Page 19 of Mating of Convenience
“Shut up.” Raph restarted the game, but I could see the gears inside his head turning as he did so. My words were getting to him—and I started wondering why I’d said anything at all. It wasn’t like I wanted Raphael to get married.
“It’s pointless anyway,” Raphael said finally, eyes fixed on the screen. “It’s not like I can just ask someone to marry me to fool my grandma. This isn’t a movie.”
“Yeah, you’re right,” I agreed. “It’s pointless. You shouldn’t get married because your grandma wants you to.” After all, entering into a marriage wasn’t a step anyone should take without thinking about it long and hard.
I picked my controller back up, trying not to think about the jewelry box sitting in my dresser drawer at home. The jewelry box with the wedding rings inside of it that I had bought just about a year and two months ago, hoping that the omega I loved would say yes when I popped the question.
But he’d broken up with me before I could.
10
Raphael
The first time I saw the omega Conner wanted me to work with, I couldn’t stop my eyebrows from climbing up my forehead. It was rude and I was immediately sorry, but really, my friend should have warned me. Most of the right side of Laurence’s face was scarred, the damage only barely missing his eye. I knew the omegas who came to our shelter had usually been through pretty rough shit, but damn.
“I’m so sorry for staring!” I said once I got my facial features back under control.
“It’s okay,” Laurence said. “Everyone stares at first. I would stare too.”
“I... uh...”
“It’s a burn,” Laurence explained. “I know it looks bad,” he went on, “but it’s what finally gave me the strength to break from my husband, so...” he shrugged. “I’m just glad my kids are safe now.”
I nodded, glancing at Laurence’s file on the desk in front of me. I knew what had happened to Laurence, but Conner had advised me that I should use this first meeting to get to know him--and so he could get to know me. “How old are your kids?” I asked.
“They’re five. Twin boys.” A small smile showed on his face as he said this. It was obvious that he loved his children, even if he hated the man who’d given them to him. My eyes darted to his file again. How old had it said he was? Younger than me, I remembered that much. He must have gotten knocked up as a teen.
“What are their names?” I asked to keep the conversation going.
“Chris and Tyler. They’re my whole life, so please, help me figure this out. I need a job, a place for them to stay...”
“I’ll do everything I can,” I promised, still eyeing Laurence. We were suffering another hot summer day, but he sat before me in a long-sleeved shirt and with a light scarf wrapped around his neck. There had to be something he was hiding. Probably more scars. But why hide the abuse his body had taken when he was so cool about the scar on his face?
I didn’t know him well enough yet to say, and it was none of my concern anyway. I wasn’t his therapist. That duty fell to someone else.
“There’s some welfare programs we can apply to,” I said, trying not to get too distracted. “And we’ll go through job listings together. You’ll be back on your feet in no time.”
“Thank you,” Laurence said with genuine gratitude in his voice. Even as he thanked me, though, I caught him looking at my arm. At my tattoo. I grinned.
“You like it?” I asked. “I used to be a tattoo artist before I came to work here.”
“Did you do that tattoo yourself?”
“I designed it. Do you want one like it? I can draw it for you.” I knew I was supposed to be counseling here, but I could never hide my true passion.
“I don’t know.” Laurence hesitated. “I used to think I wanted one, but...” he trailed off without telling me what had changed his mind, but I could guess. “And anyway, they’re expensive, aren’t they? I don’t have the money to feed my children, forget about getting skin decorations.”
“They’re pricey, yeah.” I almost offered him a discount, but then I remembered that I wasn’t working as a tattoo artist anymore and I had no idea when I would be able to return to that kind of job.
“The scars aren’t a problem, you know,” I found myself saying, the gears already turning in my head. We’d get people coming in with scar tissue every so often while I was working at the studio. My fingers always itched to work with them because I knew it was going to be more worthwhile than inking in my 100th star or heart-shape of the day, but Jared would never let me. The asshole.
I enjoyed doing tattoos because I wanted to help people feel good about themselves and their bodies. What better way to do that than to work on a spot of skin they hated and turn it into something beautiful?
“Do you really think so?” Laurence asked and it took me a moment to remember the conversation we were having before I’d drifted off into thought.
“I know so! I can refer you to a great artist outside of town who’d love to work with you once you’ve gotten a job and saved up a little bit. Let’s work toward that, okay?”
“Okay,” Laurence said, cautiously.
