Chapter 6 #2
“I’m still scared,” I said. “That I’ll screw it all up. That I’ll relapse.”
“Then be scared,” he said. “But be scared and keep going. Fear means you give a damn now. That alone puts you miles ahead of who you used to be.”
I let his words settle. They didn’t fix anything. Didn’t erase the past. But they mattered. Because he meant them. “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome. And if you ever tell Mom her lasagna tastes like divorce again, I’m legally allowed to punch you.”
“I would deserve it.”
“Damn right, you do.” He laughed, and for once, it felt good.
I felt like a brother again.
* * *
I didn’t drink. I kept repeating it to myself the whole time I drove to my tattoo shop the next morning. I’m not sure what I would have done had Lilly not found me there… If I would have gotten the bottle and drunk myself into a hole that no one could get me out of.
I tossed the keys onto the counter at the shop and headed straight for the back room. The machines buzzed faintly in the background. A noise that always brought me some sense of calm. I needed my hands busy.
“Yo, Nick,” Cam called from the front. “Got a walk-in asking for a custom. Sun and a motorcycle. It’s their first tattoo. Pretty sure they’re legit. Said they’d wait.”
“Did you quote them?” I asked, grabbing my sketchbook.
“Yeah. They’re cool. Thought maybe you’d wanna take this one. Sounds like your kind of piece.”
I opened my mouth to decline but stopped. Sun and a motorcycle. My stomach twisted. Not in a bad way. In a way I didn’t know how to name. Cam was right. It was my kind of piece.
“I’ll sketch something out,” I said. “See if they like it.”
I sat at my desk, pulled out a pencil, and started with the bike.
I knew the curves by heart. Not just any motorcycle, my bike.
I wasn’t doing it on purpose, but that’s what ended up on the page.
Clean lines, worn leather seat, a little busted but fast as hell.
Like it had stories and had carried someone through something.
And then came the sun. I didn’t even think before drawing it. Big and soft, with rays that curved gently like fingers reaching out. It wasn’t a harsh sun. It was warm. Like her.
Like Sunshine. Shit. I dropped the pencil and leaned back, staring at nothing.
That night with Mya hadn’t left me. Not for a second. Her laugh. Her hands. The way she touched me like I wasn’t ruined. The way she looked at me… like I was worth something. Like I wasn’t just some mess to clean up.
And I let her go. “No strings,” I’d told her. What a load of bullshit. Because here I was, sketching a piece for a stranger and bleeding every memory of her into the page.
Cam poked his head in. “Client’s still out there. You want me to bring them back?”
I shook my head. “Give me five more minutes.” I needed to figure out why a motorcycle and a sun suddenly felt like the most intimate thing I’d drawn in months.
I was just finishing the shading on the rear wheel when I heard her voice. At first, I didn’t even register it. It was just a soft laugh and a few words with Cam at the front desk. Then something about the tone pulled at me. I looked up, and my hand froze.
“…I just want something to remind me of that night,” she was saying. “It was kind of the best night of my life, if I’m being honest.”
My stomach fucking dropped. That voice. Her voice. I stood slowly, heart jackhammering against my ribs like it wanted out.
Cam laughed, oblivious. “Damn. Must’ve been one hell of a night.”
“It was,” she said. “It was everything.”
I stepped into the hallway, careful not to make a sound. And there she was.
Mya.
Hair pulled back in a loose braid, soft shirt tucked into jeans, one hand in the pocket of her jacket, the other fidgeting with a ring on her finger like she didn’t know what to do with her nerves.
She looked…exactly the same. And completely different.
Like time had passed, but the night hadn’t ended.
Cam glanced over and noticed me standing there, his brows lifting like he didn’t understand why I looked like I’d just been kicked in the chest.
“This is the artist I was telling you about,” he said. “Nick—”
Mya turned, and we locked eyes. Her smile faltered. She blinked once, then twice, like she didn’t believe I was here, either.
“Hey,” I managed.
“Hi,” she said softly.
“You…” I cleared my throat. “You asked for a sun and a motorcycle?”
She nodded. “Didn’t think you’d be the one to draw it, though.”
“Didn’t think you’d be the one asking for it.”
Cam sensed something and slipped away, muttering something about setting up a second station.
I motioned toward the back. “You still want it?”
“Yeah.”
“Even if I’m the one doing it?”
She looked up at me. No hesitation. “Especially if you’re the one doing it.”
Fuck. I led her to my chair, heart pounding, palms damp. I’d done a hundred first-time tattoos. But this… this was different. This was her.
She sat down and peeled off her jacket, exposing the inside of her forearm, soft skin that hadn’t been inked yet. She held it out, trusting, like I hadn’t ghosted her after the best night of my life. Even if we both said no strings.
I sat beside her and grabbed a pair of gloves, forcing my voice to stay even. “You ever gotten a tattoo before?”
She shook her head. “Nope. This is my first.”
I already knew that, but I didn’t know what else to fucking say. I reached for the stencil. “Alright. I’m gonna clean the area, and then we’ll transfer the design. You’ll get a look at it first, and you can tell me if you want anything changed.”
She nodded, quiet now, her eyes on me. Watching. I cleaned her skin and shaved the area, then pressed the stencil on. The shape of the bike and the soft curve of the sun wrapping around the wheel like it belonged there. She stared down at it, fingers lightly tracing the edge.
“It’s perfect,” she whispered.
“Mya,” I said, meeting her eyes again. “Are you sure you want this?”
She nodded again.
“And are you sure you want me to be the one to do it?”
She reached up and gently brushed her thumb across the stubble on my jaw.
A tiny, intimate touch that knocked the wind out of me.
“I came here thinking about you,” she said.
“Telling myself that this tattoo meant more than just you but about the night and how brave I was. But now you’re here. So yeah, Nick. I want you to do it.”
I swallowed hard and turned to prep the needle, trying to focus on the process, on anything but how close her skin was or how the scent of her shampoo still made my stomach twist in the best way.
“Okay,” I said, flipping the switch and letting the machine buzz to life.
Her eyes flicked to mine. A beautiful smile that covered half her face, and I was tempted to kiss her. To feel her lips on mine again. I cleared my throat, blinking away that memory, and then tried my hardest to be professional.
“Tell me if it gets to be too much,” I murmured.
“I will.”
The first lines were clean and steady. My hand didn’t shake, even though my heart fucking did. I walked her through everything. How the needle would feel, what the vibration would be like, and how to breathe through the sting. She never flinched. She just watched me do it. Each step.
Halfway through, I glanced up. Her lips were parted, her eyes watery.
“You alright?” I asked quietly.
“I’m good,” she whispered, breath catching just slightly. “But you definitely weren’t lying about liking to cause pain.”
I could tell it wasn’t the pain getting to her.
It was something else, something in her head I recognized all too well.
And I knew. I could lie to myself all I wanted, tell myself I didn’t need more.
That I wasn’t a selfish bastard for craving her like this again.
But none of it mattered. One night was never going to be enough. And we both knew it.