Page 120 of So Wild

Scott grinned. “No problem. Well, our beers are empty and if we keep going, one or both of us is going to spew—should we head home?”

“Yeah,” Toby said glumly. “Hopefully my parents haven’t chucked all my stuff onto the lawn. They’re so mad at me.”

“Because you wouldn’t let them kill the puppies?”

“Yeah, and because I work as a PA instead of at my dad’s accounting firm, and because I don’t have a girlfriend from church. But mostly because they can tell I’m not religious, anymore.” Toby gave a long hard sigh. “I just need six months. Six months, and I’ll have enough money to leave home.”

Scott stared at him. He and Toby had something in common—an unfair obligation to a shitty family. “What do you say you come crash at mine? I’ve got a spare mattress no one’s using.”

Toby blinked at him. “Are you sure?”

“Of course, lets both just put off the inevitable for a few more hours.”

“Sounds great to me!”

A ten-minute Uber ride and they were back at his apartment. Scott struggled with the front door but when he finally managed to unlock it, he showed Toby into the lounge. “Feel free to have a shower or a tea, or something.”

But Toby wasn’t listening, he was staring at his drums. “You play?”

“Yeah,” Scott said, as he struggled out of his jacket. “Do you?”

“No, but I’ve got a guitar at home…” Toby gave him a shifty look. “Do you want to jam sometime?”

For the first time in hours, Scott legitimately stopped feeling a cramped sense of panic and despair. “Not now, I think the neighbors would throw us out a window, but we could tomorrow, if you like? I don’t have any plans.”

“What about Fadeout Festival?”

Fucking hell, Fadeout Festival. He’d forgotten about that. He’d planned to go and support Sam but now, after everything that happened, he doubted she wanted to see him there. And even if she did, what if he distracted her? He knew how badly she wanted to win.

“She’d want to see you,” Toby said. “I know she would. Let’s just go together, get a coffee on the way in and go.”

“I don’t know. I’ll think about it and see how we feel in the morning.”

Toby winced. “Yeah, how are we going to feel in the morning?”

“Fine if we take a couple of aspirin and drink a bottle of water. Come on, I’ll show you the spare bedroom.”

As he led Toby to the back of his apartment, Scott pictured himself at the festival, standing by as Samantha did her work. He wanted to be there, but he wanted a lot of things—a kind father, a living mother, a personal history that didn’t include the phrase buy­scott­sanderson­aroot.com… That he loved her, he was certain, but did he have a right to love her? To impose himself on her after what his father had done? He laid down on his bed and watched the room tumble and turn around him, hoping the morning would bring an answer.

Chapter 22

Fadeout Festival washeld in Melbourne’s exhibition center, one of the largest entertainment venues in the city. It sat beside the innocuous-looking Yarra River, whose toxic depths locals knew never to dip a toe in. The entire festival lasted a weekend and encompassed hundreds of tattoo artists, stalls and demonstrations. In spite of this, everyone knew what the biggest and best event was—the ‘Top Tattoo Artist in Australia’ comp. Some people flew in just for the event and when artists said they were going to Fadeout, everyone knew they meant they were watching or competing in TTAA. The prize money was good, the title was great, but the best thing about Fadeout was the exposure—that was if the pressure didn’t go to your head. Careers nosedived over the course of a single afternoon at Fadeout and even promising artists had made cocks of themselves on camera, their sterling reputations never to be as shiny again.

Sam slept badly. Tabby took all the puppies back to her room, and though they were going to pee all over her sheets at two in the morning, Sam decided that it would be a small price to pay for some company. She crept to Tabby’s room and whispered to the dogs. Only the biggest one came to her, a mischievous female with particularly soft ears. Sam carried her into her bed and cuddling her eased the pangs of both nerves and loneliness.

At five in the morning, Nicole had come in, puffy eyed but determined. “I know you can’t sleep either, so I’m doing your hair and makeup. No negotiations.”

“I wasn’t going to negotiate,” Sam said but she let Nicole lead her and her puppy companion to the bathroom all the same.

Nicole wanted to give her French braids ‘to keep the hair out of your eyes,’ but Sam had refused on the grounds she didn’t want to resemble a dark-haired Pippi Longstocking. Also, hair was useful for hiding behind when you fucked something up. Her twin dutifully gave her a blowout and as Nix worked, Sam found herself relaxing a little. They avoided talking about men or tattoos, instead trash-talking The Bachelor and discussing whether they could create a beauty YouTube channel under the guise they were the same person.

When they were both dressed and ready, they went downstairs to triple check the equipment. To their surprise, they found Noah sleeping on the client couch. Nicole shrieked at the sight of him. “What are you doing here?”

Noah leapt to his feet, fists raised. “Oh,” he said, when he saw them. “Morning.”

“What in God’s name are you doing in here?” Nicole demanded, as Sam struggled not to laugh.

“Watching the studio,” Noah said, bending down to collect the battered leather jacket he’d been using as a blanket. “I’m driving you to the festival.”

---