“Mom. Dad.” Emily motions toward me. “This is Logan.” She motions back toward them. She’s signing while she talks, and I kind of wish she’d stop.
Her mother rushes forward. “Logan, darling,” she gushes. “We’ve heard so much about you.”
My heart leaps at the thought that Emily talked about me while she was gone. Maybe she longed for me the same way I longed for her. “It’s wonderful to meet you,” I say as I stick out my hand.
She bypasses it and wraps her arms around me. She squeezes me tightly and doesn’t let go for a moment. Then she steps back, her hands still on my upper arms. She squeezes. “Goodness, you’re a solid lump of man, aren’t you?” she says, smiling. She winks at me. “I can see why Emily is so enamored.”
Heat creeps up my face.
Emily’s dad shoves his hands into his pockets and rocks back on his heels. He nods at me, and I think he grunts. I wouldn’t know if any sound came out of his mouth, but I can tell he just made a noise. One that would dismiss me if I could hear it.
I stick my hand out toward him. “Mr. Madison,” I say.
Begrudgingly, he reaches for my hand and takes it in a firm grip. I force myself not to squeeze back when he tightens his grip in warning. Instead, I take it. I let him be in control because he’s her father for fuck’s sake. I don’t like it, but I take it.
“Logan came to have breakfast with us,” Emily rushes to say. She puts her hands on top of ours and pries her father’s fingers back. He lets her. I shake the pain out of my hand when he releases it.
He takes in the crease still etched on her cheek and her lack of makeup. “I’m certain he did,” her father says.
Her mother drops bags of pastries, bagels, and assorted other breakfast foods on the table. Emily starts to unpack the bags, bouncing up on her toes as she does. She’s padding around in socks, and I can’t help but remember that one of my own socks is missing. I walk into the living room where I see it sticking out of one of the couch cushions. I pocket it quickly, shoving it in the pocket of my hoodie. Her mother follows me into the room and grins at me, then shakes her finger. “You’re not leaving are you?”
Not on your life. “No, Mrs. Madison,” I say. “I was just looking for something.”
She narrows her eyes. “Did you find it?” She’s asking me about more than just my missing sock, I think.
I cough into my closed fist to clear my throat, which suddenly has a lump in it. I don’t know why. “Yes, ma’am.”
She arches an eyebrow at me, prompting me to continue.
“I have everything I need now that Emily’s back.” I look her in the eye.
“Stay strong,” she says. Then she winks at me. She startles and looks toward the door.
Emily comes from around the corner, her eyes narrowed. Her dad stands behind her smirking. Someone must have knocked on the door. She rushes to it, looks through the peephole, and steps back, muttering to herself. I can’t quite read her lips.
Emily opens the door, and a man brushes past her. He’s wearing a button-down shirt, a tie, and kicks that cost more than my monthly rent. He puts down his suitcase, shakes hands with Mr. Madison, and turns to Emily. He starts toward her, his arms outstretched. I step forward to get between them, but Mrs. Madison grabs my arm. “Don’t,” she warns. “This will work itself out.”
Emily lets him pull her into an embrace, but she doesn’t hug him back. She cringes instead. This warms my heart.
She looks over at me, and I see something I don’t quite understand in her gaze. Is it pity? For me? Is she afraid I can’t compete with this man? Who the hell is he, anyway?
I draw a circle around my lips, asking her who he is without anyone seeing me. She crooks her index finger into the sign for the letter x. That’s her ex? Seriously?
Emily’s past has just walked in the door. And if the look on his face is any indication, he no longer wants to be in the past. He wants more.
I look at her father, who’s smirking at me with his arms folded in front of his chest. He doesn’t want the asshat to be in the past either.
Fine. I’ll knock his ass into the middle of next week. That’s the only way he’ll ever be a part of her future.
I take a step forward flexing my fingers as I go. He’s as big as I am, but I’d be willing to bet his jaw is made of candy, just like his ass.
Emily
This is not good. Not good at all. Trip isn’t supposed to be here. He’s supposed to be in LA. But he’s here.
