Before & After - Nazarea Andrews Page 0,47

me to think?”

“I expected you to trust me. That I love you and if—” My eyebrows raise, and she scowls “When I choose to keep something from you, it’s for a good fucking reason. I expect you to know that.”

I shrug. “You might be expecting too much, sugar.”

She takes a step back, hurt pooling in her bright eyes. I hate seeing that look on her face. Hate that I put it there. But this is one time I can’t back down.

I give her a final look, a small smile. “Go to class, Fish. you’ll be late."

Then I walk away, and try to think of anything but how much this hurts.

***

The tattoo I'm supposed to be drawing is for a client. A giant fucking back piece—eagles and fish and some other tribal nonsense, all done in dark band and artistic, vague, half-formed images.

It should look amazing if a little bit hipster and pretentious for my taste.

"That is not tribal art," Scotty says, dropping beside me. The breeze of his arrival ruffles my sheet of paper, and I flick a look at him. There is so much I could say here, but why? It doesn't change anything.

"You need to let her explain."

"When did you start taking her side in shit, dude?" I snap, refocusing on the art.

"When you fell in love with her. She fucked up by keeping it from you. I'm not denying that. But she deserves a chance to explain why. She's not an idiot and she loves you."

"And we all self-sabotage," I say

"Peyton isn't trying to get out of this. If she was, she wouldn't have moved in and built a shrine to your relationship. She's in this. So let her explain why the fuck she's hiding her parents. We aren't the only ones who came into this with baggage.

He rises and I glance at him. "You don't have a session today."

"I'm not here for me," he says, staring back at me.

I swallow the snappy comeback, and nod once. Turn back to the sketch.

It's a koi, a bright red fish with blue scales gleaming almost iridescently along its sides, twisted on its own tail. It's all soft and sweet and I know it's for her.

Staci come up beside me, and peers at it. "Good work. You adding it to your portfolio? "

"I don't know," I say. She glances at me, her gaze assessing and sharp.

It's vaguely disconcerting, and I know why. Staci took a chance on me. I wasn't going to take her up on her offer. But I love the shop. I love the sound of the tattoo machine, and the stories behind the art, even the stupid as fuck pieces that kill my soul a little. I like getting to know the clients, and seeing the excitement in their eyes when they see my sketches.

I even like that it hurts. Peyton laughs and calls me a sadistic masochist. She might be on to something.

Staci taking a chance on me gave me the choice to be good at something. Something that allowed me to still be creative. And I didn't want to let her down.

"You need to be focused," she says quietly. "This shit we do—it's for real. It lasts forever. So we give the client every bit of our attention while we're here. I don't know what happened with Peyton, but you need to leave it at the door."

I nod, and tuck the sketch of the koi aside. Force a smile for my boss and straighten. "I'll have it done in a few hours."

I get lost in the art, my mind racing as I sketch, and despite Staci's admonition, I'm struggling to figure out how the hell this happened. What she thought could be gained by hiding her parents coming to town.

Peyton and her folks don't get along. They haven't since her last stint in rehab for the anorexia. I know that. I've read her own words, seen the pictures. I know she was miserable being forced into the political daughter mold.

But I also know she's here on their dime. She goes to school, pays rent and her bills, buys food—all with money they provide. She might hate the hold they have on her, and she might not go home to dance to their tune, but she depends on them.

Is that why she's hiding me?

I huff out a sigh, and shove the thoughts aside, focusing on the design. She can explain it. I owe her that much—and we live together. It's not like I can avoid her