Page 46 of Fifty-Fifty

“Huh?”

I roll my eyes. He’s had one beer and already seems drunk off his ass. What an idiot.

Slater releases a sigh before pushing off from the table and standing. “Come on, I gotta go, too.”

I watch as they both head to the tall blue porta potties tucked away in the corner of the festival. The pie swirls in my stomach the entire time.

“So what’s up, man?” Shane asks, obviously taking advantage of our moment of privacy.

I shrug. “Nothing. You could’ve told me you were coming, though. That was a pretty shitty surprise. Just sayin’,” I add before lifting a bottle of pale ale to my lips and taking a swig.

He shakes his head. “I did! You stopped answering your damn phone anytime I’d call! What’s gotten into you? I thought you’d be stoked to see a few familiar faces after spending so much time out here in the middle of nowhere.”

Rolling my head back and forth on my shoulders, I say, “I know. Things… I guess they’d gotten busy or something. I’m sorry.”

Shane accepts my apology with a soft nod. “It’s all right. You had me worried, though. To be honest, I’m still worried.”

I release a deep breath. “And why’s that?”

“Because you’re not acting like yourself. Hell, you’re not sounding like yourself. You’ve changed. It’s like I don’t know you anymore.”

“Seriously? Don’t you think that’s a little dramatic?” I scoff.

He shakes his head, his eyes portraying his sincerity. “Not really. The guy I know would’ve leapt at the chance to open the shop. He would’ve sold his soul for the opportunity, a little bed and breakfast in the middle of nowhere be damned.”

My hand rubs against my face roughly. “Yeah, well. Shit got complicated.”

He quirks his brow. “And?”

“And…” My voice trails off. I have no clue what I should say.

Hastily, Shane slides off his leather jacket and rolls up the sleeve of his Henley. He points to a shitty tattoo of a skull and crossbones, nearly shoving it in my face.

“Do you see this?”

I don’t need to look at his arm to know what he’s talking about. “Yeah.”

“Do you remember what this is?”

My voice cracks. “Yeah.”

“Do you remember who put this on me? Who marked my skin?”

I blink as my breath gets shallow. “Yeah.”

“Who? Who did this?”

“Me,” I croak.

“And why is this damn tattoo more significant than any of the others you’ve ever done?” he pushes, looking me straight in the eye.

“Because it was my first.”

He nods. “Damn right it was. And what did you tell me as soon as you were finished screwing up a perfectly good patch of skin?” he adds sarcastically, while barely being able to contain his grin.

I chuckle as the memory hits me before turning somber. “I said that leaving my mark on someone is the coolest feeling in the world.”

“Then what?” he pushes.

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