Sweet Ache

“Uh-oh,” I say, the smile on my lips contradicting the shake of my head.

“Yep. So one drunken night we decided that loser gets a tattoo, winner’s pick. More drinks, more decisions were made and we decided that it had to be a uniform image and location. We figured why not make it an image of what we love….” He pauses, the self-deprecation in his laugh humorous. “Ah, I can’t believe I’m telling you this…. Rocket said he loves the pink color of the inside of a woman’s pussy…. And, well, our decision was solidified. A pussy pink heart.”

“Well,” I say, but I’m so busy laughing it’s the only word I get out.

“Yeah, I know. Can you see why I make sure I can win any bet I take so I don’t ruin the significance of the ones I have?” I nod my head, envisioning each of the guys’ wrists and their permanent reminder, as he continues. “The guy has to get the heart outlined to make it bigger with each bet he loses … hence why Gizmo has the biggest one. Love the guy to death but he’ll bet on anything.”

“I’m afraid to ask what the bets are.”

“You should be.” He snickers.

“And you’re just that good, you’ve never lost?” I ask, immediately assuming he has to cheat the system somehow.

“Nope, I’m just that good,” he says, causing me to smile as he clears his throat. “It’s hard to explain…. Sounds stupid, really, but my tats have a meaning; they tell my story in a sense, and I refuse to lessen their significance by scarring myself with a pink heart.” His voice fades and a silence falls around us, so that even though we are lying on top of each other, I feel the distance.

“How long have you guys been together?” I ask, wanting to keep him engaged, learn more about him, and I figure this is a safe topic of conversation.

“Vince since sixth grade. Him, our other friend Benji, Hunter, and I used to be inseparable. We met Giz and Rocket in high school.”

He skims quickly over his brother’s name but I don’t miss it. So Hunter was a part of this close-knit group of guys who are now a band and now he isn’t? There’s obviously more there. I’ve seen the animosity between him and Vince firsthand. I want to ask, want to delve but choose a safer path.

“What happened to Benji?”

“He’s still around,” he says, voice laced in amusement. “Ben doesn’t have a musical bone in his body. He prefers being an asshole … so he became a lawyer.” I snap my head up at him, surprised by the comment but find him smiling so I know he’s teasing. “Nah, he’s a good guy. Always looking out for my best interest.”

I rest my head back down on his chest as the song changes. Hawke’s fingers keep tapping the beat on my back, but I still feel like there is a huge elephant in the room that we need to address. I’ve watched my brother go through some pretty serious shit, watched Rylee break down his walls, and learned that with men patience is a virtue you need to hold on to. And I’m patient, but I’m also curious.

“So is this how you deal with all of your problems?” I ask, causing his hand to stop momentarily from playing the beat before he continues again.

“Hmm?” he murmurs. “You mean putting the spin in your machine’s spin cycle?” He chuckles softly, his hand moving to tug the holder out of my ponytail and begin to play with my hair. “Because shit, that felt hella good. We might have to try that again sometime, minus the barge through the door thing.”

“It was kinda hot,” I tease, earning a tug on my hair that makes me laugh. “I’d hate to see what you do when it’s just you and the guys on a tour bus then,” I joke, wanting to lighten the mood some, give him room to breathe so that he can be comfortable enough to answer.

I love the laugh he emits; it’s free and sincere and tells me some of the weight on his mind has lifted. “I assure you the guys don’t get to see that side of me,” he muses. “And to answer your question, no, that’s not how I usually deal with shit. I take it out on Giz’s drums—pound the hell out of them for a good hour or so—but I think I’ve found my new substitute.”

“You have?”

“Yes. You.” His unexpected words cause a flutter in my stomach that I try to ignore. I’ll need to try harder with that because even though I’m sure he knows the right thing to say to make a woman swoon, the sincerity in his tone weaves its way into my soul and wraps around my heart. Gives me hope of possibilities that I realize I was fearing before but now really want to believe have a chance.

I don’t know what to say but his comment has made me feel a little more secure in this ever-revolving world around us, and I want to give him something in return. I press a kiss to his chest, his heart beating just beneath my lips, and rest my chin there on top of my hand. “You want to talk about tonight?”

“No … I don’t.” He sighs after a moment and I can all but feel his sadness return. “But you deserve an explanation after what I did to you today.”

“Hawkin—”

“I’m not that much of an asshole, Quin. If I’m going to fuck it out with you, you sure as shit deserve an explanation.” There is no arguing with his tone, so I keep my eyes fixed on my fingers tracing his tattoos and nod my head in silent agreement. And of course now that he is about to talk about it, I’m almost nervous to hear the explanation.

If it’s something he keeps this close to the vest, will finding out change the opinions and feelings I’m starting to have for him?