He walks toward me as though we’re old friends. As though just a few months ago he didn’t call me stupid, among a few other choice words. As though I hadn’t left him standing at the altar before my last trip to New York, when I met Logan. As though I would accept the embrace he tries to offer to me.
He hugs me, pulling me way too close to him. I push against his chest, harder and harder until he has to let me go. Logan’s on his away across the room. I shove Trip back and slide my hand into the crook of Logan’s arm. I brush my hair back from my face. “What are you doing here, Trip?” I grit out.
Logan flexes his fingertips, squeezing them into a fist over and over. He looks like he could choke the life out of Trip with his bare hands.
Logan looks at my dad, his eyes open in mock disbelief. “You didn’t tell her, Mr. Madison?”
“Hadn’t had a chance yet,” Dad says, but he’s smiling. “Guess now’s as good a time as any.” He motions for Trip to continue.
“Your dad is moving me out here temporarily. He didn’t like the idea of you being in the city all alone.” Trip looks at my dad as though he needs reassurance. Dad nods. Trip grins and acts like he’s going to hug me again, but Logan places a hand on his chest. Trip looks down his nose at Logan, like he just smelled something bad. “Who the hell are you?” he asks. He takes in the way that I’m holding onto Logan’s arm with all my might, and he drops his jaw for a second. He lets out a quivery breath. “This is him?” he asks the room. “This is the guy?” Then he laughs out loud.
Logan’s arm flexes beneath my hand. I squeeze it tightly, digging my fingernails into his skin to get his attention. He looks at me, finally, and I stare directly into his eyes and mouth the words I love you.
He nods ever so slightly, and the tension in his body eases a bit.
“So you’re moving to New York?” I ask Trip.
He looks at my father, who nods. “Isn’t it great?” he gushes. “Mr. Madison wants me to head up the New York office.”
I look at my dad, watching his face. “We have a New York office?”
He smiles. “We do now.”
“Congratulate me, Em!” Trip cries. “Aren’t you even the tiniest bit happy to see me?” He’s practically giddy, and it’s rather nauseating.
“Oh, Ralph,” my mother breathes as she finally realizes what’s happening. “You didn’t.” She buries her face in her hands and groans. She glances up at me. “I had no idea. I’m so sorry.” She looks at Logan with an apology on her face.
I have a feeling things are about to get worse. My gut clenches in anticipation, and my pulse starts to hammer.
“Why don’t we have a seat?” Dad says. He points toward the couch for my mom, and Trip falls into a chair across the room. I shove Logan in the hip until he drops into a chair, too, and I sit down on the edge of it. He wraps his arm around my bottom, his hand settling on my hip. Both my dad and Trip frown when they see it. I cover his hand with mine to hold him there.
“What’s going on, Dad?” I ask. I look at Trip. He’s grinning. “Why are you here, Trip?”
Trip stands up quickly and claps his hands together. “I’m your new roomie!” he cries.
Logan’s hand tightens on my waist, and I look down at him, holding up one finger to ask him for patience. “I don’t have a roommate,” I say. “Nor do I want one.”
“I can’t believe you did this, Ralph,” my mother says. She jumps to her feet. “I can’t believe you did this without talking to me.”
 
; The room quiets, my mom’s heels clicking against the floor as she paces the only sound in the room.
“I don’t want you to be in the city all alone,” Dad says to me. He looks much too pleased with himself. “And then we realized Trip would be coming to New York, and we thought it would help both of you out. You have two bedrooms after all. And now you won’t have to be alone.”
“I wasn’t going to be alone,” I start. But Logan squeezes my hip. I stop talking.
My dad’s brow furrows. “What exactly do you mean, Emily?” he asks.
“I—” I stop, not knowing how to continue. “I—” I close my mouth again. “Never mind,” I mutter.
“New York is a dangerous place, Em,” Trip says. He’s still smiling. Like a used car salesman. Or a shark, right before it takes a big bite out of an unsuspecting swimmer. He looks at Logan as though he’s confirmation of the danger in the city. “You never know what kind of people you might run into.”
