Ash (21 page)

I was used to the ugly repercussions of my actions. Once I was fingerprinted, I was taken to Central Booking and processed for arraignment. Shortly after, I was left to stew in a cell for the remainder of day.

I never thought before I acted. I was always too impulsive. It was the very reason I kept getting myself caught up on the wrong side of the law. Regardless of being held accountable for what happened at the McGregor’s, one good thing had come out of it all. Danny would never spend another night under the same roof as that cocksucker.

That was the foundation of my friendship with Danny. I had been there for him all those years ago when he could have easily gone down the same route as his father. For two guys who had suffered at different ends of the spectrum, we had defied the odds and come out the other side.

“So, beer?” I said, trying my best to push the grief to the side.

“I thought you’d never ask,” Danny replied.

We left the bedroom, and a good session followed.

“Do you ever think about the old days?” I asked, and sipped my drink.

“All the fucking time.” He nodded.

“Ever wonder how things would have turned out if we’d never broken free?”

“Put it like this, and I’ve said it many times before.” He smirked. “You’d be doing hard time, and me, let’s just say I’d not have gotten out alive if it wasn’t for you.”

Nothing filled me with a greater sense of appreciation for everything I had in my life. Danny hit the nail on the head. My life may have been messed up at one point in time. Even now, going through the emotional turmoil of grief, I had a lot to be thankful for. There wasn’t a second in my life that I’d change. Yeah, I had made some very bad decisions in my past, but those hard lessons served as education. One part, crazy messed up, the other, the road to salvation.

My family was my deliverance. Everything I’d done and gone through were for them. And now I had to continue down that path, rebutting all temptation to pull me in a direction that would see me lose control.

Marcy was the devil.

I had to be strong for the war ahead.

“You say that about every single one I do,” Tito, my tattoo artist, said, chuckling and rubbing the cleansing alcohol lotion on to my neck.

“This one is a little random,” I muttered, staring up at the lights.

“New lady?” he asked, and sniggered.

“Nah, this is an ode to my boy.”

He took out a disposable razor and removed any stubborn hair that I didn’t get when shaving. “Ah, little Jake. Good choice. But—” He paused. “Every single one you’ve gotten done in the last year has been an ode to Jake and Connie.”

I laughed and shook my head. “Yup, I’ve a trend going on.”

“So it appears to be.” He applied the stencil to my neck. “But I get that this one is a little closer to the heart.”

I’d put off getting the ink done for the past eight months. To me, timing was everything.

“It’s a beauty.”

“I try my best for my clients,” he said, and smiled.

Tito had certainly outdone himself. He always went above and beyond in capturing my vision. This time was no different. The delicately crafted image of a sleeping mermaid embracing a baby had been designed to perfection.

He lifted the stencil and transferred the design onto the right side of my neck. Getting tattoos was never an enjoyable experience. Every single one that I had on my body caused me a little discomfort. Some more than others. I was addicted and a little pain would never kill me.

“You ready?” he asked, setting out the ink caps and applying a little ointment over the transfer.

“Go for it,” I replied, and stared at the wall.

Tito had a light, steady hand when it came to his line of work. It was easy for me to close my eyes and listen to the light buzz of the needle penetrating my skin. It was therapeutic. This was my downtime, while having something significant tattooed into my flesh that would last a lifetime.

“It’s been said that pain is weakness leaving the body,” Tito remarked.

I chuckled. “What else do they say?”

“That time doesn’t heal wounds. It just makes them old enough that you get used to the pain.”

“Ain’t that the truth,” I agreed.

“It’s been a tough year for you, man, but you’ve kept your head above water. That’s got to count for something.” Tito continued the outline.

“Which is why I am here. A reminder that superficial pain is nothing compared to the inner turmoil I live with each day.”

Tito knew where I was coming from. I’d been getting inked since I was sixteen years old. My body had become more than a canvas. It was now a living, walking, breathing reminder of everything I’d gone through in life. All the mistakes, the triumphs, right down to the grief. It was a rite of passage for me, and I had no problem with the scornful eyes of those who didn’t approve.

Two hours later, the work was done.

“It’s a beauty,” Tito remarked, handing me the mirror. “Take a look for yourself.”

I held the mirror up and looked at the beautiful lines and colours of my new piece. I loved it. It represented Connie and Jake’s bond in every way.

