Page 46 of Dravin

Coffee seems incredibly normal, especially for us. We’re the antithesis of coffee.

Then again, why be like other people? Why be regular?

Life decided to take thenormalchoice away from us. Normalcy means giving up yourself and giving up on yourself anyway.

Wanting Dravin is not the easy option. Not for either of us. He’s more torn about it than I am. I doubt I talked him into any sense of ease or peace. If we were two people who’d come from different places than we did, without danger dogging our every step, hiding who we really are, maybe attraction could happen how it happens for everyone else. As it is, there is no easy option available. We won’t ever be able to date or flirt or fall gently. For us, it’s a violent sort of passion or nothing at all.

This bath is anything but relaxing and even though the water hasn’t even gone tepid yet, I’m considering getting out and doing something more energetic when my phone rings.

Thinking that it’s Dravin, I pick it up so eagerly from the floor by the bathtub that I nearly drop it into the water.

It’s Tarynn’s number on the screen. I tell myself not to be disappointed. I’ve dropped off the fucking radar the past few days. I miss the women who are starting to feel like a part of my life even though I’ve only hung out with them a few times. I’m so starved for family and they’re so kind that it feels like we’ve known each other for so much longer than we have.

After I say hello, she gets right into something that completely blindsides me. “Does your brother have any allergies? Or health conditions that we might be unaware of?”

“What? I- why?” I need the answer to that fucking stat, and I need people to stop referring to Dravin as my brother. This cover is no longer a good story.

We need to come clean with the club. It’s the right thing to do. Dravin could tell them the truth and explain that yes, we did share a brother between us, and for personal reasons that have to do with why we left, we needed to invent some kind of other life, and this is what we came up with. Whatever he told Preacher that Friday night when he caught us kissing.

“Oh well, he didn’t want us to tell you, but he’s here at Crow’s studio getting his back and uh, maybe a little bit more done.”

“Done with what?” My mind travels quickly. Dravin’s staying above Crow’s shop. As in, a tattoo shop. He doesn’t have a room at the clubhouse yet that I’m aware of. Ionly fucking know this because way back when I first moved into this house, he was trying to get me situated and he was into information overload that I was too bitter and worked up to even process properly. “Tattooed?”

“Yeah.” She makes it sound like she’s personally responsible and wants to apologize to me. “He wanted the whole thing done at once if it was possible. Back. Bum. Upper legs.”

What the actual shit?“Like a bodysuit or whatever it’s called?”

“Kind of. Crow and a few of the other artists cancelled their clients as a club favor and they’ve all been working on him.”

“Atonce?”

“Yeah. For hours. All day. After or during something like that, it’s not unusual for a person to get low blood sugar. We just want to make sure that’s all it is.”

“How is he? What happened?”

Oh my god. I did this. I was the one who taunted him about getting tattoos to blend in with the club back when I was just hurling anything at him to be an asshole. It was easier to be angry than to be anything else.

“It’s nothing dramatic. He’s just a bit shaky. We gave him a bottle of juice and I’m going to go out and get him something to eat.”

“Of course he wouldn’t tap out or let anyone know if he wasn’t doing well. Why on earth would he do that?”

“People actually do this. Usually at conventions and shows or overseas studios, but it’s a thing. There’s a reasonwhy if someone’s getting a big piece it’s usually broken up into sessions.”

“Sorry. I’m just surprised. I’m not blaming you and I’m not mad. Thank you for calling and for caring. I’m coming. I’ll bring something for him. I’ll order it and pick it up and be there soon.” I still don’t have my own wheels, but so what? I’ll have a cab here as fast as I can get one.

“He’s going to be fine. Crow just wanted me to call you and ask about any medical conditions. They didn’t make him fill out the regular forms like they do with most clients.”

“Like what?”

“A heart condition. Diabetes. Allergies. If he’s prone to seizures or black outs. If he has any heart problems.”

“Jesus Christ, what the fuck is happening there?”

“It’s okay. Really. It’s probably just low blood sugar, but Crow doesn’t take chances. He already feels like an asshole.”

Dravin was a SEAL. He did the BUD/S training, and I’ve heard that they basically drown people and resuscitate them. He’s no doubt handled his fair share of pain. He’s covered in scars. He’s been injured before. He’s going to be okay.

There’s no need to lose your mind.

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