desk. Our shop manager will get in contact with you to organize when the artist is available.” His enthusiastic nod has me skipping back to my desk. I nailed it. It's only after he leaves that I realize I didn't even ask his name. Oops, perhaps customer service is not my strong suit after all.
ROMAN
I finish my duties for the day and lock up the supply closet before heading to Derek's office for our daily catch-up. It’s not part of the job to meet with him, and he isn't questioning me on how my duties went. We just drink coffee, eat a spare sandwich that the kitchen staff prepared for the kids here during the day and talk about life. It’s something I look forward to. Over the last three weeks Derek has become like a best friend to me. He shares stories about his life and his plans for the center and he listens as I talk nonstop about renovation projects and drinks with the guys from Savage Ink.
He knows all about my whirlwind romance with Carter and he has shared about the few times he has been out on a date. I no longer feel intimidated by him and his position as my boss. I know I work hard and he trusts me. So we put all of that aside for a bit of time every day to just shoot the shit.
“Thank God you’re here,” Derek announces dramatically as I enter his office and flop onto the couch in the corner.
“Why? So you can avoid James' calls for a few minutes?” I haven't had many interactions with James, he keeps to his office most of the time. If I was the paranoid type I would think he's actively trying to avoid me. Especially when he made the mistake of walking into Derek's office during one of our catch-ups and just turned and left without a word. I asked Derek what it was about but he shrugged, having no idea. I haven’t seen the guy since. But it seems he is a relentless boil on Derek's ass at the moment.
He lets out a long sigh and walks around his desk to join me on the couch, sandwiches and coffee cups already waiting. “He’s damn good at his job, he has brought in so much money for the center and he's passionate about our purpose and goals.” That's the official Derek talking.
“But?” I urge, knowing he needs to vent to a friend right now.
“He’s driving me crazy. Lately he's been on this mission to prove himself or something. I have no idea what is going on with him but he's relentless in his pursuit of funding to the point that the mayor called and asked me to call off my pit bull yesterday. Don’t get me wrong, Rom, I am so thankful for the guy but he just won’t stop. I’m worried he's going to burn out, but of course he won't hear a word of it and just brushes me off.” Sitting up I take a bite of my sandwich and process everything he just spewed out.
“Maybe he’s got shit going on at home? Is he married? Kids?” I ask. I'm pretty sure I didn’t see a ring when I met him but I don’t want to assume. Derek shakes his head, taking a long drink of his coffee.
“No, not married, no kids that I know of. He's a quiet guy. I don’t like to pry into people's lives but from what I have gathered something pretty shitty happened to him when he was a teenager and I think he's still dealing with it.” Well shit, if anybody can understand that, it's me. Maybe I could try talking to him. No, he might think Derek has been gossiping about him when he's really just worried about him.
“I doubt his situation is comparable to yours, but maybe you could reach out to him, give him some of the great advice that parole officer of yours has been giving you.” He’s not wrong about that. I have been having calls with Sienna once a week. I’m still waiting for my initial appointment with a therapist but she has been an amazing sounding board. I still haven't told her the truth of what happened. Instead I keep the conversation based around the nightmares that pop up every so often and the new things that have become a kind of trigger for my anxiety. She thinks I might have mild PTSD which is common with ex-cons, but that's for a licensed therapist to decide. For now she talks me through some meditation and breathing exercises that I can do to ground myself when the anxiety spikes.
Scratching the back of my head I sigh, “I can try, but I don’t think he likes me working here, the guy avoids me like the plague.” Derek's brow furrows as he shakes his head.
“No way, he’s spoken highly of you. He's always telling me what a great job you're doing and how much money you are saving us on repairs. He even suggested we give you a higher salary to cover the hours you work when you aren't supposed to.” Now I’m the one that's confused. It had crossed my mind that maybe he heard what I was in prison for and had decided to give me a wide berth, but surely if he was advocating for me he can’t know.
Figuring the worst he can say is no, I agree to asking if he wants to have coffee with me sometime. If nothing else, everybody could use another friend.