Page 88 of Damnation
“I’m s-sorry, I…I’m sorry you’re feeling like that, I know this isn’t easy for you. None of what you’re experiencing is easy. So if you need more time, I get that.” I twine my fingers with his and raise myself up on my tiptoes to plant a kiss on his lips. “Take all the time you want. We can stay here, or if you’d like, we can walk or just drive around… What I’m saying is that I’m with you. Completely at your disposal.”
He presses his forehead to mine, wrapping an arm around my waist. “Completely at my disposal, eh? I’ll have to keep that in mind…” He lifts the corner of his mouth. It’s the suggestion of a smile, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Before I go, there is someone I’d like to see.”
“Who?”
“Ryan, Miranda’s son,” he explains as we start walking again.
“Miranda said you guys grew up together; is that true?” I ask.
He nods. “His uncles were our neighbors. For a while, Miranda, Gerald, and Ryan lived with them. When I was a kid and my father would come home drunk, I’d go out and sit on the porch steps to avoid listening to the screaming. I’d always see him there on the other side of the fence, determined to play with this deflated ball. I didn’t realize it then, but we were both looking for a quiet place. Me, to get away from my father, him from his huge messed-up family. The first time we ever spoke to each other, I was watching him try to play with that ball for the hundredth time, and I decided to throw mine to him. We started passing it back and forth, and ten minutes later, we were friends. From that moment on, we were inseparable.”
“Then what happened?”
“What happened was that I left.”
“And you haven’t heard from him since?”
He shakes his head. “No, I left without even saying goodbye. Chickenshit move, I know, but it was for the best. Or at least it was best for me. I never really tried to put myself in his shoes. I was sure he’d understand. He knew about everything that I was going through, because he was having a hard time too. And he knew that I’d been toying with the idea of leaving for a while, but the way I just left him behind along with everything else…” He glances around. “Well, I’m not proud of it.”
“I’m sure he’ll be happy to see you.”
“Sure, probably. But that won’t stop him from giving me a good belt in the face for disappearing on him like that. Of course, then he’d offer me some ice for the bruise and a beer,” he says, looking amused.
“Should we call in reinforcements?” I answer in mock worry.
“Nah, he’s a gentle giant, incapable of holding a grudge. Just like me, right?” he teases with a sideways glance at me.
We walk a couple more miles before stopping in front of a closed tattoo parlor. Thomas puts his face close to the window, and using his hands to shield his eyes, he peers inside.
“It’s Sunday; they’re closed. We can try again tomorrow.”
But it’s like talking to a brick wall. Thomas starts knocking on the glass, and I roll my eyes, shaking my head. Does he ever listen to anyone in his life?
“See? I told you, it’s closed,” I say again, folding my arms over my chest and shivering a little bit from the cold.
He shakes his head, unconvinced. “I know him; he’s definitely in there sleeping.”
I raise my eyebrows and get closer to the door as well. “Sleeping? At work?”
He nods. “This is my uncle’s shop. I told you about it, remember?” He looks at me, and I confirm with a nod. “He hired Ryan on to workfor him a few months before I left, and I remember that he’d always rather nap in the stockroom than go home.” He knocks again.
“He doesn’t like his house?” I ask innocently, peering inside.
“His ‘house’ was a filthy room in the disgusting motel where his mom worked.”
That stops me in my tracks. The motel he mentioned to Miranda earlier? The one where they had “a little problem with the tax man”? “Whoa, what a situation…” I mutter with a grimace.
“You have no idea.” Thomas is now banging his fist continuously against the window. Then, a tall muscular figure with electric green hair shaved into a mohawk appears. He’s got tattoos all over, even on his face, and when he moves to open the door, I instinctively step back, alarmed.
“Don’t you know how to read a fucking sign? We’re closed…” he shouts, slamming the door open with a bang, but the rest of his sentence dies on his lips when he realizes who is standing in front of him. His eyes widen and he shakes his head in shock. “Holy shit…”
Thomas and Ryan just stare at each other, neither saying a word. Thomas rubs a hand over his chin and looks him up and down. “Huh. I thought it’d be worse. You still dress like a drug trafficker, and I remember the hair being longer, but on the other hand, I see that you’ve still got all your teeth. So that’s something,” he teases.
“You ugly son of a bitch! You roll back into town after more than a year, and you can’t even give me a fucking warning?” For a second, I’m afraid that a fist is actually about to hit my boyfriend’s beautiful face, but then Ryan’s chiseled features soften, giving way to a warm smile. He gives Thomas a big hug, patting his back.
“You know I love a surprise,” Thomas answers, returning the clasp. I observe this moment from a few steps away, as though I am watching it on TV. I notice how alike they look: the same height, strong physiques, their tattoos like a second skin, and both of them exude a dark allure that can inspire awe at first glance. But unlike Thomas, who only wears a couple of thick-banded rings and his brother’s bandanna on his wrist, Ryan has thick chains around his neck and matching metal bracelets.
“What happened to you, man? We thought you’d gone missing!”
