All That We Are Read online

  “You went through my messages?” he questions, not even bothering with denial. Not that I would buy it for a second if he tried.

  “And Janice can’t wait until New York, though I doubt she’d be as excited if she knew you were also fucking Monica.”

  “Harlow.” He reaches for his phone, but I pull it back just in time.

  “How many others are there, Alan?” I ask, tucking the device behind my back. “Three? Four? Ten? I mean at this point who’s counting, right?” I let out a shrill laugh, not sure why this seems so funny all of a sudden.

  “You don’t understand. It’s not what you’re thinking,” he objects, denial finally kicking in.

  “Actually, it’s exactly what I’m thinking. And for you to sit there and think that you’re going to fool me for even one second is comical. I may have been blind for years, Alan, but for the first time in a very long time, I’m finally seeing the man you really are. And thank god I see it before it’s too late.” I throw his phone as hard as I can at the wall behind him, watching it knock a nice hole into the drywall before finally clattering to the hardwood floor. “Well, now you have one less woman to juggle.” I take off through the house, managing to grab my keys and make it to my car parked out front before he finally catches up to me.

  “Harlow, get your ass back in the house.” He comes pounding down the front porch in nothing but plaid pajama bottoms.

  “No thanks, Alan. I think I’ll pass.” I tear open the driver’s side door, desperate to get out of here.

  “You can’t just take my car,” he warns, closing in on me.

  Leave it to him to throw it in my face that technically nothing we own is actually mine. Everything is in his name, considering he’s the only one who’s provided an income throughout our marriage.

  “Well, then I guess you can call the fucking police and report me,” I hiss, hopping into the car.

  I yank the door shut, click the locks, and fire the engine to life, backing out of the driveway with a loud tire squeal and a middle finger thrown up to my cheating husband.

  Moments later, I’m speeding down the road in my pajamas, with no shoes, no money, and not one damn clue where the hell I’m going.

  Chapter Three

  Miles

  “So what’s new with you? I feel like I haven’t seen you in forever.” Winston twists the cap off his second beer and takes a long pull as he settles back down into the recliner that’s caddy corner from me.

  Winston is my oldest friend. There’s barely a single memory from childhood that he’s not a part of. And while we aren’t nearly as inseparable as we used to be, we make it a point to get together at least once every week or so to catch up and shoot the shit.

  “Not much. The shop’s busier than it has ever been. Business is booming.” I shrug, resting the cold beer on the top of my thigh as I sink back into the couch.

  “Think you’ve got time to squeeze in an old friend sometime in the next couple of weeks?”

  My eyes dip to the tribal tattoo that wraps around Winston’s forearm. It was the first tattoo I did when I started working for Dexter six years ago. At that time, I had no idea that I would one day end up owning the tattoo shop.

  I originally got into tattoos as a way of therapy. It helped calm my mind after I returned home from my second tour in the Middle East. Provided me something to focus on. I’ve always loved art and drawing, so it came natural to me. When Dex decided to retire and sell the shop four years ago, I didn’t hesitate.

  INKed was a pretty well established shop when Dexter owned it, but after bringing on some really talented artists and going through one hell of a remodel, I’ve been able to take it to an entirely different level. Our artists are so sought after that people suffer through a six-month-long waitlist just to get their ink done by us.

  “That depends. What’s got you itching for ink therapy?” I ask.

  Having known Winston nearly my entire life and having done all but two of his eight tattoos, I know he usually only comes in when he needs to let off some steam.

  “My sister’s moving in with me.” He blows out a breath through his nose before sucking back a long drink of beer.

  “No shit? What about that big shot husband of hers?” Harlow was five years younger than the both of us. When she was in grade school, and we were on our way into high school, she would follow us around like we’d hung the moon.

  Harlow always looked cute and sweet with her strawberry blonde hair and adorable freckles that peppered across her nose and cheeks, but she was anything but. As she’d gotten older and we were both preparing to graduate, everything about her, especially her attitude toward me changed.

  Winston used to call her the devil, and on many occasions, I had to agree with him. That girl had a temper like no one I’d ever seen. And stubborn, my god was she stubborn.

  Last I heard she was living the high life, assumingly better than us with a well-off husband.

  “Left him about a month ago. Apparently, that jackass has been cheating on her for years. She was planning on staying in Arizona, but I guess Alan has been giving her a rough time, so she’s decided to move home.”

  “Shit, man.” I shake my head, feeling bad for Winston’s little sister, even though she treated me like shit the last time I saw her.

  Then again, I haven’t seen Harlow in a decade, so I can’t really say how I feel about her now. Who knows; maybe she’s changed. Lord knows I have. Regardless, no one deserves to be dealt a shit hand like that. I’ve been cheated on before and it’s not something I’d wish on anyone.

  “That’s messed up, man. I’m sorry to hear that.”

  “It’s taken everything I have not to fly my ass to Tuscan and give that mother fucker a piece of my mind. If I didn’t think the blowback would land on Harlow, I would have. I never liked him. I always knew there was something sleazy about him.”

  “How soon she gonna be here?” I tip back my bottle, letting the cold liquid rush into my mouth.

