Chapter 16
Biology Class
Day 24
“Nice tattoo,” I said, my eyes traveling all over the pink and slightly puffy skin. It was an old car, and honestly, it looked pretty cool—though I’d never admit that to him. “Did your mom take you to get it?”
Without skipping a beat, Dax said, “Nope. Your mom did.”
I whacked his arm while he laughed.
I was so ready for this tattoo.
So.
So.
Soooo.
Ready.
During these past four minutes, it was all I could think about. I kept envisioning a…something…on my arm, just where the sleeve would hit. And that…something…that amazing something would be the talk of the town. It was brilliant, really, killing two birds with one stone. I got to knock fifty hours off of my time, and if my dad happened to see me sporting a tattoo around town before I left, all the better.
Dax had been strangely quiet after my declaration. I had to tell him three times before he showed any semblance of believing me, but when he did, he smiled. He even told me he’d take me tomorrow—if I still wanted to go. Then he handed me back my Legos, completely fixed, and walked off toward his garage.
He didn’t believe me.
“Hey!”
He turned back around, his head tilted to one side.
“I want to go now.”
Still, he watched me, calculating, and I shifted under his stare.
“I’ll go by myself if I have to.”
He didn’t move. I guess I had to show my cards.
“Okay, I’m leaving, then. See you tomorrow, and be prepared to subtract fifty hours, buddy.” My dramatic exit toward the door was halted when I realized my purse was still sitting behind the counter. I stalked back, grabbed it, and was halfway to the front door again before I remembered I needed to clock out. Dax’s eyes trailed me with growing amusement while he held open the door for me to enter his garage.
“I’m doing it,” I told him again.
“I can see that,” came his reply as I stalked toward the calendar. I scratched in 8:00 pm for my time out and was surprised to find my hand shaking.
With excitement.
The lights in the shop went dark. I turned to see Dax waiting for me at the door. He had a bottle of Gatorade in his hands and something else. The warm yellow light from the lobby highlighted his silhouette in a way that had me catching my breath.
“You coming, Caroline?”
A relieved smile crossed my lips.
“Yeah.”
The island ferry was located a few minutes south of Sunset Repairs. Dax didn’t bother to take us in his golf cart, so we walked. The sun had almost met the horizon, and the creamsicle streaks of oranges and pinks lit up the sky. I couldn’t take my eyes from the scene, breathing in the salty ocean air. There was nothing like sunsets on the island.
There was nothing like being on the island.
“Here,” he said, handing me the drink and a granola bar. “Eat this. You don’t want to get a tattoo on an empty stomach.”
“Thanks,” I said, accepting his offering. “Why not?”
“You don’t want to pass out.”
My steps slowed. “Why would I pass out?”
“From the needles? The pain? The smell? Take your pick.”
I didn’t answer him. Because it didn’t matter. Each step toward the ferry brought me more clarity. I had never felt so good about a decision in my life. A tattoo was exactly what I needed right now. Something different, something…a little wild. At least for me. I couldn’t wipe the smile from my face. My heart drummed in excitement. Nothing Dax could say would take that away.
He walked quietly beside me, my steps sure and strong as we made our way down the path. Every so often, my shoulder would brush against his, igniting trails of sparks down my arms.
“Do you want to talk about this rash decision?” Dax asked, slipping his hands into his pockets. His legs kept up with my determined stride easily, as though he were going for a light stroll in the park.
“Nothing to talk about. I’ve never been more sure of anything.” I pointed to the road. “Is that a slug?! ”
We bent down and examined a slimy, brown, oversized worm lounging on the dirt before continuing on our way.
“That reminds me of biology,” I said.
He stopped short while I kept walking a few paces before my body knew to halt.
“What are you doing?”
A wicked gleam crossed his face. “Let’s go grab him. I’ll get a scalpel while we’re out.” He turned around, a man on a mission, striding toward the creature. “I’m adding him to the list.”
He walked three steps before I grabbed his arm, laughing and pulling him back. He resisted only a minute before allowing himself to be guided again toward the ferry ticket counter. After a long moment, I realized my hand was still clutching his arm.
I removed it.
We’d been tracking the ferry’s movements from the road, and now it was almost here. We jogged the rest of the way to the ticket counter. I reached into my purse, but Dax waved me away.
“This one’s on me. I’m just happy to be here.”
For that comment alone, I allowed him to pay for our twelve-minute passage to the mainland.