I roll my eyes toward the ceiling and count to ten.
Logan is quiet. A little too quiet. He’s strung tighter than my guitar strings. “You okay?” I ask. I sign while I talk.
Trip smacks himself in the forehead with his open palm. “Oh my God,” he cries. “I completely forgot about your impairment!” He says the next few words, punctuating each one with a pause. “Do. You. Need. For. Us. To. Talk. Slowly?”
“I can keep up,” Logan says. “But thank you for the offer.”
“Just. Let. Us. Know. If. We. Need. To. Talk. Slower.” Trip smiles, and I want to punch him in the face.
Logan lifts his head, a smile I know he doesn’t feel tilting the corners of his lips. “Thanks.”
“Dad,” I begin. “Trip can’t stay here.”
Dad looks at Trip, and the mock confusion on each of their faces mirrors the other. “Why not?” Trip asks.
Dad points toward the open bedroom door. “You have two bedrooms. And plenty of space.” He narrows his eyes at me. “You, yourself, told me that you two were still friends when you came home. Is that not the case?”
He’s playing dumb. I know my father. And I know when he does and does not understand something. He understands all too well. “Trip’s my ex-boyfriend, Dad. You don’t think that will be a little bit awkward?”
Dad waves a breezy hand in the air. “It doesn’t have to be. You two can come and go as you please. And I’ll feel better about being on the other side of the country if he’s here with you.”
“He can’t stay here.” I’m putting my foot down. I won’t allow this to happen. “I’ll leave, Dad. I swear to God, if you try to make me do this, I’ll disappear again.”
Dad sits back, looking smug. “You know, I got a call from Matt’s doctor the other day.” Dad stares direct at Logan. “They said your brother is ready for phase two of the treatment. And they asked if I would be providing the funds.”
Logan’s arm falls from around my waist, and he lumbers to his feet very slowly. He looks down at me and presses a finger to my lips. His finger trembles. “Mr. Madison,” he says. He nods at my dad, and then at my mom. “Mrs. Madison. It was wonderful to meet you. I will say good-bye now.” He starts toward the door. “And as far as the treatment is concerned, if Emily’s freedom is the price, you can take your money and shove it up your ass.” He stops at the door. I’m latched onto his arm like a Velcro monkey.
“Please don’t walk out,” I beg. “Not like this. I can fix this.”
He peels me off of his arm. “I know you can.” He kisses my forehead, his lips lingering there as he breathes in deeply, his eyes closed. Then he pushes me back from him. “I need to go,” he says. His voice is hoarse. “I’ll talk to you later.”
“I’m going to deal with this, and then I’ll come find you. I promise.”
He nods. Then he steps out the door and closes it softly behind him. There’s a thud on the other side of the wall and I know Logan waited until he got outside to smash something.
“Good riddance,” Trip says, brushing his hands together like he’s wiping dust from them.
Logan
I plump a woman’s breast in my hand, imagining how the tattoo she wants across the top of it will sag in twenty years. “I don’t think this is the best place,” I say. I’m wearing gloves, and I’m behind the curtain at the back of the shop, which is where all the private tattoos are done. I tried to talk Paul, my oldest brother, into doing this one, but he didn’t have time. His daughter, Hayley, is with a sitter, and he has to go and pick her up. I volunteered to go instead, but he laughed, shook his head, and walked out.
I plump the woman’s breast again. I made her put pasties over her nipples before I would even touch her. So it’s not like this is a sexual thing. For me. It is for her, apparently since she reaches for my belt buckle, and I brush her hands away, lifting my knee to block her. I don’t need this. I pass her shirt to her. “Put this on, please.”
Her lower lip juts out in an expression she probably thinks is sexy. I just think it’s pathetic. “You used to be so much more fun,” she pouts.
Yeah, back then I wasn’t in love with a woman I couldn’t have.
I’m still smarting over her father’s plan to move Trip in with her. The asshole hadn’t even introduced himself to me. All he did was patronize me as though I’m stupid.
Are. You. An. Ass? Yes. You. Are. An. Ass.