  “Next week.” He sighs. “Don’t get me wrong. I’m glad to have her home. And I know Dad and Jackie are over the moon. I’m just not sure what her mental state is going to be like when she gets here. You know me, I can’t handle all that crying and moping shit. I don’t know what to do with someone like that.”

  “Why isn’t she staying with your dad and Jackie?” I ask, wondering why she would choose to shack up with her brother in a tiny two bedroom apartment rather than live with her dad and stepmom in the large four bedroom home she grew up in.

  “I think it’s a pride thing.” He shrugs.

  “I get that. How long you think she’ll be here?”

  “Hard to say. Hopefully not long. I love my sister and all, but you know me. I like living alone.”

  “I can understand that completely. Luckily, I don’t have any siblings, so I don’t have to worry about that shit.” I grin as I tip the beer bottle to my lips.

  “Lucky ass,” Winston grumbles, mirroring my action and taking a long pull of his beer. “So, about that ink?”

  “I can hook you up, but it’ll have to be after hours. I’m booked solid until December.”

  “Shit, dude. It’s only May.”

  “Tell me about it. Sometimes I feel like I’m never going to be able to catch my breath.”

  “It’s a good problem to have,” he points out.

  “It definitely is,” I agree.

  “Maybe I can bring Harlow in with me. I’m sure she’d love to check out the shop, and who knows, maybe you can convince her to remove the stick from her ass and get some ink of her own.”

  As much as I dislike the idea, I know I can’t verbalize it without likely pissing Winston off. No matter how much she drives him crazy, she’s still his baby sister. While he would never admit it out loud, he’s always been protective of her.

  I nod, choosing not to say anything as I drain the remainder of my beer in one long pull.

  “How’s next Friday work?”

  “I shoul
d be able to make that happen. Be at the shop at eleven and don’t forget you’re responsible for the beer.”

  “As always.” He chuckles.

  “Or I could charge you like I do everyone else,” I jokingly counter.

  “I think I like our beer trade off better.” He grins.

  “Yeah, thought so.” I laugh. “Speaking of ink, I gotta bounce. I’ve got a doubles appointment at four,” I say, pushing to a stand. “Thanks for the beer.” I cross the open space into the kitchen before dropping the bottle into the trash can.

  “Anytime, man,” he calls from the chair, not bothering to get up. “I’ll call you next week to confirm Friday.”

  “Sounds good.” I throw up a half wave before pulling open the door and stepping out into the humid Kentucky heat.

  If there’s one thing I hate about summer here, it’s the humidity. Mid-May and already the air is so heavy it feels hard to pull in a real breath.

  Taking the stairs down two at a time, I reach my black Ducati within seconds. Snatching the helmet off the seat, I quickly slide it on before climbing onto the motorcycle.

  I was never a fan of bikes when I was younger, but a buddy of mine that I’d served with had an old Kawasaki that he let me drive when I visited him after I left the army. I fell in love and purchased my first bike within a couple of weeks of returning home.

  Firing the engine to life, I glance behind me to make sure I’m clear before slowly guiding my bike out of its parking spot. Having stayed a little longer than I had anticipated, I’ll be lucky if I make it into the city by four.

  My shop is located right across the river in Cincinnati. It’s only a few short miles, but with the amount of traffic going in and out of the city late in the afternoon; it takes a lot longer than it really should.

  Because of this, it’s ten after four by the time I pull into the small parking lot directly behind my shop. INKed is sandwiched between Beans and Things, a hip little coffee shop, and Mike’s Sub. Both of which are pretty good neighbors to have considering I don’t usually have a lot of time to grab food between clients and more often than not I need caffeine to pick me up about halfway through the evening.

  Pushing my way through the back door, I drop my helmet and keys on the cluttered desk in the office before making my way into the front of the shop. I nod to Chuck who’s busy working on a back piece, before throwing a half wave to Bryan who barely nods before turning his attention back to the belly button he’s about to shove a needle through.

  Delia, my recently promoted manager-in-training, looks up from the front counter and offers me a smile the moment she catches sight of me approaching.

  “Bout time you showed up.” She gives me her normal dose of shit. If I walked in and she didn’t bust my balls about something I’d know something was up.

  “Got caught up at Winston’s,” I explain even though I don’t need to. “My double here yet?”

  “In the waiting room.” She gestures to the small room at the front of the shop.

  I lean to the side and catch sight of the two-early- twenty somethings standing side-by-side, admiring some of the artwork on the walls.

  In addition to some of our best work framed and hung up, the room is decorated with two large black couches flanking both side walls and a large table in the middle cluttered with several generic tattoo books.

  The front wall is a huge window looking out onto the busy street, the opposite a half wall that allows the people in the waiting area a front row seat to anyone getting work done. Unless the client isn’t comfortable with the public display, in which, that case they can opt to have their work done in one of the private rooms.

  “Should be a fun night for you.” Delia leans in and nudges my shoulder, gesturing toward the two women.

  “Funny,” I deadpan, shaking my head.

  Delia knows my least favorite tattoos are trivial pieces that have no real meaning. From what these girls sent me last week, that’s exactly what I’m going to be working on tonight. Flowers. And not even cool ones.

