Imagining his bloody nose and battered face, I can imagine. My jaw clenches at the aggressive tone in his voice. “Just get to the point.”
“I’m getting a lawyer on Monday.”
“Good, you’re going to need—”
“And getting custody of my son.”
I clutch the counter so I don’t fall. The kitchen rug, the world,—actually, even gravity—feel ripped from under me.
“Then I’m getting the shop back.”
The shop isn’t even on my radar. “Why would you even think you could get custody? He hardly knows you. You hardly know him,” I snap. Now I’m getting angry. “Is this your deranged idea of revenge?”
“You want to be a bitch?” he hisses. “You want to date some douche bag? Then I’m going to fuck your world up.”
“Are you threatening me?”
“Douche bag and his buddy better not press charges against me.”
“Or what?”
“Think about what I said,” he growls before hanging up on me.
Fury pounds through me as I stare at my phone screen. Custody? He’s lost his mind.
Furious, I call him back. Of course he doesn’t answer.
I’m about to destroy my kitchen—throw soup against the wall and smash grilled cheese under my feet—but instead lean against the counter and take deep breaths.
The soft murmur of conversation comes to me from the hallway as Justin and Ben make their way toward the kitchen.
I take in one last gulp of air and say pleasantly, “Lunch is ready. Go wash your hands, Ben.”
With a scowl etching his face, Ben turns back toward the bathroom. Justin studies me for a long moment. “Everything okay?”
Forcing a smile, I nod.
Inside, I’m a screaming mess.
We’re all sitting around Allie’s drawing desk on Monday afternoon. Todd’s on his third piece of pizza. Shaya is on her second. Allie is still picking at her first. We’d planned this lunch last week, but Allie was surprised when I showed up with two pizza boxes. Todd and Shaya had been ecstatic.
Allie has also been quiet and distant.
Yesterday, after our surprise lunch with Ben, she’d been quiet too as she drove me back to the dorm. I chalked it up to Ben’s nonstop chatter and that she was freaked out her father walked in while I was there, shirtless no less. When I texted her late last night she seemed fine, but today I’m wondering if there’s more going on than her Dad’s disapproval.
I can’t help blaming her quietness on my big fucking mouth. I should have never told her I was falling in love, but in the heat of the moment, the words felt so right. So true.
Never said them before.
Now they’re biting me in the ass.
Beyond tense, I roll my paper plate and force myself to listen to Todd’s story about a customer from last night.
“So I’m kickin’ it to third,” Todd says, still chomping on pepperoni and sausage. “Pounding skin when the fucker passes out.” He swallows and then laughs. “Almost falls out of the chair.”
I’m guessing pounding skin means he was inking at a high speed.
Shaya giggles, causing her curls to bounce. “He says it calmly, but he screamed like a ten-year-old for me to get in there last night.”
Allie’s forehead wrinkles. Though she hasn’t said more than two words so far, she asks, “Why would you push ink like that?”
“Well, he came in at five to nine.”
Allie glares at him. “We take work until nine.”
“Yeah, but this ass wanted a three-hour job and beyond that his back was already almost entirely engraved. How was I to know he needed a pussy ball?”
At my raised eyebrow Shaya explains, “A tennis ball to hold for pain.”
Todd folds another slice of pizza in half. “He was fine until the fainting thing.”
Allie gives me a weak smile, then her mouth curls in a scowl at Todd.
“Hey, he finished,” Todd says.
“Our first wrastler!” Shaya says with a giggle.
“What’s a wrastler?” I ask.
Allie drops a nibbled-on crust on her plate and glares at Shaya. “It’s not funny.”
Shaya rolls her eyes. “Somebody who faints but finishes,” she replies in a tone that declares the meaning should be obvious.
“Todd,” Allie says irritably, “unless it’s one of your regulars, do not ever kick it to third on someone again.”
Todd scrunches his nose at her, reaching for another slice of pizza. “I’m not a hacker, Al.”
“Then don’t act like one,” she snaps.
Other than the ever-present music playing, the shop is quiet while Shaya and Todd stare at Allie like she’s grown two heads. Apparently, her snapping at them isn’t normal. Finally, Todd shrugs and stuffs pizza in his mouth. Shaya turns to me.
“When can
“Not anytime soon,” Allie says, tossing cups in the trash by the counter. “He plays at bars.”
Shaya’s forehead wrinkles. “So?”
“So you’re not even eighteen much less twenty-one,” Allie says with a tone of finality.
I clear my throat. “Just tell me when you turn eighteen. We sometimes have gigs that are eighteen and over.”
“Sweet,” Shaya says, sounding like she hangs out with Todd too much.
Allie pauses from picking up plates to frown at me, but she doesn’t say anything.
I start helping and when we meet at the trash bin, I say in a low voice, “I’ll make sure it’s a mellow show.”
Not looking at me, she just nods.
Fuck. I want to ask her what the hell is wrong, but I’m terrified it’s the oh-shit-Justin’s-in-love-with-me thing and the shop is definitely not the place to talk about it.
A hardcore, thrashing guitar riff suddenly competes with the Paramore song coming out of the speakers behind the counter.
After tossing his plate on the drawing table, Todd digs in his pocket and yanks his phone out. He answers with a “What’s up?”
I could care less who Todd is on the phone with, but the instant stillness of his body, the scowl creasing his face, and the way his eyes flick to me catch my attention.
His scowl grows. “Yeah, so what?”
Allie stops cleaning and watches him too.
“You know me better than that,” Todd says. “I don’t take sides.” He sags onto a stool. “Dude, don’t even think about it. It’s not a good time.”
Allie moves closer to Todd, partially obstructing my view of him. He watches her as she apparently mouths something, then nods his head yes. I push away from the counter and step behind her. “Is he talking with Trevor?”