We boarded the ferry along with at least ten high school kids wearing hoodies and flip-flops with cameras strapped around their necks. It wasn’t unusual to see people on the ferry at sunset, catching the golden hour. We even saw Judge Baylor in one of the seats on the top deck, but he only waved, his crinkly eyes taking us in.
We opted to stand on the deck. The sun drew close to the horizon, almost blinding us with its golden rays spread across the sky. I bounced up and down on my feet, unable to be still. Excitement and determination infiltrated every part of my being. I suspected that getting a tattoo would feel like stepping out of the salon after a bold new haircut. Something different than the way I’d always been. Something to shake me up. I had been one type of person my entire life. But I wasn’t sure if I became that person because it's who I really was or if I became that person because I had to.
Becoming brave and defying the expectations of others was the first step for this recovering people-pleaser.
It was genius.
Unfortunately, the boat was the biggest buzz kill. The leisurely pull and tug through the water was in direct contrast to my bouncing feet and pumping heartbeat. I could have swam faster. I did a few quick right jabs into the air to keep my adrenaline pumping.
This ferry better hurry the freak up, or I might not even want a tattoo by the time we crawled into port.
I was aware of Dax observing me. I ignored his pointed looks and concentrated on the form of my uppercut.
“What are you going to get, Rocky?” Dax asked, leaning closer and resting his elbows on the ship. “A skull? Crossbones? My handsome face?”
I was working on my left hook now. “I haven’t decided yet. Will they have a catalog to look through?”
That brought a smile to his face. “Yup. They’ll have lots of options for you.”
“Great,” I said, going back to bouncing on my feet. “I’m so excited.”
When he didn’t say anything, I added. “Fifty hours down. That should put me at around one hundred and thirty?”
“I guess so.”
“I’m so excited,” I said. Had I already said that?
His eyebrows raised. “You trying to convince me or you?”
Okay, yeah, I had already said that. I smiled brightly. “Nobody. Just excited.”
“You like needles?”
Did I like needles?
Of course not. But right now, I was an unstoppable bundle of adrenaline. I could handle the needles. Women pushed babies out of their bodies on a regular basis. I could handle a needle for five minutes.
“Wait. How long does it take? To get a tattoo?”
Dax shrugged. “Just a small one? I don’t know. Probably an hour.”
I sucked in a breath and paused in my bouncing. “That seems excessive.”
He smiled, and my gaze fell to his arms, currently glistening in the glow of the setting sun. “How long did yours take?”
“Each of them probably took about four hours or so.”
“How did you decide what to get?” I asked.
“Excuse me.” We both turned to see a young girl with blue hair sticking out from under her beanie with an SLR camera slung across her neck. “Are you two a couple?”
I inched away from Dax. “No,” I said. “We’re just fr—acquaintances.” Work associates? Jailbird and warden?
The girl’s brow furrowed, taking us both in with some confusion. “Oh, sorry.”
Dax continued to lean against the railing and smiled at the girl who seemed at a loss for words and not sure what to do.
“Did you need something?” he asked.
She drew in a breath. “My name is Whitney. I’m in a photography club, and I have an assignment due tomorrow. I need to take some pictures of a couple. I thought with the sunset it would be pretty, but…if you’re not…” She trailed off as she motioned to a rapidly diminishing sky of color.
“We can do it,” said Dax, standing up straight and startling me with his direct gaze. “We’re trying new things today.”
“Oh, thank you so much!” She turned and walked a few paces back to get in a better position.
“What?” I whispered to Dax, keeping light on my feet. “No.”
He nodded toward the girl. “She needs help.”
“But I’m…” I wasn’t sure how to express my intense desire to keep up with my constant movements and boxing stance. No, not desire. Need. I needed to be moving right now or else I might lose my nerve. But Dax was already making his way to where she was directing us. I couldn’t say no, especially when it became clear that she needed him to wrap his arms around me. The things we women have to do sometimes.
“This is going to cost you,” I whispered to Dax, my heart secretly thrilled as he pulled me to him so we were both facing the water, my back pressed against his stomach. I didn’t know what to do with my hands, so I rested them on his forearms.
“I should charge you for this,” Dax murmured, his lips somewhere close to my ear.
“Now both of you look off into the distance. Like you're thinking about how much you love each other,” Whitney called out, a few yards away, a long zoom lens covering her face.
Dax’s body tensed as though he were holding back a laugh. I elbowed him in the ribs.
“Um, can you stop moving your feet?” she asked me. “It might make the picture blurry.” My heart sank as I forced my feet to stand still.
