At least Elle’s college fund is getting fatter now, but it’s only a small consolation because my brother keeps digging himself deeper into a world I have a sinking feeling is going to be his destruction, and maybe mine too. The worst part is that I’m not even sure I care.
Every day, I spend an hour or more just sitting on an uncomfortable little stool in that corner, staring at those boxes of death while I drink my morning cup of acrid black coffee. The stacks of crates continue to change from week to week, but my thoughts about them never do.
I tell myself they aren’t hurting the people I live with. They go to madmen in another country who wage war among themselves. I tell myself it makes it okay that the cartels are J.J.’s customers because I don’t give a fuck whether they destroy each other. As long as it doesn’t touch me and my livelihood, then they can do whatever the fuck they want.
I tell myself all kinds of lies on a daily basis.
The one saving grace is that Dad is on a duty assignment, so Elle and Sam don’t need to escape to my place to avoid his temper. Another three months of peace before we have to walk on eggshells again and I have to worry about the fresh bruises on Mom’s arms whenever she comes to teach her dance classes. He’ll be gone through the holidays, which means I get another Christmas of peace with my family, something I never had when I was a kid—and Mom broke the news that Marco is going to be home too, so it will be everyone but Dad. Mom’s over the moon but sad at the same time. Why she still loves the bastard I have no idea, but she does. He used to pretend he cared about being with family during the holidays, but that changed after Marco enlisted. I guess he couldn’t deal with yet another son failing to follow in his footsteps as a marine.
Love is strange, I guess. My brother J.J. seems content bed-hopping between women despite my offer of a spot on my couch. Mom would happily have him home too, though she doesn’t have room in that tiny house for two men the size of Sam and J.J. I suppose love has nothing to do with it where J.J. and his endless string of hookups is concerned. Avoidance maybe, but not love.
Love was what made me push Leo and Celeste together, and I should probably regret it, but I don’t. I never see them, but the Quin brothers stop by sometimes for ink, and I can ply them for news under the guise of being interested in their lives while evading their questions about my sister. It seems Elle has formed an unlikely friendship with these two, and I’m not quite sure how I feel about that. They avoid coming in when they know Sam will be at the shop and are always respectful when they ask about her.
Leo has only been in for ink once since they left. The conversation was almost nonexistent but enough for me to glean some important details. He lives at the Flores estate full-time now and has taken Gustavo’s spot as Papá Flores’ lieutenant, though I can’t imagine him in brass knuckles beating the shit out of someone for pissing Papá Flores off. It’s ridiculous that I have that impression, because over the year we became friends, I saw signs of the violence he dealt and that got turned back on him. He arrived at plenty of our sessions with bruised hands or ribs. I bore witness to his temper when he went after Gustavo. It was just never directed at me, not even the night I confessed a secret that probably still disgusts him.
When I walked him to the door after his recent session, he surprised me with a sudden—if brief—hug that left my head spinning. I stood staring out at the sidewalk for several minutes after he disappeared, wondering what the hell it meant. I haven’t seen him since, so I may never get the chance to ask.
I wish I could say things are business as usual, but everything’s changed since that night, even though my day-to-day life really hasn’t. I still tattoo a steady stream of gangbangers, with the odd local thrown in who is brave enough to venture into this part of town for ink. Mom still holds her dance classes next door five nights a week, and Sam and Elle still hang at my shop or my apartment in the evenings while she’s at work, before the three of them drive home together.
Sam has even started inking a few designs on his closest friends who are willing to be guinea pigs for him. J.J. volunteered to be the canvas for his first real tattoo, and Sam spent a full week up nights working on the design. He refused to let anyone see it until it was completely finished and inked—not even J.J. himself got to see, and was a good sport about it even though I could tell he was nervous as hell. But the finished tattoo—holy hell, the kid puts me to shame. It was a hyper-realistic scene of a black and white spotted koi fish twisting up J.J.’s spine, complete with rippling water and lotus blossoms.
I should fucking hire the kid and pay him for real. He’d bring in so much business if he started advertising with shit like this. But I’d rather give him an excuse to leave Los Angeles if he gets it in his head to go elsewhere. I’ve chatted with Mom about it a few times and I think she agrees, even though I know she hated every second of seeing each of her older
