Trenton turned on the machine, and then looked at me with a soft expression. “You’re already beautiful.”
I could feel my cheeks flush. When Trenton was sure the transfers were dry and he touched the needle to my skin, it was more of a nice distraction than excruciating pain. Trenton drew, then wiped, and repeated the process, concentrating hard. I knew he would make sure it was perfect. Even though the pain wasn’t as bad at first, as the minutes ticked by, the annoying burning I felt on my fingers each time he began to mark my skin made it very tempting to pull away.
“Done!” he said, barely fifteen minutes later. He cleaned off the smeared ink, revealing the letters on my fingers. The blue was so vivid. It was gorgeous. I faced the mirror, made fists, and held them together.
“Lookin’ good, baby doll,” Trenton said with a wide grin.
It was perfect.
“Damn, that’s badass,” Hazel said. “I want finger tats, now!”
Trenton handed me a few packages of Aquaphor. “Keep this on it. Good shit. Especially for color.”
“Thank you,” I said.
For just a moment, he stared at me as if he really had just taken my virginity. Butterflies swarmed in my stomach, and my chest felt warm. I took a few steps backward, and turned toward the vestibule. The phone rang, but Hazel answered for me.
Trenton leaned his elbows on the counter, smiling at me with the most ridiculous simper.
“Stop it,” I said, trying not to smile back.
“I didn’t say anything,” he said, still grinning like an idiot.
My cell phone buzzed, and then buzzed again. “Hey, Chase,” I said, already knowing why he was calling.
“Mom’s cooking tonight. See you at five.”
“I have to work. She knows I work weekends.”
“Which is why it’s family dinner instead of family lunch.”
I sighed. “I don’t get off until seven.”
“From where? You’re not working at the Red?”
“Yes . . .” I said, silently cussing myself for slipping. “I’m still bartending. I got a second job.”
“A second job? Why?” he asked, his voice full of disdain. Chase was a pacemaker rep and thought he was hot shit. He made good money, but he liked to pretend he was a doctor when, in fact, he just fetched coffee to suck up to the staff.
“I’m . . . helping out a friend.”
Chase was quiet for a long time, and then finally spoke. “Coby’s using again, isn’t he?”
I closed my eyes tight, not knowing what to say.
“Get your ass to Mom’s at five, or I’m coming to get you.”
“Fine,” I said, hanging up and tossing my phone on the counter. I put my hands on my hips and stared at the computer monitor.
“Everything okay?” Trenton asked.
“I just started a huge family fight. My mom’s heart is going to be broken, and it’s all somehow going to be my fault. Cal?” I yelled. “I’m going to have to leave at four thirty.”
“You don’t get off until seven!” he yelled from his office.
“It’s for family! She’s leaving at four thirty!” Hazel yelled back.
“Whatever, then!” Calvin said, not sounding all that upset.
“Cal!” Trenton yelled. “I’m going with her!”
Calvin didn’t answer, instead his door slammed, and he walked into the lobby. “What the fuck is going on?”
“Family dinner,” I said.
Calvin watched me with suspicious eyes for a moment, and then looked to Trenton. “Have you seen Bishop today?”
Trenton turned his head. “Nope. Have not.”
Calvin turned to me. “You really need backup to go home for dinner?” Calvin said, dubious.
“No.”
“Yeah, she does,” Trenton said. “Even though she won’t admit it.”
I couldn’t keep the pleading tone from my voice. “You don’t know what they’re like. And tonight is going to be . . . you don’t want to go, trust me.”
“You need at least one person at that table on your side, and that’s going to be me.”
How could I argue with that? Even though I didn’t want Trenton to see the insanity that was my family, it would be comforting when they inevitably decided that Coby’s relapse and their ignorance of it was somehow my fault. And then there would be the moment when Coby found out I’d ratted him out.
“Just don’t . . . punch anyone.”
“Deal,” he said, hugging me to his side.
CHAPTER EIGHT
TRENTON PULLED INTO THE DRIVE, AND TURNED OFF THE ignition. The last time we were in his Intrepid, Olive was in the back, and I was irritated about being coerced into a trip to Chicken Joe’s. Now an evening with Trenton and Olive in a noisy restaurant sounded like heaven.
“You ready for this?” Trenton asked with a reassuring wink.
“Are you?”
“I’m ready for anything.”
“I believe it,” I said, pulling on the door handle. The door squealed as it opened, and then it took me a couple of tries and a push with my hip to get it to close all the way.
“Sorry,” Trenton said, shoving his hands in his jeans pockets. He held out his elbow, and I took it. All of my brothers and my parents were standing at the open door, watching us walk up the drive.
“I’m the one who will be apologizing later.”
“Why’s that?”
“Who the fuck is this jackass?” Dad said.
I sighed. “This is Trent Maddox. Trent, this is my dad, Felix.”
“It’s Mr. Camlin,” Dad sneered.
Trenton held out his hand, and Dad took it, staring him down. Trenton wasn’t the least bit intimidated, but I was still inwardly cringing.
“This is my mom, Susan.”
“Nice to meet you,” Trenton said, lightly shaking her hand.
Mom offered a small smile, and then pulled me into her chest, kissing my cheek. “It’s about time you visit your mama.”
“Sorry,” I said, even though we both knew I wasn’t.
We all walked into the dining room, except for Mom, who disappeared into the kitchen. She returned with an extra setting for Trenton, and then went back into the kitchen. This time, she came to the table with a steaming bowl of mashed potatoes that she set on a hot pad, next to all the other food.
“All right, all right,” Dad said. “Sit down so we can get to eat already.”
Trenton’s eye twitched.
“It all looks great, Mom, thanks,” Clark said.
Mom smiled, and leaned toward the table, “You’re welcome, so—”
“What’s with all the goddamn formalities? I’m starvin’ here!” Dad growled.
We all passed the various dishes around the table and filled our plates. I picked at my food, waiting for the first shot that would start the war. Mom was on edge, which meant she knew something was up.
“What the hell is all that on your fingers?” Dad asked me.
“Uh . . .” I held up my hands for a moment, trying to think of a lie.
“We were messing around with a Sharpie,” Trenton said.
“Is that what all that black shit is all over?” Dad asked.
“Ink. Yes,” I said, rolling my food around on my plate. My mother was an exceptional cook, but Dad always had a way of robbing me of my appetite.
“Pass the salt,” Dad said, snapping at Coby when he took too long. “Damn it, Susan. You never put in enough salt. How many times have I told you?”
“You can add the salt, Dad,” Clark said. “This way it’s not too salty for the rest of us.”
“Too salty? This is my goddamn house. She’s my wife! She cooks for me! She cooks the way I like it, not the way you like it!”
“Don’t rile yourself up, honey,” Mom said.
Dad slammed the side of his fist on the table. “I’m not riled up! I’m just not going to stand for someone to come into my house and tell me how my wife should prepare my food!”
“Shut up, Clark,” Chase growled.