“I fucking love it, man.”

“I knew you would,” Tito replied, and smiled.

I settled what I owed and took one last look before walking to the door.

“I’ll see you again before the year’s out,” Tito said, pointing at me.

“You know it. Thanks, man.”

He bowed his head and tipped his proverbial hat at me. “All in a day’s work.”

I left the studio, feeling rejuvenated. I always did after getting new ink. For me, they were a visual display of my personal narrative. If people understood that, then kudos. Of course, many rolled their eyes at me, not to mention their surprise when they learned my line of work. I found it both entertaining and frustrating when people judged me before ever knowing me.

Which brought Sophia to mind.

I was at a crossroad.

On one hand, I was desperate to remain faithful to Connie. A part of me despised the idea that I had been cheating on her. Yet, on the other, I was intrigued by my sudden lust for Sophia. I hadn’t opened myself to anyone like that before, not since being with my wife. Sophia was a stranger, but oddly enough, we’d connected, and that gave me a glimmer of hope. A little something for me to cling on to.

When the night shift came around, I was ready to call in sick. Jake had been difficult and didn’t want to stay at my parents.

“But I don’t want to,” he cried.

“Jake,” I said with frustration. “You know I’ve got to go work.”

“No.” He continued crying. “I want you to stay with me.”

I looked at my poor mother.

She looked worried. “He never does this.”

I nodded, bent down, and took his hands in mine. “Listen, buddy, Daddy will be home in time for breakfast. Okay? Just let me go do my job, and be the superhero you love, huh?”

He sniffled and wiped his hand across his nose.

“Come on, sweetheart. Grandpa wants you to play a game of dominos.” My mother coaxed him from the front door. “Let your daddy get on to work.”

“I don’t want you to die, Daddy,” he said, and threw himself into my arms.

My stomach spun.

“Whoa, what brought this on?” I asked. I glanced up at my mother.

She covered her mouth with a hand.

Jake sobbed into my neck. It took every part of me not to join him.

“Please don’t die, Daddy.” His tears left their mark on my shirt.

“I’m not going to die.”

“But firemen always die.”

The sad look on his face tugged on my heartstrings.

I shook my head. “No. Not always. Where has this come from?”

“I had a bad dream.”

I stood and pulled him into my arms. “I promise you right now, I am not going to die. Okay? I am super safe when I am working. I won’t ever leave you.”

“But Mommy said that, and she’s in heaven now,” he replied.

A ball of dread gripped the back of my throat. “Mommy was ill, Jake. She tried so hard not to leave, but her body got too weak. She had to let go.”

His little eyes watched mine. I was sure he could see the tears ready to burst from their dam.

“Pinky promise?” he asked.

I held my little finger out, and he grabbed it with his. “Pinky promise.”

I let Jake down and watched him run into the lounger where my father sat, observing everything. He nodded at me.

I turned my attention back to my mother. “Maybe I should call in sick?”

She touched my arm. “You will do no such thing. He’s just expressing himself the best way he knows.”

“He’s never done this before.”

“Of course, he hasn’t, but I can tell you right now, there will be rough days ahead. Parenting isn’t plain sailing, Ash. Your father and I know that quite well, remember?”

My mother didn’t do it very often, but when she had to, she had a knack for reminding of my troubled past.

“Yeah, I know.” I looked at the ground, and then back at my mother.

She smiled and reached for my face. “And look how fine you turned out,” she said. “Regardless of all the new art.”

I smiled and I could tell she was curious. “Yeah, just a little piece for Connie and Jake.”

“Well, I like it.” She beamed. “Now go to work. I’ll have breakfast waiting for you in the morning.”

“Goodnight, Mom. I don’t know what I’d do without you.” I kissed her cheek and opened the front door.

“Survive. It’s what the Benton’s are made of,” she replied, and closed the door behind me.

God, I loved my mother. I’d die for her. If there was one person on the planet who showed nothing but love and compassion on a daily basis, it was her. She was my saving grace. Of course, that hadn’t always been the case. There was a time in my life when she was public enemy number one, and I hadn’t given a shit about her or anyone else.

One particular time would always play over in my mind.

Andrés stood in front of the cash register and held the gun to the shop owner’s head.

I filled a bag with the day’s takings, and helped myself to a bar of chocolate.

The man cried. “Please, just take what you want, but don’t hurt my daughter or me.”