Spider: A tattoo romance (Rough Ink Book 2) Read online

  When I grew old enough to realize that no knight was coming to save anyone and my mom was no damsel, I dreamed up mercenaries who would storm our house and slit my father’s throat in one swift and practiced movement. Turned out mercenaries weren’t just lurking around every corner, waiting to relieve abusive husbands of their place on the planet any more than knights were rescuing fair maidens.

  Growing up in a household where every day was a circus of wondering when my father would fly off the handle was exhausting. Any insignificant event would set him off: a spoon facing the wrong way in the cutlery drawer, rain falling when he wanted to cut the grass, the school counselor yet again enquiring after my safety and well-being, the season finale of a show he enjoyed watching. The list of possible triggers was endless, and there was no rhyme or reason to any of it. He was irrational to a fault. What pleased him one day would irritate him to the point of white-hot rage the next.

  I’d hated my father for as long as I could remember. Still did. I hated what he’d done and who he was. I hated that I shared his DNA. I hated that the actions and whims of the least stable member of our family had dictated everything for the rest of us. I hated that my mother and I had lived in a constant state of terror. I hated that every aspect of my life had hinged around a complicated network of lies designed to keep all of our dirty secrets from the rest of the world.

  I hated hate.

  I couldn’t remember how old I was when I realized my mother wasn’t the nurturing protector I needed her to be. She was a broken shell of a person. So much wasted potential rolled up into a ball of simmering resentment.

  I knew better than to think she could have stopped my father, as there was no force on the planet stronger than anger. What disappointed me the most was that she didn’t seem to want to try. Maybe her spirit was just too crushed. Maybe my father had beaten the nurturing instincts out of her. Maybe she believed we’d be better off dead. Maybe in many ways she already was.

  Years later, as a mother myself, I’d failed Noah in ways I’d vowed I never would, but the one thing I never did and would never do was give up trying to shield him from the realities of our lives.

  Trying didn’t mean I’d always succeeded. I hadn’t. Sometimes I’d failed big-time. He’d seen and heard some things no child ever should, and I wished he never had. But I’d give my last breath to ensure he could still take his. I’d do anything and everything, and I frequently had. I’d never given up on him, or myself.

  I shifted my focus back to Spider as he spoke on the phone, and even before I registered what he was saying, I could tell there was something very wrong. Living with monsters like my father and Tommy, I’d learned to expertly decode body language. It was a matter of survival. Spider paced the room, one hand clutching the phone, the other pulling at clumps of his thick blond hair.

  “Mom? Mom? I can’t hear you. I mean, I can hear, but I can’t understand what you’re saying. Mom? Mom? Mom! What’s going on? Where’s Dad? Mom! Put Dad on the phone. You’re not making any sense. Mom? Can you please give the phone to Dad, I can’t…. Hello? Hello? Mo—”

  His whole body stiffened, flipping from animated agitation to statue-still. For a few seconds, the world seemed to halt on its axis. Nothing moved except the throb of the thick vein protruding at Spider’s temple. The knuckles on his right hand grew whiter with every second as he gripped the phone, but still Spider didn’t move.

  Then, as though in slow motion, he fell onto the bed as his long legs buckled beneath him.

  “Mom, I need you to say that again, and slow this time. Either my mind is playing tricks on me or the phone is or some other shit, because I thought you said—I mean, I thought I heard you say….” He was silent again for another long moment, the color draining from his face. In fact, his whole body seemed to lose color, his bright gold hair included.

  “Noooooo!” It was somewhere between a shout and a howl. The sudden volume and ferocity of his voice caught me by surprise, the noise ricocheting off the bedroom walls. It was a few seconds before I realized that it wasn’t directed at me, by which time it was too late, I’d already flinched, throwing my hands up to protect my face, palms to the sky.

  Spider looked horrified, then embarrassed, which defied logic. As ever, the embarrassment and shame was all on me. What kind of person ducked for cover when someone cried out in anguish? A total screw pot, that was what kind.

