Total pages in book: 162
Estimated words: 162567 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 813(@200wpm)___ 650(@250wpm)___ 542(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 162567 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 813(@200wpm)___ 650(@250wpm)___ 542(@300wpm)
Donnelly finally meets my eyes. “Sorry ‘bout him, man. Shoulda known what happened before the leak, but I never paid much attention to that kinda news in South Philly.” I love that he says South Philly like I do. Sow Philly.
“We were both kids, man.” I lift my shoulder.
He pauses, and I realize I jerked my wrist.
Fuck, I try to keep my wrist stable for him. He continues tattooing, and I tell him, “My brother’s death didn’t make any kind of headline that a bunch of eyes woulda seen anyway. It was what it was.”
Ugly.
Miserable.
A fuckin’ grenade in my family.
Life moves on, though.
Forward & Onward. I stare at the words he’s inking. Sulli places a hand on my knee, and I glance over at my beautiful girlfriend who recently qualified for the Olympics, who’s headed for Training Camp in Hawaii in four days with Team USA. Who only stopped physically shaking this morning. Enough that she declared, “Let’s get fucking tattoos. All of us. Together.”
Without hesitation, Akara and I jumped on the plan.
So we ended up three-floors below the penthouse. In my apartment that I share with Akara, Donnelly, and Quinn.
With her hand on my knee and eyes on my eyes, Sulli’s lips are rising.
I notice that Akara is smiling more, too.
What?
What’d I do?
She gently elbows my side before lifting her knees to her chest. “You talked about Sky.” Her voice is quiet. It’s still strange to hear Sulli whisper. Like really whisper to a decibel that needs ear-straining. She’s gotten better at lowering her voice in public. So I shouldn’t be surprised she can do it in my apartment.
I patty-cake her words in my head.
You talked about Sky.
Yeah.
I’m getting better at that. Guess we’re all improving at some things. Getting worse at others. ‘Cause my fucking back is killing me from sitting this upright.
I might get Sulli to walk on my back before we go to bed. See if she can crack the kinks.
The more I feel how proud Akara and Sulli are of me, the more my muscles take a break from yanking taut. My shoulders loosen.
At least my head isn’t pounding. Thank you, Farrow. I’m now the owner of a daith piercing. The silver hoop in my ear’s inner cartilage has been a godsend. Migraines are infrequent enough that I wish I’d spoken to Farrow sooner. Gone to the doctor. I’m just glad I finally did.
Donnelly traces the letter a.
Sulli watches and tugs at a frayed ankle bracelet. “Should I get mine on the right or left?” She shows me her wrists.
“My vote is right. Match ours.”
“You’re getting yours on the right too, Kits?”
“I am.” Akara tosses a purple gummy worm in his mouth.
Sulli opens her mouth from afar.
He wags a green gummy, then tosses that one in his mouth.
She gapes. “Kits.”
“What? You want one of these?” He wags a red one.
“What else am I fucking doing? Just eating air?”
I crack a smile. God, I love her. You could’ve lost her. I try to wipe that away.
“Here.” Akara gears up to throw the red gummy. “Open wide, Sul.”
She opens her mouth to catch again. My unholy mind pictures Sulli taking Akara’s cock. “How am I doing, Banks? Good form?”
“You’re no match for him.”
Akara shoots me a half-hearted glare. “Hey, fudge you.”
I almost laugh.
Donnelly smirks, inking the last little line.
Sulli’s open mouth has closed to make way for a smile.
“You want the gummy worm or not, string bean?”
“Fuck yes,” Sulli says competitively, “give me your worm, Kits.”
He clearly adjusts forward like that sexual innuendo stroked him. But he twirls the red gummy. Fakes a throw. She sits off the cushion to catch before realizing he never threw the candy.
He eats the red one.
She chucks a couch pillow at him. “You fucking gummy worm tease.”
He dodges the blow.
I can tell Donnelly has been tattooing for years—even if his current occupation is security. He lifts his needle as soon as the couch cushion undulates, then gets back to work like no time has passed.
Sulli chucks a second pillow.
Akara catches it, and his smile flickers in and out. Heavy with something. A feeling. I see the way he watches Sulli. Like he’s engraining these little happy moments we’re sharing.
Like he’s safekeeping them in case things worsen. In case there’s no light left—I don’t know. In case of a next time?
There can’t be a fucking next time.
This can’t happen again.
Our gazes catch.
I slip him a look this time that says, she’s still here. She’s not going anywhere, Akara.
He exhales a breath, massaging his knuckles.
I thought Akara would go all G.I. Joe if danger crept in Sulli’s sphere, but it looks like I was projecting. Because that’s me.
I’m the Marine.
Literally.
Once Donnelly finishes my tattoo and cleans off the fresh ink, I roll out my stiff shoulders and let Akara take my seat. And then a knock sounds on our apartment door.