Page 30 of The Tip-Off
I squeeze once as hard as I can and he chuckles, removes his right hand and replaces it with his left. “On second thought, I better give you my weak hand. You break my right hand and Sara’ll break my other one and then kick my ass.”
His kindness breaks the tension and I give in and look up into his face. I find none of the pity I’d expected. He looks at me like he’s always looked at me. His eyes are a light brown full of warmth or hardness depending on his mood. Right now, they are only warmth as he studies my expression.
“Alright, here we go,” Van says and the sound of the tattoo gun hums to life.
I close my eyes briefly, but Zeke’s voice comes closer. “You got this. Don’t think about it.”
I open my eyes and roll them. Easier said than done.
The first prick of the gun pulls a moan from my lips and I squeeze Zeke’s hand. He returns the pressure and leans down so he’s looking only at my face. I let my lids flutter closed again and try and focus on anything but the sting of pain. It’s not totally unbearable until he hits the first bit of scar tissue. I gasp and Zeke squeezes my hand harder.
“Oh God,” I say quietly.
“Hey, look at me,” Zeke orders.
I do my best to look brave as I open my eyes and stare up at him.
“The clock was the first tattoo I ever got.” His low voice steals my attention and the pain recedes to the background like the hum of the gun. Something about the way he speaks and the look in his eye makes my heart race. “It reminds me that every day, every second counts. Twenty-four hours, eighty-six thousand four hundred seconds.”
“Why six-fifteen?”
He doesn’t answer right away. His jaw ticks and I squeeze his hand.
“That’s what time it was when my dad walked out of my life.”
I try and hide the shock from my face, sure I’m doing a shit job. “That’s awful, why would you want to remember that?”
“Because in an instant, my life changed. So did his. He was a movie director. Is a movie director, I guess. He left when I was eleven. Moved to Hollywood to try and make it big. He succeeded too. He became a hotshot Hollywood director and never looked back. It’s not about the time, though, it’s that at any time things can change on a dime. I don’t want to forget that. Every moment counts.”
I want to ask so many questions, but he smiles at me and I can’t do anything but smile back. He gets it. I’ve thought of him as being someone who doesn’t understand how important it is to seize the day, grab every chance and opportunity by the balls, but that’s not true. He is seizing the day – his priorities are just different. I don’t know if he has it right or if I do, but maybe it doesn’t matter. We’re each living our life focused on what’s important to us.
“All done here,” Van says proudly. “What do you think?” He holds a mirror so I can see the words now inked onto my skin forever.
“I love it.”
14
Zeke
Gabby metme at the tattoo parlor, so we part ways after we’ve paid and thanked Van. I’d sort of assumed, and maybe hoped, Gabby was planning on coming back to The White House, but she’s not here when I get back and an hour later it seems pretty clear she’s not coming.
Me: Where you at? Gabby with you?
I scarf down my sixth meal of the day as I wait for Nathan to respond. The house is quiet, so wherever the party is tonight, it’s not here and if the party isn’t here then neither is Nathan.
Nathan: Nah, Gabby said she didn’t feel like coming out tonight. I’m at Shaw’s dorm playing video games.
Well, shit. There could be a million different reasons she didn’t feel like going out, but something tells me it has everything to do with the vulnerability and emotion I’d seen on her face at the tattoo shop. She’d been nervous and not just about the pain, but about showing me her scars. And those words she’d chosen to have placed on her body forever,Beauty in imperfection. I can’t decide if it’s supposed to be inspiring or depressing.
I groan into the quiet kitchen. I don’t know if I said or did the right thing, maybe this is all my fault. I brace both hands on the counter and replay the night again looking for some inspiration on what to do next.
The back door opens and Gabby steps through, sending my pulse racing. “Hey.”
“Hey,” I respond, too much eagerness in my voice. I step forward and then force myself to stand still.
“I just need to get my stuff. I left a few things in Wes’ room and they get back tomorrow.”
She disappears upstairs before I can think what to say and is back just as fast and heading to the door without more than a nod in my direction.