  “Oh my God, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to. It’s just that...” I didn’t finish what I was saying as Spider’s face crumpled, his features distorting to the point of being almost unrecognizable. His breath was entering and leaving his body in ragged gulps, his chest heaving. He was choking, drowning in thin air.

  I opened my mouth to speak, though I didn’t know what to say, but before the words could form on my tongue, he’d bolted, rushing into the en suite bathroom. Long minutes passed while I stayed rooted to the bed, feeling useless. Spider continued to dry retch in the bathroom, a series of strangled gurgling sounds punctuating the otherwise still afternoon air.

  I didn’t know whether to offer him comfort or assistance, or whether to remind him I was there, for what it was worth. I wanted to go to him but, unsure of the etiquette of the situation, or what kind of a situation it even was. I stayed where I was, figuring he’d come to me if and when he was ready.

  20

  Spider

  I walked back into the bedroom, and without looking, I knew Emi was staring at me. Somehow I could feel her watchful gaze traveling over my body. When I could breathe a little easier, I rounded the bed, pacing back and forth in front of it.

  “My dad’s dead.” Words I’d never imagined uttering at this point in my life.

  Emi sprang off the bed and was standing in front of me in seconds.

  “What? I mean, I heard you, but what happened? What do you need? Where is your mom? Where do we need to be?”

  We. I fixated on the word for a while. What “we”?

  “Um… I don’t know. I mean, I know, but I don’t… I can’t….” I didn’t want to cry. Not in front of her. It was stupid, but I didn’t want to show her that weakness. “He…. That was my mom on the phone. She’s at the hospital with the… his body. He had an accident on his bike. She’s with him. He’s dead.” I knew I’d said that already, but I couldn’t think straight.

  “Oh my God. I’m so sorry.” She clamped her hand over her mouth, sorry for being sorry, and I regretted having ever said anything to her about apologizing. She started gathering her clothing from around the room. “What hospital?”

  “City General.”

  “Okay, it’ll be quickest for us to hail a cab.”

  “No!” My voice boomed out of me much louder and more forcefully than I had intended. Emi jumped a foot in the air, looking terrified.

  “Sorry. I just meant you don’t have to feel obliged. You don’t owe me anything.”

  A look passed over her face but was gone moments later. She blinked a few times before speaking.

  “I know. But I’d like to. I mean, if that’s okay with you?” She directed the last part to her feet. I was in no condition to know what I thought, or what I should do, but I knew I wanted her to do what she had offered.

  “Okay. Please.”

  She nodded, picking up the last items of clothing and dressing hurriedly. I did the same, and then we went into the living area to retrieve the things we’d taken off there.

  As I walk-jogged down the stairs of my building and to the corner to hail a cab, Emi had to run to keep up, never complaining that at six-feet-four, one of my strides equated to two of hers.

  We reached the corner and I threw myself into a cab while it was more or less still moving, barking the hospital’s details at the driver. As I settled back in the seat with Emi next to me, her body heat radiated my way, though we weren’t touching. I wanted to close the tiny gap between us, but I held back; I appreciated her offer to come to the hospital with me, and I didn’t want to make things weirder than th
ey already were, under the circumstances.

  “I meant what I said. You don’t need to do this, honestly.”

  “And I meant what I said. I know I don’t need to, but I want to. Honestly.”

  We rode the rest of the way in silence, but just having her there was a comfort, neither of us needed to speak.

  Inside the enormous hospital, when I became too choked up to deal with the receptionist, Emi stepped up and did the talking for me, calmly explaining the situation. Once she’d found out where we needed to go, she led me there, wending her way through the maze of corridors and annexes.

  As we approached the waiting area near the mortuary, I heard Mom before I saw her. Her shrieks and sobs carried through the high vaulted ceilings, bouncing off pillars and faux-marble floors. I picked up speed and ran to her.

