Page 8 of Saint
“There’s nothing to apologise for, Noah. I think you needed that, and I’m honoured that I could help. Now, how about we get some food cooking. One thing you’ll learn about Saint is he turns into a grumpy bear when he’s hungry.”
“Hey, I heard that.” Saint’s voice is closer than I expect it to be, and I jolt away from Robin, dashing the stray tears from my cheeks. “When’s it going to be ready?”
“See what I mean?” Robin chuckles, shaking his head at his son. “Would you like to help, Noah?”
“I can’t cook.”
“Then it’s a good job I can, and I’m happy to teach you. I could do with a helper around here. Kip is more a hindrance, making such a mess. I’m sure he does it so I won’t ask him.”
Which is how I’m now listening to his instruction on how to slice and dice vegetables. I’m sure I’m doing it wrong and taking too long, but Robin doesn’t rush me or berate me for doing it wrong. I’m enjoying myself, happy listening to Robin ashe chats away, telling me about Saint as a teenager. By the sound of his grumbling, my new boss isn’t happy with it, but it’s light-hearted.
The front door opens, and a loud voice calls out that he’s hungry. I glance nervously at Robin, then at Saint. They’re both smiling at the approaching footsteps.
“It’s Knox,” Saint tells me. “He’s the manager of Dad’s gym and totally incapable of feeding himself. He comes home for his dinner most nights of the week. Lazy bastard.” The last two words were aimed at another beautiful man, not as good-looking as Saint but still very handsome.
I push the thought of how gorgeous my new boss is away. That’s not something I should be thinking. I know that he’s gay, he’s mentioned it in many of his magazine interviews, and it’s on his website. It’s another reason I wanted to work for him. I’ll be safe there.
My sex life is almost non-existent, a few hand or sloppy blowjobs in the back of a gay bar doesn’t make me experienced. The need to lose my virginity has never been at the top of important things to do. Sure, I’ve had plenty of offers, but I don’t want to lose it in a bathroom stall or in a bed that I’m not welcome to stay in.
I step next to Saint as the new member of his family strides into the kitchen. He immediately hugs Robin and kisses his cheek before hugging his other father. When he turns to me, he smiles. “Hi, you’re new.”
Saint gives me a look that seems like he’s checking if I’m okay. “This is Noah. He’s going to be working with me at the studio. He’s got awesome talents. It’s going to be exciting.”
“That’s cool. Hi, Noah, don’t let him boss you around.” He slugs Saint on the shoulder. “What’s for dinner?”
After that, the room becomes much louder and busier. When Saint leads me to a chair at the huge, wood table, I sit and watch, listening to the banter, the jokes, and the jibes they throw at each other. There’s so much love in the room, making my heart heavy. It’s like a sit-com family, they’re all good looking and fun. It shouldn’t be real. There has to be a catch, right?
The chili is delicious, and I’m encouraged to have seconds and to have as much of the garlic bread as I want. Soon, the dinner is over, and I look over to Saint. He hasn’t mentioned or asked about me staying here. Or his dad said no when they were still out in the hallway.
Saint stands up and looks at me. “Can I have a word, Noah?”
“Um, sure. Excuse me,” I say to Robin and Kip. I can feel all three pairs of eyes on my back as I walk out with Saint. “My bag is in your truck. If you get it for me, I can be out of your way. Please say thank you to Robin for making me so welcome. You have a wonderful family, Saint. I’ll be at the studio at ten o’clock.”
Saint stands up to his full huge, well over six feet tall height and crosses his arms over his chest and scowls. It’s a great scowl, and I wonder if he practised it in the mirror to perfect the look of intimidation. “You are so like I was. You expect the worst in every situation. I can put that down to the hard knocks you’ve had all your life. But that stops now. You are liked here. I think my Pops has got you in one of the spare rooms already. I would like you to stay with them for a while since this place is food for the soul. And I think you could use a little of that. You can call me selfish, if you want, but I want you at your best when you’re working. I don’t want someone that’s sleeping rough when you tell me you’re at a B&B.” His expression turns softer, and a tinysmile lifts one corner of his mouth. “Because I think that’s what you’ll do. Am I right?”
I know I can’t lie to him. He’d let me go before I even picked up my gun and ink. “Yes, I’m sorry.”
“Thank you. Now, I’m going to get your bag, and you can stay here. I’ll pick you up in the morning.”
It looks like I’m staying, and for the first time in I don’t know how long, I feel safe.
I look over the divide between my workstation and Noah’s. He’s been here two weeks, and I’m impressed with his work. And from the sound of things, so are his clients. It’s not just his work, he’s friendly and forthcoming, chats, and has a joke as he works. He fits in perfectly. But today is different, he’s quiet and hasn’t spoken to his client at all.
“Noah, are you okay?” I can see he’s paused and is staring at the piece he’s working on.
He looks up, startled. “Hmm? Um, yeah. I think so.”
I tap my client on the shoulder. “Gimme a minute, Grant.” I pull my gloves off and stand up. “Let me have a look.”
When I walk around the unit into his, I can see what he’s doing. I’m not easily surprised by a client or a tattoo, but this one is unusual. The customer is a young woman, in her mid-to-late twenties, and apart from the ink Noah has put down so far, her skin is clear of any other ink. The work is a butterfly over her chest. I can see the concern. This woman has had a double mastectomy and is now crying quietly, her raised arm covering her eye as she sobs.
“Hey, you’re okay. You’re doing an amazing thing. You’re so brave and strong. Noah is doing a beautiful job.” And it’s true,the body of the butterfly is over her sternum, and the template of the wings covers her skin up to her collar bone and over her ribcage. I motion for him to come away so I can talk to him.
“I don’t know how to stop her crying,” Noah whispers. “I can’t do it if she keeps moving.”
“I think she needs you to talk to her, tell her what you’re doing, what colours you’re using. Ask her how she’s doing, maybe let her tell you her story. Because, Noah, this is something cathartic to her. It is part of her healing process. Put yourself in her place, would you want to be ignored?”
“I don’t know what to say. I’ve never been around someone like her. I mean she’s amazing and so brave, but her crying scares me.”