“Now, lean in close so your face is touching her cheek.”
“Two hours,” I whispered to Dax as I felt the stubble of his cheeks press against mine while the fire of adrenaline coursing through my body began to burn in a different direction. The slow and easy, white smoke and ember kind of direction—which was unfortunate when my body definitely needed the adrenaline of raging bonfire right now.
“Shh. Think about how much you love me,” Dax murmured.
I opened my mouth to hurl a retort, something witty and sharp, but nothing came out. There were definitely things I could say that would shut him up or, at the very least, make him laugh, but then his arms tightened around my waist and my mind forgot all the words.
“Now, turn to face each other. ”
Dax turned me to face him, meeting my gaze unabashed with those dark lashes framing his eyes.
“Can you put your foreheads together?” Whitney asked, the camera hiding her face. “And um…pretend like you’re laughing at something.”
“No problem,” Dax said, his fingers finding my belt loop and pulling me against his body. “She loves my jokes.”
A smile came unbidden, though I tried to hold it back.
“You are looking at him so cute,” Whitney said to me as Dax pressed his forehead against mine. “Stay just like that.”
I stared up at Dax, amusement etched across his face.
“Shut up,” I whispered.
“I didn’t say anything.”
“Now, put your hands on his cheeks,” Whitney said.
I gave Whitney props for boldness as I placed my hands on his stubbled face.
“That’s good. And then lean in close like you’re almost going to kiss.”
“Would you like her to kiss me? She’d be happy to.” Dax blatantly ignored the stomp I gave his foot.
“No, that’s okay. I don’t want to make it too weird for you. I’ve got a few other poses to try, and we’re almost to the dock,” she said.
“Dry your eyes, Books,” he whispered.
“You sure bring up kissing a lot,” I said, giving him the side-eye.
Before he could respond, our dear, sweet photographer asked us to do the Titanic pose.
“Huh?” we both asked at the same time.
It got weirder from there, so I’ll spare the details, except to say that it took disembarking from the ship and several long minutes later before I stopped feeling the imprint of Dax against my skin.
The tattoo parlor was down a few blocks and one questionable alleyway from the dock. For all the fire and guns I had when leaving Dax’s shop, somewhere along the way, I had lost my steam. Thank you for that, Whitney. The closer we got to the parlor, the faster my mouth seemed to move.
“So have you ever TPed anybody?” I asked.
“Pretty sure nobody does that anymore.”
“Nobody?”
“You were the last rabble-rouser of your kind, Books.”
“It was really fun.”
“I’m sure.”
“There was this one time…“ That was the part where my mouth started saying words, my hands flying every which way.
Very chipper.
It was exciting to do something fun. Out of my comfort zone. I was about to pick something meaningful to me that I would want printed on my body forever. This was great.
“And then I told my professor…”
There I was again. Off on another story my brain wasn’t fully connected to, but my mind was a whirl of nerves and butterflies and pictures of skulls and snakes, and weirdly, Dax’s face.
“And then he was, like, ‘Whoa, you should really eat more cheese.’”
That’s the statement my jabbering ended on as Dax led me to the small black painted building where I would be repeatedly stabbed in the name of art.
“You’re not nervous, are you, Books?” Dax looked suspiciously like he was trying to hold back a laugh. But I couldn’t waste my energy on him because as soon as he opened the door, the smell of cleaner and something else I couldn’t pinpoint hit me in the face. Like a deer in headlights, I stood, gulping down air and momentarily stunned, until Dax’s light hand at the base of my back guided me forward.
“Bravery starts now, Caroline,” he whispered. “You ready?”
“If I do this, you have to start calling me Ivy.”
A smile lit his face. “ If? ”
“When,” I corrected.
He turned and nodded at the pretty brunette with a streak of purple in her hair and a colorful arrangement of tattoos on her neck and arms who was coming to greet us.
“Hey, Dax,” she said, giving him a hug. “Long time, no see. Finally got off that island, huh?”
Dax smiled, leaning in for a quick embrace. “Hey, Jordan. I’m just here for a bit. You guys keeping busy?”
She shrugged. “It’s steady, but not too crazy.” I looked around the room with a critical eye. Several seats were occupied in a large room with a tattoo artist doing their work. Nobody seemed to be writhing in pain, but maybe they kept those customers in a private room. A soundproof room.
She looked at me curiously. “What brings you two in?”