  Seeing my mom so broken shattered me to my core. I was a grown-ass man, I knew my parents weren’t the superheroes I’d thought they were when I was a kid. I knew they made mistakes, had regrets, doubted themselves, could hurt and be hurt. I knew that. They weren’t immortal—nobody was. I knew that too. But even so, being there to identify my dead father, and having to watch my mother grieve and feel pain in a way that transformed her into someone I barely recognized, was something I was unprepared to deal with.

  My mom was no longer the hero of my childhood who saw all, knew all, and could do all. She was a grieving widow who’d lost the love of her life, her soul mate, her “other half” in the true sense of the word. Seeing her that way was a soul-crushing knife to the gut.

  I ran to her, enveloping her in my arms, and as I did, her knees gave out.

  “It’s okay, Mom, I’m here. I got you. It’s okay.”

  She sobbed silently into my chest, her entire body quivering as the emotion poured out of her.

  I rocked her from side to side, repeating the same words over and over. I had zero experience in comforting someone in this situation, or anything like it, and I had no idea whether I was even helping her. I suspected not, but my skull felt as though it was filled with cotton balls after someone had hit me over the head with a ten-pound weight, and I couldn’t think of anything else to do or say, so I stuck with it.

  I smoothed her hair with one hand while the other arm supported her back. I was maybe squeezing a little too hard, but I kept up the pressure, hoping I could somehow take on her grief and pain so she didn’t have to feel it.

  Stupidly, it was the first time I’d ever thought of my mother as vulnerable—as though I needed to be the one to nurture and protect her rather than the other way around. All my life she’d been the backbone of the family, our North. She was the one who’d cared for us when we were sick, fixed us when we were hurt—physically or emotionally—was a friend when we were lonely. She was whatever we needed her to be, whenever we needed it. For Dad too.

  That had always been the dynamic. Mom took care of business. She drove the bus. Maybe because of the pressures of his job, at home, Dad had always let Mom be in control. Contrary to what most people would have thought regarding a military husband, especially one as high-ranking as Dad, he had been a laid-back and easygoing parent.

  As much as Mom had always been the person we kids went to when we needed something, she was also the enforcer of discipline. In fact, she used to complain that Dad was lacking in that department, forcing her to be the bad guy, or that if he had his way, we’d live in anarchy.

  Now I held that same person, rocking her like a child in my arms, and I could barely keep my shit together.

  “It’s okay. We’re okay. Everything’s going to be okay.”

  “It won’t be okay. Nothing will ever be okay again. Stop saying that. Stop lying to me.” She beat at my chest, but it was such a weak and ineffectual gesture that I was suddenly struck by how small she was. Maybe she’d always been that way, but in my mind, she was a giant—a huge presence and a force to be reckoned with in our lives.

  She had a point too. Life would never be the same for any of us without Dad. Where Mom had kept the wheels of our family train on the track, Lieutenant General Williamson was the oil that greased those wheels. He was friendly and supportive, and a total joker, much to my embarrassment as a kid.

  He was the biggest prankster I’d ever known; I could fill volumes with stories of all the shit he’d pulled over the years, despite Mom’s ongoing faked irritation. If they were of our generation, they’d have been one of those couples who posted hilarious Punk’d-style videos on YouTube and had millions of followers.

  Not only that, but he was a calming influence against Mom’s more high-strung temperament. Someone who was sometimes responsible for the lives and protection of hundreds, even thousands of other people needed to be calm under pressure. Dad was the epitome of that.

  I looked over Mom’s shoulder at the waiting area behind her. It was empty. Nobody else was having to identify their loved ones at that point in time. I wished we were so lucky. I looked around the plain and unwelcoming room, wondering why they couldn’t attempt to brighten the place up, or make it soothing or comfortable for those of us who had the misfortune to need to be there. Simple things like a bunch of flowers and comfortable seating would make all the difference.

