Page 12 of Patchwork
“There you go.” I nod. “How can it be weird when it’s the only thing I’ve ever known?”
Hero grunts in understanding. “Is that why you got into music?”
I shrug, managing to keep the music going through the motion. “Probably? It’s hard to untangle what came first, you know? Before music, was touch just unintelligible noise to me that learning to understand music made sense of? Or did I fall in love with music because it already spoke to those crossed wires in my brain? Or are they two separate things? Maybe I would have been a musician even if my brain was built the usual way.”
I’ve thought about these things on my own for countless hours throughout my life, and I still don’t have any answers. I’m not sure it matters anyway—which came first, why I am the way I am. It’s all just the beautiful chaos of existence.
“What about you?” I ask. “How’d you get into tattooing?”
A grin stretches slowly across his face, and my stomach flutters with happy butterflies. What is it about Hero that’scaptivating the hell out of me? Maybe the answer to that doesn’t matter so much either.
“My Harley came first, actually,” he says, a faraway look in his eyes like he’s remembering a different lifetime. “I was eighteen and I had no fucking clue what I wanted to do with my life. What I did know was that I wanted a bike, so I saved up until I could afford a heap of junk that barely ran. I took her to a local guy who fixed motorcycles and asked if he could help me get her in shape enough to ride. He was happy to help me out and he even wanted to show me how so I could work on the bike myself too, but it turned out he wasn’t the best guy overall. Long story short, I fell in with a bad crowd for a while. Drinking, drugs, partying too much.” He rakes his fingers through his hair and gives me a wry, apologetic smile like he has something to feel ashamed of for having a party phase twenty years ago.
“Anyway.” He clears his throat. “One of the guys in Blazer’s club had a tattoo machine he’d picked up at a pawn shop. After a few shots one night, he asked if I wanted to try giving him a tattoo. And I guess it just clicked. As soon as I had that needle in my hand, I felt like I knew exactly who I was supposed to be. Getting a sense of direction made the partying shit feel kind of empty, so I drifted apart from that whole crew, found a tattoo apprenticeship, and a few years later I met Arrow and the rest of the guys.”
“And you guys opened Ink Slingers together?”
“Opened Ink Slingers, started our own motorcycle club that’s nothing like the hard partying crew I ran with before, and generally stayed way too involved in each other’s lives.”
I shake the loose strands of hair out of my eyes and rasp out a laugh.
“Sounds pretty fucking nice actually.”
“Yeah, it’s not so bad.” The fondness is so clear in his voice that it vibrates through my fingers and into another, sweeter song. “What about you?”
“Less exciting than that. Moved to Seattle, answered an ad for a band looking for a guitarist, and six years later, here we are.” I stop strumming and set my guitar back in the open case next to the bed. I lie down and shimmy closer to Hero, running my fingers through the soft, tangled hair of his beard. “I haven’t been back to Fall Crosse since I was eighteen.”
“You aren’t missing much.” His warm breath ghosts over my face with another bout of laughter. “Don’t get me wrong, I love it there. But I’m a boring old man. There’s not much there to entertain a hot young rockstar.”
“I can think of one or two things,” I flirt, drawing in closer to tease my lips over his in an almost-kiss. “Maybe I’ll swing by Ink Slingers the next time I’m in Wisconsin and see about getting another tattoo.”
“I take walk-ins on Saturdays,” he teases back.
“Would you…” My stomach flutters again nervously and I tug my lip ring between my teeth. “Would you want to see me again?”
There’s a flicker of surprise in his eyes before his expression settles into a smile.
“Yeah, I wouldn’t mind that.”
“Cool,” I murmur, bumping my nose against his.
“Cool.”
HERO
My eyes sting from too little sleep and my muscles ache in the best way. I roll over without opening my eyes and reach for Onyx’s side of the bed. Instead of finding a warm body though, I fist a handful of cool sheets.
I pry my eyes open, hoping he’s just out of bed already. The hotel room is bathed in cloudy gray light and the muffled sounds of morning traffic. His suitcase is gone and so is his guitar. I rub my eyes with the heels of my palms and sigh. Last night was fun. Honestly, the most fun I’ve had in fucking ages. There’s no reason to feel let down that he’s gone now. I didn’t really think he meant it when he said he wanted to see me again anyway. Maybe he will swing by Ink Slingers one day, maybe he won’t. Either way, I won’t hold my breath.
I start to throw the sheets off of myself, but I notice a piece of paper on his pillow. He left me a note? A smile tugs at my lips and my heart beats a little faster as I reach over to pick it up and unfold it.
Last night was amazing.
Underneath that simple sentence Onyx scribbled his name, and beneath that there’s a series of musical notes. Since I don’t read music, they could be anything from the song he played for me last night to the chorus of “Thnks fr th Mmrs.” I carefully fold the note back up, and after I get dressed, I slide it into my pocket.
I need coffee and I need to figure out how I’m getting back to Fall Crosse. Since we were bringing our tattoo equipment, we rented a trailer and all rode to Milwaukee together in a van Jag has been planning to scrap for parts. The damn thing might as well have been held together with duct tape. Scariest half-hour drive of my life. After Onyx and I made plans yesterday, I told them to head home without me, and I’d figure it out this morning.
I pull my phone out of my pocket as I leave the room and get on the elevator. Memories of last night play on repeat in my head, from our heated kiss in this elevator to the hours we spent talking while Onyx played his guitar for me, and every minute in between.