Dax threw his arm around my shoulders. “This is my…acquaintance.” I didn’t miss the look he gave me at that word. “She’s on a quest to find herself and is in dire need of a tattoo.”
“A small tattoo,” I supplied with a tight smile, clutching my hands together so as not to shake. “I’ve already found most of myself.”
“Right,” she said slowly, looking back and forth between us with a confused expression. “Do you have an appointment?”
“No,” I said, trying hard to mask the hope in my voice.
Jordan looked at the clock and then down at her appointment book on the desk in front of her. “Well…”
“I texted Bernie. He said to come in, and he’d meet us here,” Dax explained while I looked at him in surprise.
“He’s back with a client, but he should be just about done. ”
“If you can hook us up with an empty room and a book of options, we’ll wait for him there.”
“I don’t need a book. I want a butterfly.” Goodness. Was my voice always that high-pitched? “A small one. Right here.” I pointed at my upper arm.
She followed my movements. “For a small tattoo, usually you’d want it on a smaller spot on the body, like the back of the wrist or an ankle or something.”
“Oh.” I turned my hand to see the veins and thin skin on my wrist. “Does that hurt more or less than an arm?”
“A little more.”
“We’ll just stick to the arm, then. Maybe one day I’ll come back for a full sleeve.”
I was aware of Dax’s chuckling as Jordan led us back into a private room. It looked similar to a doctor’s office: two chairs against a wall, a large black reclined seat in the middle of the room, and small tables holding tools with wires coming out of them—the needles, I presumed.
Once we were seated and the door was closed, Dax was up again and striding toward the door.
“Bernie texted me to come find him. I’ll be right back.” The door clicked shut, leaving me in silence.
The smell of alcohol in this room made me lightheaded, but I couldn’t stop gulping in the air. There were some other smells too. Maybe a little lemon cleaner? Burning flesh?
No. Not burning. Jabs and pokes–that was all the needles did, just little jabs and pokes. I could do that. I stood up and did ten jumping jacks. The cold, tiled floor pounded at my feet, pumping my blood and giving life back to my veins. I could do this. Tons of people had tattoos. If it really hurt that bad, they wouldn’t go back to get more. This was probably a gateway tattoo for me. I’d love it so much I’d come back every week.
So, I settled in for some intense self-motivational speeches.
“You can do it,” I whispered. Right hook .
“This is for Nashville.” Left hook.
“I’m doing this.” Right jab.
Maybe if I said it with more conviction each time, I’d be so pumped when Dax came back that all the worry would leave my face.
“I’m doing it.” Right jab, left hook combo.
The only connection I had to butterflies was the fact that it was the tattoo the girl got in A Walk to Remember . Maybe I should have done a small book or something? Or a volleyball? A meaningful number sequence? Did I have anything in my life that warranted immortalizing it on my skin? A textbook? A stack of research papers? I didn’t even have a movie I loved enough to use. TV was a luxury a stressed-out grad student could rarely afford.
Butterfly it was.
They were very pretty.
Right jab.
Didn’t most of them have a two-week lifespan?
My hand covered my mouth.
They were probably crazy smart, though.
Left jab.
The door opened, and I had the sudden urge to throw up.
“Good news,” Dax said, stepping into the room. “Bernie’s tied up, but he said I could get you started.”
“What?”
“Get you started.” He said it like it was a no-brainer. Did this happen? Can people off the street get a person started on their tattoo?
My brow furrowed. “You can do that? Do you know how?”
“Yeah, I’ve done it before. I thought you might be less nervous.”
I scoffed. “Who’s nervous?”
He threw me a knowing look before nodding toward the door. “We could wait for Big Bernie if you’d like. ”
Big Bernie. I looked at Dax, taking in his eyes, soft with the exception of the slightest gleam. But I’d witnessed his capable hands do a lot of things with tools. A needle would probably be fine.
“No. I’ll take you. I’d prefer punching you over Big Bernie if the pain gets too bad.” I shook out my hands, trying to rid them of the shakes before sitting on the…operating chair? Was that what it was called?
“The tattoo is small, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Does it hurt?”
“Not as bad as you’re probably imagining. Lie still.”
“I’m imagining a thousand knives stabbing my arm at the same time.” I covered my eyes with my left hand. I didn’t want to see any of the tools he’d be using.
“That’s pretty close.”
“What?” I unhid my face and turned to him.
He met my gaze with an almost sympathetic grin. “Not that bad, I promise.”
“How did you pick your tattoos?” I asked, needing a distraction.