  “Have you seen… him yet? Have they told you anything?”

  “No, I wanted to wait until you and Benji were both here so we could do that together.” I nodded slowly. Benji. I hadn’t even had time to think of the impact all of this would have on my younger brother.

  “What have they said?”

  “Not much, just that they’re fairly certain it’s him. The identification part is just a formality, and after we’ve done that, they’ll issue the death certificate, and then we can contact a funeral home to take over the rest of the process.”

  It was surreal in the worst way to even be having this conversation with her.

  “Let’s sit. We can wait for Ben to get dropped off, and you can tell me what you know so far.”

  The one thing they had provided in the spartan space was Kleenex. I pulled a wedge out from the box and handed them to Mom as we sat down. She dabbed at her eyes and cheeks, drying the tears that had leaked over both, and then blew her nose noisily. As I sat next to her, I looked down the hall, wondering where the hell my brother was. It was then that I noticed the figure tiptoeing toward the door.

  Shit! I’d forgotten about Emi.

  “Give me one minute, Mom. I’ll be right back.”

  She nodded, preoccupied, not looking my way to see where I was going and why.

  I jogged down the hall, footsteps echoing on the hard, ancient tile—not marble but trying very hard to be. I was sure Emi must have been able to hear me coming, but she didn’t slow down or look my way. Not wanting to call out and cause a commotion there of all places, I took big strides, reaching her just as she made her way out the door. Without thinking, I reached out, tapping her on the arm.

  “Huh?” She jumped a mile in the air, panic written all over her face, then stopped in her tracks as she stared down at my hand on her arm, as though I’d branded her with a red-hot poker. She didn’t move even as the door came dangerously close to closing on the arm in question. I snatched it away just in time, gently coaxing her back inside.

  “I’m sorr—” Again she pulled up short before the word was fully formed. “I shouldn’t be here. I was trying to leave without disturbing you or your mom. That was clearly a fail.”

  “No, not at all, I had no idea until I looked this way and saw you creeping out.”

  “Oh. Well, that must’ve seemed rude. I was honestly just trying to make myself scarce so I didn’t bother you. The last thing you need right now is a stranger lurking around in the shadows.”

  “It’s not like that. I was coming to ask you to sit with us.”

  “Really? Becau—”

  Fuck. Why the hell had I assumed she’d want to stay? I was overstepping massively. Again.

  “No pressure. I just meant that you’re definitely not unwanted he
re. I want you. I mean, I’d like it if you’d stay, if you want to.” As if anyone wanted to hang outside a morgue with a guy they hardly knew while he waited to identify his father’s body.

  “Of course I do. I just didn’t think you’d want me to be, as I’m not a relative or frie—I mean, we don’t know each other very well.”

  Oh God, way to make someone feel awkward.

  “Yeah, sorry, that was stupid. Thanks for coming with me. I appreciate it. I’ve got to get back to my mom. I’ll see you around, maybe.”

  “Hey, now you’re the one saying sorry needlessly.” She smiled, her voice gentle. Only she could pull me up and support me at the same time. “I meant it when I said I want to stay. Seriously.” Just feeling the warmth radiate from her smile helped take the edge off my sadness.

  “You’re sure?”

  “Positive. Come on, your mom needs you.”

  21

  Emi

  I regretted my decision almost instantly. I didn’t belong there, encroaching on a private family moment. And not just any family, but the family of a guy I barely knew, and was having second thoughts about sleeping with on a whim. After what I’d been through with Tommy, it had seemed like a good idea to help me move on and up, but by that point, some small doubts had crept in.

  Firstly, I didn’t even know how to categorize my situation. I was single, obviously, but only because I’d put my son’s father in prison, which even a year later still brought up a jumble of bitter emotions for me. I wasn’t sure if wanting to be with Spider was only a rebound thing, whether the attraction I felt toward him was just because he wasn’t Tommy or if there were feelings there above and beyond a knee-jerk physical reaction.