Cuffs - Cara Lockwood Page 0,44

fry into her mouth.

“I’m cured!” she exclaimed and giggled. It was hard not to be affected by Ava’s bubbly, warm personality, her zest for life. Someone like her shouldn’t be sick, Mags thought. She ought to be out with her friends, having the time of her life.

Ava glanced at Mags. “So, how did you end up doing the Shaded Moon cover? Did Gael tell you that’s, like, my favorite album of all time? Of course, it’s their only album so far, but still.”

Mags took a deep breath. She thought about the band, about how they’d promised to promote her work and about how they ended up replicating it instead, pocketing all the cash. There’d been those excuses about how song downloads wouldn’t begin to pay for studio time, how merch was the only way to make a living in the music business anymore. If they’d just told her ahead of time, discussed it with her before they’d printed all those shirts and hats, she might’ve been on board. But they hadn’t. The betrayal still stung.

“I knew people who knew them,” she said. “They used to hang out at the same bar I went to. The Bulldog.”

Gael raised an eyebrow. “Does everyone go there?” he teased.

Mags shrugged. “Just the important people.” She glanced at Ava. “Anyway, they asked if I would design the cover, so I did.”

“That’s so cool. You’re so cool.” The unabashed admiration in the girl’s eyes made Mags a little uncomfortable.

“No, you’re the cool one. Look at all these flowers!” Mags nodded around the room, which was stuffed full of balloons and several layers of plants and some wilting flowers. “You’ve got a lot of friends.”

“He sends me most of them.” She pointed to Gael.

Mags glanced at Gael with surprise. It was a thoughtful gesture, keeping her room full of cheer.

“Not just me. Her whole class signed that giant card.” He nodded to the poster board–size get-well card propped up in the corner.

“That’s because you made them sign it,” Ava said. “He pestered the school until they did it.”

“They were happy to do it. They miss you.”

Ava rolled her eyes to the ceiling, unconcerned. That made Mags somehow like her even more. “You all are making too big a deal out of this. I’m going to be fine.”

Mags caught the worry line that appeared in Gael’s forehead, the way he stiffened ever so slightly, as if hoping he could protect his little sister from all the medical bad news in the world with sheer force of will.

“Yes, you are,” Mags agreed. “You’re tough. And I know tough.” Both Gael and Ava laughed a little. Gael flashed her a look of gratitude. “Maybe when you’ve kicked cancer’s butt, your brother might be okay with letting you get a tattoo, too. On the house.”

Ava’s face instantly lit up. “Really? You’d do that? For me?” Ava’s whole face radiated joy. Gael’s, however, darkened with disapproval. She’d overstepped.

“Maybe,” Gael said. “A small one. Maybe.”

“Sorry—” Mags backtracked. “I should’ve asked your brother first. It’s his call.” Mags wasn’t used to asking permission. She suddenly felt like she’d mucked things up without meaning to. This was why she didn’t belong in sweet families. She didn’t fit. Her mom had been the sweet one of the family. And cancer had taken her before she’d been able to teach Mags how to be sweet.

“It’s okay.” Gael shrugged one shoulder. “Just so long as she knows it’s a maybe.”

“Please? Pretty, pretty please?” Ava begged, like a toddler in the toy aisle at Target.

“You have to be eighteen first,” Gael said.

“My birthday is in mere months. So then can I?”

Gael frowned. Clearly, he’d been hoping to stall longer than a few months. That much was clear on his face. “Maybe,” he said.

Ava deflated like a punctured balloon. “Maybe always means no.” She glanced at Mags.

“It doesn’t,” Gael protested, sounding very much like a dad. She liked it. It was a shade warmer than The Tone he used in the bedroom. Warmer, but still with an underlying steel to it. “It means maybe.”

“Fine.” Ava stuck out her tongue, and at that moment she looked very much the teenager. Not a sick teenager, just a teenager, chafing against authority, determined to get her own way somehow. Mags remembered that feeling. It wasn’t so long ago she was a teenager herself. A teen who’d had to take care of her father for the most part. He’d been in rough shape after her mother died. It had just been her and him