Page 8 of Wish

I was older now. Smarter. These guys weren’t immature barely sixteen-year-olds with shit to prove.

“No, we’re cool,” someone said, and then the swimmers dispersed, the confrontation over.

I wanted to deflate in relief but didn’t allow myself, glancing at Rinkin instead, who felt my eyes and rotated his head to glare at me. I held firm, showing not one ounce of the anxiety coiled inside me. I stared unblinking, letting him know I was not at all the weak link he assumed.

“This isn’t over,” he murmured, lips barely moving with the threat.

I remained rooted in place until he slammed the locker, snatched his bag, and stalked out.

Only then did I let out the shuddering breath battering my lungs. The confrontation was over. For now.

2

Max

Meet us at Shirley’s.The text vibrated the phone lying on the tray a few feet from my bent head.

I gave it a cursory glance, which turned into a double take when I saw the name flash across the screen.

“Give me a second,” I said, pulling away from the person I was working on.

Trading the tattoo gun out for the phone, I tapped out a rapid reply.Why?

The little bubble with the three dots popped up and then disappeared, then popped up again. Damn, was Jamie writing a novel?

Fucking Jamie.

Dude acted like we were bros. FYI, we weren’t. I just kept an eye on him because he hung with Wes. With all of them. I didn’t have friends. I had enemies and family.

Guess which group was bigger.

The third time the little bubble disappeared, my annoyance was replaced with worry.

What’s wrong?I typed out impatiently, then added another line.Wes?

“Is everything okay?” the guy in my chair asked.

Edgy, I swiped away from the text to pull up the map, checking the blue pin’s location. Wes was at the pool. Swiping that away, I checked my messages again, double-checking there weren’t any I missed. There weren’t.

Jamie’s reply finally came through, but I was already ripping off the gloves, tossing them into the trash, and signaling to Nash, my mentor who ownedBadAss Tattoos,the shop where I apprenticed thirty hours a week.

“I need you to finish this,” I told him, spinning away from the tattoo I’d been working on.

“Sure,” Nash replied, and anything else he said went unheard as I shrugged on my leather jacket and grabbed my helmet.

“Hey!” a frustrated voice called out behind me. “We were in the middle of something.”

Hand on the doorknob, I flicked a glance over my shoulder at the client I’d been working on. “The design is done. Nash can finish shading it in. I have somewhere to be.”

He didn’t look too pleased, but I didn’t give a shit. If he didn’t like it, he could find someone else to do his next ink.

I was halfway to my Harley when my phone finally buzzed again, but the answer didn’t make me any less worried.

He’s fine.It took Jamie that long to reply with two words?

What happened?I pressed.

I’d fucking told this brat to stop hanging with his so-called friends. They were nothing but drama magnets. Ever since Wes started hanging out with them, I never got a moment of peace.

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