20. Archer
Chapter 20
Archer
I gave partial credit for the sudden influx of new clients to Shane and Mickey, who’d been telling everyone about my shop. Bullseye Body Art was already making a name for itself. And though I wasn’t exactly booked solid or anything, I had a good feeling about the longevity of my business. On days that I had client consults, I made sure to have fresh treats from the bakery down the street. I’d already booked my first repeat client.
It was two in the afternoon and already I’d done a tattoo that morning and wrapped the day up with a consult.
Shane was going to get a sign for the back of the building so the entrance to the shop was easier to find. I told him it wasn’t necessary, but when he got an idea into his head, it was easier to let him run with it.
I still had to put the finishing touches on my sketch for Shane’s tattoo. The hard part had been deciding what to draw. After several different ideas, I’d settled on a sunflower. It fit the theme of his current tattoos, and it was often thought to symbolize generosity. I’d chosen it for that reason, plus the fact that Sunflowers were large and impressive. They had a presence that commanded attention. Much like Shane.
I thought about putting the sunflower on myself to remind me of what I’d had once… because I didn’t expect to get to keep Shane forever as much as I wanted that. If he’d wanted to be with me for real, he ’d have said something by now, wouldn’t he? I still wasn’t sure how Cyrus would take a relationship between us, not that it was any of his business.
I was already asking Shane to risk his friendship with my brother, I didn’t want to come between them for real. Tossing my pencil down, I pushed myself to my feet and refilled my coffee. It was quiet downstairs and would remain that way all night because The Anchor was closed. Which meant it was unlikely that I’d see Shane at all. I knew he’d come if I asked, but I also didn’t want to monopolize all his free time.
The sound of my phone ringing jolted me out of my head and I sloshed coffee on my hand.
“Fucker.” I set my coffee down and wiped my hand on my jeans as I fumbled for my phone. I’d used my cell number as my business number. I figured if I wanted a non-business phone, I could always get a different phone later on if things picked up.
“Bullseye Body Art, Archer speaking.”
“Archer…”
White-hot rage shot through me at the sound of Clayton’s voice.
“You have a lot of fucking nerve, Clay.”
“I’m sorry, okay. I was stupid.”
“Whatever you want, the answer is no. It’s no and fuck you. You ruined my fucking life, Clay. What the fuck, man. You were my best friend.” I hated the way my voice cracked giving away just how much I still gave a shit. The wounds he’d inflicted hadn’t really begun to heal. I thought they had, but the sound of his voice took the strength from my knees and I had to hold onto the counter to stop myself from crumpling to the floor.
“You managed to land on your feet.” Clayton dismissed my suffering, the shit he’d caused, as though it were nothing and no big deal. Clayton had always been like that. If the end result was fine, then nothing that happened before that mattered. I used to find it charming, how he could go with the flow like that, but there was nothing charming about the way I wanted to tear his head off and shit down his neck.
“How fucking dare you. I lost everything. No, I didn’t lose it—you stole it from me. The shop. My fucking income. I had to move in with Cyrus and Marshall.” The one decent thing he’d done was not steal my equipment when he took off.
“Turned out okay, though.” Clayton’s voice wavered.
“Why are you calling, Clayton?”
“I need help.”
I scoffed. “You called the wrong person. You really think I want to help you after all the shit you pulled?”
“Archer, they’re going to fucking kill me, okay. I—I fucked up.”
“No shit. But you expect me to believe someone is going to kill you? I fucking might if I ever see you again.”
“Archer, please!” Only the frantic tone in his voice had me pausing. “I’m not lying. Or exaggerating. I need money or a place to hide. Something.”
I abandoned my coffee on the counter and went to sit in front of the window. “Who wants to kill you and why? Did you rip them off too?”
The silence gave me my answer.
“You’re fucking joking, right? You rip me off. Then you turn around and rip off someone else, and not once did you ever stop to think, gee, maybe this will make people mad? You’re a piece of shit, Clayton.”
“It was a loan shark, okay?” Clayton blurted. “I got a hot tip on a horse and I was going to make a mint, okay? But it didn’t work out. And I lost my shirt. And the more I tried to fix things, the bigger mess I got in, okay?”
“Jesus fucking Christ, Clayton. You don’t do shit halfway, do you? And what kind of money do you think I have? I’ve had to start from scratch.”
“Archer, please.” Clayton was near tears and part of me ached. I’d never heard him so upset, but it all sounded like just another con job. He’d fooled me once already by pretending to be my friend.
“I don’t doubt that you’re in some kind of trouble, Clayton, but if you’d really wanted my help, you should have asked before you cleaned me out and walked away. I have nothing left to give you.” Without another word, I ended the call and blocked the number.
The conversation left me feeling weak and shaky. Had I done the right thing? My phone buzzed in my hand and my stomach twisted until I saw Cyrus’s name flash up on the screen. Relief washed over me so fast I nearly cried. Cyrus would know if I’d done the right thing. It didn’t feel like I had, but that might be nostalgic feelings for someone who’d been my best friend poking at my conscience, making me feel guilt when I had nothing to feel guilty about.