  I’ll never understand why someone would go on a six-month wait list to have the most generic tattoo done that you can have done anywhere. Not to mention my prices run quite a bit higher than the competition because simply put – we offer the best quality and we can afford to charge for that.

  “Oh come on, boss. Laugh why don’t you?” Delia cuts in.

  “Say something funny and I’ll think about it.” I arch my brow, fighting a smile.

  “Such a dick.” She crinkles her nose which has a small ring through each side.

  Delia started working here a couple of years before I came on board. She’s a tiny little thing, barely standing over five feet and weighing maybe a hundred pounds soaking wet, but she’s also one of the toughest people I think I’ve ever met. No one messes with her and for a good reason. She’s as crazy as they come.

  She’s a year older than me, is one of the most talented artists I’ve ever worked with and has about twice the amount of ink that I do – which is saying something considering my arms and torso are completely covered. Because of this, she knows she can give me a hard time and get away with it. Most of my other employees wouldn’t dream of speaking to me the way she does. Not that I give a shit. Again, if she didn’t bust my balls about something I’d be worried.

  “Do me a favor.” I ignore her dick comment. “Will you schedule Winston in for next Friday at eleven?”

  “Another late night?” She arches a brow. “Tell me, Superman, do you ever sleep?”

  “Not if I can help it,” I smart, tossing her a smile before heading into the lobby to see if my clients are ready to start.

  While I consider Delia, a friend, I have never opened up to her about my issues. Especially not the ones pertaining to my days in the military and the effect that still has on me today. If she only knew just how difficult sleep is for me on an average night.

  Shaking off the thought, I force a smile as I enter the waiting room, not missing the way both sets of eyes hone in on me the moment I do.

  “Holy shit. You’re hot.” The blonde smiles, both hands going to her hips.

  “Thank you,” I say, completely unphased.

  I’ve grown accustomed to this type of attention over the years. Not because I think I’m something special, but because women seem to have a thing for men with beards and tattoos.

  “Who’s first?” I ask, chuckling when both girls hold their hands up in unison.

  “I thought you were going to let me go first,” the brunette whines to her friend.

  “I want to go first,” the other counters.

  “Tell you what, why don’t we head back and you two can figure it out while I get everything ready?” I don’t wait for a response before spinning on my heel and taking off toward the back.

  Chapter Four

  Harlow

  “Hey, Sis. You ready?” Winston raps lightly on the bedroom door before pushing it open.

  “Um, hello. I could have been naked,” I object, turning from where I’m standing in front of the closet, still trying to decide what to wear.

  “You would have locked the door.” He shrugs before collapsing down on top of the bed. “What the hell’s taking you so long anyway? I told Miles we’d be at the shop by eleven and we need to eat before we go.”

  “Would you relax? It’s not even eight o’clock yet. I think we have plenty of time.” I slide a few hangers to the side before pulling a standard black tank top off the rack.

  “Yeah, but you know how crazy the city gets on Friday nights. Besides, if we get there early, maybe he can squeeze you in.”

  “Winston, we’ve been over this. I’m not getting a tattoo,” I tell my brother for the hundredth time since I arrived five days ago.

  Moving here hasn’t been the smoothest transition. We’ve lived so far apart for so long it’s like we’re getting to know each other all over again. He’s changed a lot in the last decade, and lord knows I have too. I hardly even remember the p
erson I was before Alan. Trying to find out who I am after him has proven to be more difficult than I ever imagined it would be. It’s been so long since I’ve done anything for myself I’m not sure I know what I enjoy anymore.

  So not only is my brother getting to know me all over again, but I’m getting to know me as well.

  “Miles does some fantastic work, Low. Just check out this last piece he did.” He turns his arm so I can see the massive tribal that wraps around the back of his bicep. “Man’s a genius with a tattoo gun.”

  “Miles and genius are two things I never thought I’d hear in the same sentence.” I roll my eyes, finding humor in the fact that my brother still thinks after all these years that his best friend is the end all to be all. Personally, I’ve never much cared for the guy.

  Not that I can pinpoint any one thing I don’t like about him. But there was something about him that didn’t sit right with me, as we got older. Maybe it was his arrogance or the fact that he always had a different girl on his arm every time I saw him – which was quite frequently. Or maybe it’s that my brother always preferred hanging out with him over me which used to drive me crazy.

  “When are you going to grasp that Miles isn’t the person you’ve always believed him to be?” Winston straightens his posture and gives me a stern look. “You don’t even know him anymore. Yet, you still insist on making back handed comments like that. Do you have any idea what he’s been through over the last few years?”

  “Winston, I...” I start to apologize, seeing I’ve hit a nerve.

  “He’s been through more than you could imagine. Not all of us have spent the last decade living the good life. Shit changes people, Low. You need to stop being so damn judgmental and give people a chance.”

  “Wow.” I shift, crossing my arms in front of my chest. “So that’s what you think I’ve been doing, living the good life?” I completely ignore everything else he said and focus on that one little tidbit. “Need I remind you why I’m here?”