The rolling stool next to me squeaked as Dax sat down at my right side. The idea of him so close made me glad I hadn’t picked a more risqué part of my body to ink.
“All of my tattoos mean something,” he said. “Kind of like how butterflies are so special to you.”
“Shut up,” I whispered.
I went back to hiding, my body stiff as a board as the sound of movement from his chair inching closer to me elevated my heart rate.
Dax wiped something cold on my arm, the smell of alcohol suddenly filling my nostrils and making the room swirl.
“Take a breath,” came his low voice .
I concentrated on breathing, slow and deep through my nose.
“You ready?” he asked.
I nodded, saying, “Do your worst,” in all my dramatic glory, attempting to tamp down the dry heaves threatening to overtake my body. I then squeezed my eyes shut and braced myself for the pain.
“Fifty hours, fifty hours, fifty hours, fifty hours,” I whispered under my breath.
The very picture of cool and calm.
Something cold and wet pressed against my arm again. Another alcohol swab? This place was very sanitary. Which was good. Great. The last thing I needed was some sort of infection. But my adrenaline was back, and I was ready to be stabbed. Time to get this over with already.
But Dax didn’t swirl the alcohol swab. He kept it firmly pressed against my upper arm.
“Is this…to numb the spot or something?” I asked, my eyes still closed and my body tense. If it was, I wanted ice. A cold rag was not going to cut it.
No answer.
Finally, the pressure eased, and the cold left. I opened my eyes in time to watch Dax peel off the back of a temporary tattoo.
“I couldn’t find any butterflies in the stack of press-ons they sell up front, but I thought this one fit you pretty well.”
He leaned in closer and blew his cool breath across what looked like an open book with a vine of flowers coming out of the spine. In confusion, I blinked up at him.
“This is now worth twenty-five hours, Books.” His lips held a ghost of a smile even as he tried to look serious. He held up a stack of identical tattoos. “I’m buying more so we can keep applying as needed. You have to wear it until you go back to Nashville, and it has to be visible every day for this to count. ”
For a moment, I lay stunned while my mind caught up to what had just happened. He had given me a fake tattoo. And it was beautiful–exactly the kind of thing I would have chosen if I had actually wanted a tattoo. How did Dax know?
One gentle finger brushed my chin, turning my face toward his as he spoke. “Lesson number one in bravery, Caroline. Never let anyone talk you into doing anything you don’t want to do. Tattoos are something you need to think about for longer than a minute, and you should never make a decision like that when emotions are high.” He leaned closer and waited until I looked him in the eye. “You don’t need a tattoo to be brave or to stick it to your dad. And I’m not making you get one for our deal.”
He was saying words. Sweet words, even. But all I could feel was the light touch of his hand on my face and the sudden relief coursing through my body. A breath expelled from my lungs while the tightness in my bones slowly melted away.
When I had collected myself enough to speak, I asked, “Does Big Bernie actually work here?”
“He’s my tattoo guy.”
“Did you plan this the whole time?”
“Yeah.” He said the word so matter-of-factly I felt like an idiot to have been so duped. “People usually have appointments scheduled for weeks in advance to get into this place. I texted Bernie and told him I wanted to play this out, and he said he’d have a room ready.”
I covered my face with my hands while embarrassed laughter bubbled out of me. And then I sat up, and slid from the chair, hesitating for only a moment before slipping my grateful arms around his shoulders. Maybe I’d get a real tattoo one day. But that day wasn’t today, and for that, I was so grateful.
“Thank you.”
His arms wrapped around my waist, gathering me close, the warm spice from his cologne tingling my senses and the strength of his body holding me upright .
“I was going to do it,” I insisted, my face smashed into his chest. “I want that on record.”
He patted my back, and I could almost feel the eye roll he was no doubt giving me.
“I know, Books. I know.”
Later that night, my song came knocking through the shared wall, loud and clear. Three distinct knocks with some before and after. I still couldn’t place it.
DAX
Any guesses?
ME
SexyBack?
DAX
You’re so bad at this.
Make sure you don’t get your tattoo wet.
ME
I’ve got to be honest. I’m kind of liking this thing. I could be the world’s most intimidating librarian.
DAX
I’m just glad I saved you from a butterfly.
ME
So all your tattoos mean something?
DAX
Yup.
ME
The car?
DAX
Yup
ME
You’re a vat of information.
DAX
You're nosy.
My brother and I loved old cars.
ME
Loved?
DAX
I still love them. Night, Books.