It dawned on me that I’d forgotten to answer the phone when it stopped buzzing in my grip. I quickly called him back.
“Hey, are you busy tonight?” Cyrus asked when he answered.
“Clayton called.”
“That son of a bitch!” Cyrus spat. “Okay, I was going to ask if you wanted to come out tonight, but now you’re not getting the option. I’ll be there in ten minutes.”
“Okay.”
“I’m on my way. ”
I heard Cyrus cover the phone, and there was some mumbling in the background that I couldn’t make out. He must be talking to Marshall. “Archer?”
“Here.”
“Ten minutes.”
Cyrus pulled up behind the bar eight minutes later and I climbed into the passenger seat of his car.
“You look like shit. I can’t believe that little fuckwad called you. What the hell did he want?”
“Money.” I buckled my seatbelt and melted into the seat. I was suddenly exhausted and not at all in the mood to be around people, but I knew I’d be better off if I hung out with Cyrus for a while and let him do his mother hen routine. He’d always looked after me like that. Our parents weren’t the best. They tried, but it was like they didn’t know what to do with a kid once they had it. Let alone two kids. Cyrus had been planned, but I was an accident. Something that wasn’t lost on me.
Growing up, I’d tried to be as invisible as possible. I buried myself in my art and took up as little space as I could manage. Cyrus did his best to make sure I knew I was loved, but it wasn’t his job to raise me—even though he basically did. It was Cyrus who gave me my first sex talk. He taught me to ride a bike. He cleaned the road rash on my knees when I fell off my skateboard.
In a lot of ways, he was more of a parent to me than our parents. Which was probably why it was hard for him to switch from dad mode into brother mode. We’d never had a chance to be brothers.
“Why does dick-face think you’d give him money? What could he possibly need it for?”
A cold shiver tore through me when I recalled the fear in his voice. “He got in deep with a loan shark. Something about horses. ”
“Jesus fuck. A loan shark? Do they even exist outside of like mafia movies and shit?”
I shrugged. “Apparently he lost his shirt and then borrowed money trying to dig himself out of his hole. It’s why he cleaned me out and disappeared. He says they’re going to kill him.” I cut my gaze over to Cyrus and watched the way he white-knuckled the steering wheel.
“Better them than me.” Cyrus looked at me. “I know he’s your friend, and that means a lot to you, but there were a million ways he could have handled his shit, and he chose the way that fucked you over. I’m not inclined to be very sympathetic.”
“Clayton was my friend. And I feel bad for him, but he’s not my responsibility.” I turned away and leaned my head against the window. Saying that out loud made me feel like a monster. Like I was a bad person for not wanting to get involved in someone’s tough situation, even though there wasn’t anything I could do about it.
We were fast approaching Cyrus’s house. In a weird way, it felt like going home. The bar also felt like home, as did the little space above it that I’d been allowed to turn into my own space. But Cyrus’s house felt like home in a different way. In a nostalgic kind of way. Like visiting your parents and enjoying the cozy feeling of being taken care of again, but also liking that it wasn’t permanent.
A familiar truck sat parked in Cyrus’s driveway.
“Shane’s over?”
Cyrus cut his gaze to mine, then glanced away to pull into the driveway. “I thought we could have that movie night we talked about. Marshall is making snacks for everyone and I’m going to take a night off and order dinner. We’re going to watch a bunch of those ancient 80s movies you love so much and we’re going to forget about Clayton and his bullshit. He’s not your responsibility.”
Cyrus parked the car and killed the engine .
“Cy?”
He looked at me and I saw nothing but love and understanding in his expression. No matter what, he’d be there to catch me if I fell. I knew as bad as I had it, or thought I did, Clayton had it worse. He’d never had anyone there to catch him.
“Yeah?”
“Thanks.”
Cyrus’s eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled and he reached over and ruffled my hair. Something he knew I didn’t like, but tolerated because it was him. Today, though, I didn’t mind it. It was achingly normal and made me believe everything was right in the world.
“Get your ass in the house. Marshall is making all your favorite snacks.”
Cyrus got out of the car before me and I followed along behind, quietly reaching for my phone to unblock the number Clayton had called from. My finger hovered over the button, but I didn’t do it. Not yet. I’d unblock him tomorrow. I didn’t want him to call tonight while I was with Cyrus. Maybe it was stupid. There wasn’t anything I could do to help him, but it felt wrong to cut him off like that.
I tucked my phone away and stepped into the house, and was yanked into a hug by Marshall, who wasted no time hauling me into the kitchen and telling me all about the treats he was fixing. His words were going right over my head, in spite of how hard I was trying to pay attention, because Shane was there and I couldn’t kiss him and burrow against him the way I wanted to. I couldn’t reach for the comfort I knew his arms would give me.
Tonight was going to be torture.