Page 3 of Fox
“No, man, it looks great.” Another laugh escapes my lips as I sit on the stool next to him and admire his work. The lovable idiot has embraced his love of puns, and put a black and gray fox tattoo with the phraseFor Fox Sakewritten around the head on his leg.
I punch his shoulder playfully before turning my attention back to Ren. My eyes soften at the poor girl standing beside the table, trying everything to get Atlas to notice her. But as always, he’s as dense as they come.
“Come on, Ren.” I let out a small groan as I stand up, earning me shit from the other artists.
“Need your cane, old man?” Ash grins broadly as Derek snickers and mentions something about a “Life Alert.”
“Yeah, yeah, you’re older than I am, fucker.” I grunt at Derek and then point to the front of the shop. “Someone answer that fucking phone so that I can wrap Ren up.” Atlas rolls off the bed and launches himself at the shop phone in a way only he can because he’s in his thirties, and when he’s not working orpartying, he spends his downtime engaging in rock climbing and CrossFit.
“Idiot,” I mutter as I smooth theSanidermbandage over Ren’s hip. I glance up and notice that Atlas’ face looks darker than before. An unfamiliar scowl and scrunched brows have taken over his usually goofy features.
“Sup?” I ask once he walks over to me, all his previous lightheartedness gone.
“That was Tony’s attorney. He called to let you know you’re supposed to go to a meeting with him and Janie tomorrow morning.” His usually upbeat and confident voice sounds uneasy.
“What? Why?” Janie and I haven’t spoken since the funeral. Tony’s attorney said they would have Janie sign everything over to me, I would pay her, and that would be that. Why in the fuck do I have to meet with them?
“If you’re taking over ownership of the shop,” Ren says casually as she wiggles her black sweats over her hips before tucking her blonde hair behind her ears. “Then you need to meet with them to complete the paperwork.” Ren graduated from law school about a year ago, and even though we should consult with someone a little more seasoned, she’s been my go-to since Tony’s passing.
“You should go with him, Atlas. You’re the shop’s manager, so you need to be a part of this. Fox, you’re taking over a multi-million-dollar store, and I really think you should call Frank.” Atlas and I both let out a loud groan of displeasure. Richard Franklin, better known as Frank, is the shop’s attorney. He istheattorney to the stars, and Tony kept him on retainer. I’m not fond of the guy, and probably to my detriment, I haven’t been keeping in touch with him over all the legal shit happening with Tony’s will and the transfer of Hel’s ownership. Because, well, I would rather lick between a stranger’s toes than deal withthat dick. But maybe Ren is correct; the last thing I need is to misunderstand something and lose the shop.
“Alright,” I nod as I usher her to the front. “I’ll call Frank today. Now deduct your legal fees from your total and pay the difference.”
My eyes runover my large, tattoo-covered body as I stand in front of the mirror, getting ready for this godforsaken meeting. The designs run from my neck down in multiple styles. I need to find a free place to put something for Atlas. It only seems fair after he got one for me. My left arm is covered in American traditional tattoos, most done by Tony. The right arm, along with my chest and stomach, is all grayscale realism. Skulls, clocks, gears, roses, and the Norse deity,Hel, cover the rest of me—minus the stupid anime cat that sits happily on my ribs. But it’s best not to think about all the memories that surface when I look at my tattoos right now.
I brush through my damp, shoulder-length, dark blond hair and wrap a hair tie around it before beginning my beard care. I’m not like some guys with obsessively manicured beards, but a good brushing and beard oil can be the difference between looking well-kept and like you belong in the wild.
I’m no longer one of those guys with a six or eight-pack. In my twenties and thirties, sure, I was all about the extreme workouts, diets, and the hard body. Now, I have muscle definition in my arms, chest, and back. But if I smack this gut, he wiggles, and I like it. It’s a comfortable body, and I have had no complaints from those I allow to see it.
A beep pulls me out of my thoughts, and I look at my phone to see a text message.
Atlas: Fox, it’s too fucking early and I’m hungover AF *sick emoji*
Me: If you’re not waiting outside my house in 15 minutes, I’m firing you.
Atlas: YOU CAN’T FIRE ME! I DON’T WORK IN THIS VAN!
I roll my eyes at hisThe Officereference. I binge-watch it whenever I feel a little overwhelmed. It’s my comfort show, as Atlas puts it. Maybe it is my comfort show. Who knows? I do feel better when I have it playing. Speaking of, I am going to need it tonight.
Feeling like I need to make a good impression with the lawyers, I put on my only suit, which is the same one I wore to Tony’s funeral. The heaviness of the loss washes over me again, and I close my eyes, and inhale deeply.God, I miss him.I keep waiting for it to get easier, for the wound to fucking heal, but every time I have a moment of calm, it smacks me again.
My phone beeps, and I am thankful for the temporary distraction. I look down, expecting it to be Atlas, but instead, it’s from a number I don’t recognize.
Unknown: FOX FUCKING SIMMONS
Unknown: You fucking brought in Frank?!?
Me: Who is this?
I watch the three dots appear…disappear…appear again…What the fuck? Just send the fucking text!
Unknown: Who is this? How charming. It’s Janie Pierce. Tony’s daughter? You know the one that is GIVING you her father’s company, and you decide to bring in FRANK??? Like I am some criminal?
I rub my hand over my face as I walk through my house and out the door. I can’t wait to walk in there, sign this fucking paper and have Janie “Pain In My Dick” Pierce and her annoying, whiny ass out of my life for good. Every time this woman is around, I age by five years; she’s exhausting oneverypossible level. I try to shake off my agitation and possibly some nerves as I walk down the steps while saving her number to a new contact before responding.
Me: Frank is there so that I* ME* MYSELF* don’t fuck anything up. It’s not all about you, Torch, as much as your stupid followers like to make you believe it is. Also, you are not GIVING it to me. You are giving me the first right to BUY it from you. Shit, maybe you’re the one that needs Frank.
Torch: Fox, I swear to god, if you don’t stop calling me Torch, I’ll castrate you with a spoon! And leave my fans out of this! You’re just jealous that I have a fan base, and you’re like 50 and still tattooing hearts with MOM banners around them.
