Page 19 of Unleashed

Instead of scolding me, she says, “Then make sure yours wins the role.”

I laugh because this can’t be my mother. “What the hell? I had the lead role, but she fired me.”

“Try again. You can’t give up. Even if you’re not together, put yourself back into the running.”

Speechless, I stand in Amos’s small yard and gawk at the empty street. “No way. I won’t do that again. Can you just encourage me to whore it out with one-night stands?”

As the wind ruffles my hair, I picture my mother shaking her head at the ceiling, wondering how the fuck one broken condom over twenty-nine years ago still haunts her daily. “I will not. You gave up too soon. You got her pregnant, Gregory. And then... Did that have to do with your relationship falling apart? That’s the worst time to end a marriage. You both could’ve sought therapy. Not from me, but I know plenty—”

“You’ve got to be shitting me. You don’t even know the half of it, doc. Look, I’m done with the beatdown for today. I’m saving my arguing for Amos.”

“Why? What happened now? You know, you don’t give that man enough credit. He has saved you way too many times to count. Maybe you should return the favor. It’d be nice if—”

“Gotta go. It’s time for your handlers to take you back to your room for your pill now. Bye, Amos Vaughn.” I end the call with my mother and nod at the man and woman passing Vaughn’s yard. His neighbors need to know what kind of psycho he is. It’s a public service, really.

THIS WEEK AT WORK BLEW by in a blur. Sit, stare, eat, and repeat.

Hadley tried to make me laugh. Even Rhonda tried, but I’ve been a distracted disaster since seeing Simone at the meeting on Monday morning. I wavered between staying after work to run into Simone and hurrying to leave to avoid her. So much flies through my mind about what I want to say to her. Nothing good at this point. I returned to Richmond to win her back, but seeing her living and smiling without me provokes resentment.

“You’ve been extra reserved today.”

I shut down my computer as Hadley leans against the doorframe to my dungeon. I shrug, thinking of how offbeat her assessment of me is. “Just tired.”

“So, you won’t go with me to Screaming Ink? I mean, please?”

I bite my lip, thinking of a polite way to escape it. I don’t feel like cheering her on to get inked for our douchebag softball coach. “I can’t. Maybe ask Officer Hot Pants since he’s practically your brother-in-law.” I cringe as I stand. Or a definite one-night stand for Simone. If that hasn’t happened already.

“He’s working but said he’ll try to meet me there. I doubt he can, though.”

“You’ll be okay. It’s a simple tat.”

“Like you would know! Maybe you should get one.”

“Of what? Two lips on my ass?”

“The flower?”

I scowl at her as her phone rings. Before answering it, she says, “See you tomorrow.” I hear her going to the lobby. “Hey, Sparks.” He must’ve sensed she was talking to me.

Walking over to the window, I watch cars on the interstate in the distance for about ten minutes or a year. It’s all the same. Daylight is growing longer as spring speeds toward summer. I glance toward the doorway, hoping I’ll run into...

How fucking stupid am I? We were over before we began. What I felt for her was a lie. I can’t keep subjecting myself to this bullshit.

When I get to the parking lot, I notice Hadley’s car is gone. Guilt sweeps through me. I owe her so much, but I can’t even sit in a tattoo joint’s waiting room? That’s the least I can do.

Sighing, I get in my car and head over to Screaming Scrotum or whatever it’s called. Thank God, cars don’t jam the parking lot. Just Hadley’s car and a few others. No cop car, so Ponch must be in hot pursuit of easy ass.

Climbing the handful of stairs, I hear a heavy metal song, and as I open the door, the noise rattles my skull. A tattletale bell clangs overhead, announcing me hitting rock bottom as I enter the lair of doom. Incense or potpourri shit blasts my nostrils and just about throws me to the ground.

Wheezing, I notice displays of piercing options on the counters while tattoo art covers every inch of the room. I swear to Wayne Brady, there’s a Satanic star thing painted on the concrete floor.

A woman with blue, chin-length hair, rocking no less than ten piercings on her face and ears and sporting ink next to both eyes, looks me up and down. Her pierced nipples show through her low-cut crop top. Holy hell. Endorsing the work, colorful tattoos cover her arms. She licks her fire engine red lips as her brown eyes fly over me like one of those laser pointers for cats. When they stop at mine, a slow smile creeps over her mouth, and I fear for my nuts. She reaches behind the counter, and the slasher music quiets somewhat before she purrs, “Hey there. What can I do for you?” Her tongue flashes a silver ball piercing, and I will forever have questions and nightmares.

I try to answer without my voice cracking. “I’m here for Hadley Beckett—I mean, Wilder. She’s getting a tattoo.”

The chick nods as her eyes linger on my crotch. “Finn’s wife. Yep. Ronin’s prepping her. You can go back there to watch.” Her suggestive smirk heats my face, and I glance toward the display of piercing shit.

“I’m not a fan of needles.”

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