But he is an ass who is now living with my girl.
The curtain shakes. It’s how people ask me for permission to enter in the private area of the shop. I call out, “Come on back.” Emily pops her head around the curtain. You busy? she asks, signing to me. I like it when she does that.
Despite what happened earlier, I’m so fucking happy to see her. She walks across the room slowly and then kisses me softly. I want to linger over her lips all day and all night. Never too busy for you. I’m glad the woman on the table has her shirt back on.
“What about me?” my so-called customer asks.
“I think you should put the tattoo on your side. Or below your breast, rather than at the top,” I suggest.
She shimmies her unbound boobs at me under her shirt. “Are they too big for a tattoo?”
I’ve seen it a million times. After a few years and a couple of kids, her boobs will be looking down at her belly button. That’s not a bad thing—all women are beautiful—it’s just bad for tattoos.
“I think it would maintain better if we put it below your breast. It’s for your boyfriend, right?” I look down at the tattoo. It’s a man’s name. She nods. Poor schmuck might have no idea she’s a whore who would do me as fast as I could blink. I’m going to run it really lightly because I have a feeling she’s going to be covering it up before long.
She nods, and I get out my equipment. “Can you wait for me to finish?” I ask Emily.
Emily and I have to talk. I have to find out what happened today after I left. I couldn’t sit there. I just couldn’t. Not while her father held Matt’s treatment over her head again. Had she consulted me I probably wouldn’t have let her do it the first time, and I’ll be fucked sideways before I let her do it again. She’s not cattle that can be traded. She’s a fucking person, and I love her to death.
“I can wait,” she says. She goes out to sit with Friday, the girl who runs the front of the shop, while I work on the tattoo, and a half hour later, she’s laughing at something Friday is saying as I walk out with the newly tattooed girl. Emily looks up at me, blinking her pretty brown eyes. I have missed her so much, and I’m so glad she’s back. But I’m a little apprehensive.
The girl goes to pay Friday and slips her number in my pocket as she strolls by me. I toss it into the wastebasket after she’s gone. Emily’s eyebrows go up. “Should I be worried?” she asks, but she’s grinning.
I don’t feel like grinning. “Should I be?” I toss back. I motion for her to follow me to the back of the shop. She lets me help her to her feet and follows me.
“Are you done for the day?” she asks as I
clean up my supplies.
I nod. “What happened after I left?”
She sobers. Her gaze skitters around. Fuck. That’s not good. “Not much,” she hedges, wincing.
I tip her chin up with my finger and force her to look at me. “I won’t let you trade yourself for Matt’s treatment again.”
She waves a breezy hand in the air. “Don’t worry about that. My mother told him she would pay for it herself if it came down to it. She loves you already.” She grins at me. “Something about those tall, tatted white boys. Older women love them.”
A laugh bursts out of my throat. Emily grins, but then she winces again.
“Tell me,” I coax. “It can’t be worse than what I’ve been imagining all day.”
“Trip’s going to stay at my place while he looks for an apartment of his own.” She waits for me to react. I draw in a deep breath, trying not to. “Are you angry?”
I set her back from me. “Are you fucking kidding me?” I ask. I’m so angry that I can barely see straight. She takes a step back from me, and I realize she’s never really seen me angry. She saw me irritated at the diner when she asked me about fucking someone else. She’s seen me cry. She’s seen me hurt, like when we thought Matt was going to die. But she’s never really seen me angry. I work to soften my stance. “I’m angry at them. And if I ever have to see Trip again I’ll probably flatten him.”
“Can I watch?” she asks. But she’s grinning. “See, here’s the thing,” she says hesitantly. “While Trip’s looking for a place to stay, I was hoping maybe you would let me stay at your apartment.” She holds her breath, waiting for my response.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” I ask again. But this time I wrap my arms around her while I do it and spin her around. She giggles against me, and I can feel the movement of it in her belly. She doesn’t try to push me away the way she did with Trip earlier when he tried this move on her. Of course, he wasn’t the happiest man in the whole fucking world when he did it. I guess that matters.