Page 25 of Betting Blind
The four walls surrounding us are covered with art of all types. Thick tribal prints and floral pieces cover most of the space to my right, as well as cartoon characters and Chinese symbols. The rest of the walls have similar artwork, but I can see the shop owner’s personal touches in the signed band posters tacked between some of the images and the pencil sketches beside them that are autographed with a scratchy, “R.”
Two brown leather chairs are bolted to the floor in front of the wall with the red door and sterile tattoo gun supplies sit on top of a cart behind them.
“Jack!” a man shouts as he opens the red door. He’s covered in ink from his nearly entirely bald head to anywhere that skin is visible. His long red beard frames a big, welcoming smile. “Who’s your lady friend?”
Jack is pulled in for a manly slap on the back that turns into a hug. “Red, this is Cassidy. Cass, this is Red.”
Reaching my hand out for him to shake, I see letters spread across his knuckles that form the word “DEAD” in a bold Old English font.Alrighty then,don’t mess with Red. Got it. “It’s nice to meet you.”
I listen as Red fills Jack in on the newest events in his life. He’s recently had a baby—his fourth girl—and Jack wraps a hand around the proud man’s shoulder, congratulating him before inquiring about Red’s mee-maw. They speak as if they’ve known each other for years, but that isn’t what holds my attention. These two tatted-up, supposedly scary men are having a conversation like one my mother and Deb would have over a cup of coffee!
“Well, come on now! Get comfortable.” He gestures for Jack to have a seat.
“Actually, Cassidy is the one wanting some ink. Isn’t that right, Cass?”
I shift my eyes around the room and fidget with the edge of my tank top. “That’s right. I would like some… ink,” I say awkwardly, and Red slides his eyes from me to a grinning Jack, who’s thoroughly enjoying my torture.
“Is this your first one?” Red asks.
“Yes,” I tell him with pink cheeks.
“Nothing to be embarrassed about! It’s not often I get to be a woman’s first.” He winks at Jack, laughing heartily at his joke.
“Do you have an idea of what you’d like?” I take a seat in one of the leather chairs to contemplate my decision for a moment. If I’m going to mark my body, it should be something as important to me as Jack’s tattoos are to him.
I never had a chance to get to know my father, and if he were still alive today, my life would most likely have taken a much different turn. I may never have met Jack, or ever stepped foot in The Pound for that matter, and the thought of never knowing him unsettles me. I should get something to honor my father’s memory, but right as I’m about to give Red my suggestion, I pause.
Most little girl’s love their daddies, it’s true, but most little girls don’t have to learn to live without them. The scuffed knees he was supposed to be there for, the bad attitudes he was supposed to laugh away, and the tears that would have never fallen had he survived. It breaks my heart that we’ve had to carry on without him, but that wasn’t the life Momma and I were given. We were given each other, and through her own pains and her own disabilities, she has kissed my bloodied knees, laughed at my atrocious attitudes, and wiped tears from my eyes more times than I can count.
She’s the reason behind every ounce of strength I possess.
With my decision made, I turn to Red and we begin fine tuning some designs before applying the permanent image to my skin. I find the man oddly easy to open up to, and I can’t stop myself when I tell him about the accident. Memories I haven’t spoken about in years fall from my lips as I recount the terror I felt that day and how my dad didn’t make it home. Momma was left broken in more ways than one—though her heart, arguably, had been damaged the most.
Jack leaves his spot at the end of my chair to come stand beside me. “I’m sorry,” he says solemnly.
“Truthfully, I’m sad that I don’t remember more about him.”
Red excuses himself to grab something from the back, and I swing my legs off the side of the chair to face Jack. Every word I had planned to give him fails to pass my lips when I turn my face up to his.
“Don’t. Please.”
He tilts his head slightly to the side. “Don’t what?”
“I appreciate what you’re doing, I do. But I don’t need the pity.”
Jack’s arms slowly lower as he takes two careful steps toward me. His dark brows cut inward, forming the start of that classic scowl. “You don’t always have to be a hard-ass you know.”
He reaches out to place his palm against the side of my face, resting his thumb over my cheekbone. His hand is big enough to cover my cheek and still touch the base of my skull with his fingers, and I tilt my head back as every one of the tips tingle against my scalp. “It’s not pity I feel for you, woman.”
“Alright, let’s get this party started!” Red says, striding back into the room with his setup.
Jack slowly loosens his hold in my hair, leaving me hard-pressed to turn away from him. I bring my attention to the final design Red is holding, which lies on a piece of thin, almost transparent paper. “Where do you want it, little lady?”
I’m not sure why, but I turn to Jack. “What do you think?”
He rubs his beard thoughtfully. “What about here?” He points to the middle of my forearm. “It’ll be harder to cover up, but women with forearm tats are sexy as hell.” He winks and it takes maximum effort to keep my eyes from shifting shyly to the ground.
“Then it’s settled,” I agree, turning to Red who begins cleaning the area before gently pressing the paper against my skin. When he peels it back, a purple-inked temporary tattoo sits in its place. My cheeks hurt from how forcefully I smile. Momma’s going to be so pissed, but it’ll be worth it.
