Page 83 of Falling for my Brother's Best Friend

I inhaled deeply, and he tossed his sketchpad on the bench, rolled up between my legs and placed his large hands on my thighs. My blonde hair had fallen like a veil on either side of my face and tears threatened to fall.

“Sorry, I just wanted to get a feel for what you were looking for,” he said. “I promise I’ll never ink anything unless it’s perfect. You can trust me.”

I stared into his blue eyes that nearly matched my own. They held sincerity and empathy and kindness. I believed him, and the scared little girl crawled back inside. “Thanks.”

“Give me five minutes. I have something in mind.”

“Okay, I’ll just come back?”

He laughed. “No. You can just sit there and wait.”

He grabbed his sketchpad again and propped his ankle on his knee. Five minutes later, he hopped up alongside me. Thigh to thigh, upper arm to upper arm, and handed me his sketchbook.

I looked at the drawing of two blackbirds flying away. One larger than the other but practically side by side. My mom and dad used to play The Beatles song “Blackbird” all the time. It was one of their favorites. It wasn’t their wedding song but over the years it kind of became their song and my dad would always try to buy my mom things with blackbirds on it—greeting cards, tea towels, paintings. Liam must’ve remembered. A tear slipped off my cheek, blotting the perfect picture.

“I’m so sorry.” I wiped at it, but that only made it worse.

“It’s okay.” He took it from me, but I couldn’t take my eyes off it. “So is this good?”

“Yeah. I love it.”

He hopped down. “If you have any hesitancy, I can keep working. It doesn’t have to be done tonight.”

“No, I really want it.”

He smiled again. A perfect mouth full of straight white teeth. “Perfect. Where do you want it?”

I cringed, and he tilted his head. Hopping off the bench as well, I pointed at my hipbone but inside, closer to my private area. He nodded, but I saw his Adam’s apple bob.

“If you’d rather someone else do it, I understand,” I rushed to say. “You’re my brothers’ best friend and all.”

“No.” The word croaked out of him. “I’ll do it.”

“Great. I hoped it wouldn’t be a problem.”

“I’ll be right back. Let me get the stencil done.”

Just as he said that, Rhys came back into the big room. “Getting ink, huh?”

“You can call it a night. I’m going to close up,” Liam said to him.

“Oh.” Rhys looked at me. “Oh. Gotcha.” He went to the front desk and returned a second later with his coat and backpack. “Have a great night, you two.” He winked just like he still does.

I laugh now, remembering how uncomfortable I felt in that moment. As though Rhys would spread gossip that I was sleeping with Liam. I wondered how that would look. What my family would say.

I remember how Liam came over with a partition and laid out everything. “Now’s the time for you to strip down. We can do this two ways. You can take off pants off completely, or you can lower them to your knees. Your choice.” He looked nervous. The tips of his ears were pink, and he kept dodging my gaze.

I lowered my pants to my knees and laid on the table as he directed. Liam did all the prep work, put on gloves, and applied the stencil. After I approved the placement, he slid forward and one hand reached out to touch my hipbone. I retracted slightly.

“Last chance?” he said.

I shook my head. “I’m good.”

The music over the speakers changed and Counting Crows, “Colorblind” came on. Between the buzz of the needle, Liam’s hands on my body, and the lyrics to the song, tears leaked from me like drops from a faucet. Slow and steady and consistent.

Liam said nothing, allowing me to have my moment. His hands were steady on my bare skin, and he didn’t feel the need to fill the silence with words. He didn’t assure me that things would get better. He was just there, and it was the first time since my parents died that I felt some sort of acceptance creep in.

He finished, and I missed his presence as soon as he rolled away. He wiped the tattoo one last time and held up a mirror for me to look at it. I could have stared all day.

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