I dropped to one knee and dug in my pocket again. I pulled out a little diamond ring. I held it up and pictured how things were supposed to go down. Shit, right then, with the sky on fire with an array of colors, it was almost something out of some cheesy-ass movie.
I used my left hand to dig in the dirt, right next to the rock. Took me about five minutes of digging to find the other rings. I didn't keep count of how many where there, but there was a quite a few. I dropped the new ring into the hole and buried it. I stood up and put my foot on the dirt. I wiped my hands on my jeans.
I nodded.
"See you next year," I whispered, and I patted the big rock.
I walked away, feeling a little emptier.
That's just what time did.
It moved forward. It filled you up. It drained you.
I just wanted to know that she was okay … and happy.
River
PRESENT DAY (almost a year later)
I exhaled and pretended I was blowing out smoke. My left hand was jittery without having my morning cigarette. My right hand was tight around a coffee mug as I stood on the balcony and greeted another day in life. I twitched my left hand's fingers and thought about my last smoke. Amazing how months and months had gone by, and yet that urge was still there, fresh on the tip of my tongue, a phantom feeling between my fingers.
I lifted the mug to my mouth and took a sip.
My left hand reached out and grabbed the metal railing of the balcony. I leaned forward and looked down. I was lucky I got the apartment when I did. There wasn't much available in town, and if I'd missed out on this one, my commute to St. Skin would have been a pain in the ass. Here, I could leave at five to ten and be there by ten. I had met Tate at a tattoo convention a while back. His booth was next to mine, and we quickly struck up a friendship, damn near ignoring everyone else at the convention. We should have been the ones walking around, talking to suppliers, but we preferred to sit our asses down and let people come to us. He was amazed by the work I did and that I did it all on my own. Tongue-in-cheek, he told me if I ever needed a change he'd make room for me. I'd shaken his hand, laughing, and later that night, we ended up at a bar, drinking.
The night went by fast and ended with a crazy bar fight. Tate and I got tossed out of the back of the bar into an alley. We both turned, ready to throw another punch, realizing that we were left with just each other. We burst into laughter, hugged, and broke apart. He went one way, I went the other. He called out without looking back that his offer would stay good.
I never thought I'd take him up on that offer, but when the winds of sweeping change hit, they took me for a damn ride. From the beach to a small town. From being the guy who ran the tattoo shop on the beach, never wearing a shirt, always looking for trouble, to being the guy who worked in a tattoo shop with a schedule, a boss, and a fucking paycheck.
The craziest part was that the transition wasn't all that bad. It was smooth. The guys at the shop were welcoming, almost like a brotherhood. It helped that on my first day, Tate called a meeting and explained who I was and what I had been doing. Out of everyone there, more than half already knew about me thanks to people and the internet. Shit, I didn't even have the internet in my shop back on the beach. Yet I had become kind of famous for my ink. Normally, I enjoyed my privacy, but when it came to inking someone, it was all about exposing yourself. Exposing yourself as the artist and exposing yourself as the person getting the ink.
I finished my coffee but didn't feel any more awake than before I had a sip. Caffeine did shit for me. Same for nicotine. But whiskey? Ah, damn …
I turned and saw a beautiful woman standing in the doorway wearing nothing but the sheet from my bed. She had auburn hair and chestnut eyes. Her skin had a permanent shade of tan to it. The kind of woman who didn't need to do a damn thing to look stunning. She was insanely natural, and that was a wicked turn-on for me. Even when I took her out, she would fuss over makeup, but she never looked different. The only time I saw her wearing lipstick was when she had to work early one morning and decided to leave a trail of kisses down my body as a little goodbye present to hold me over until she got home.
And her name-Mary.
Just a simple, beautiful name.
A name that might have suggested innocence, but she was far from innocent. Trust me.
I met her ten months ago at a bar. Big shocker, I know. But she wasn't there to drink. She was the designated driver for a group of friends who drank too much vodka, got too loud with their woo bullshit over college stories, and almost got into a few fights. For whatever reason, I put my glass down and went over to Mary. I stopped drinking, chatted her up, defended her friends, and even helped her get them all home. Two passed out and two more needed a ride. One of those two got sick in the back of my truck. I helped Mary get her friends home, even helped the sick one to her bathroom. Mary then consoled her friend as she started to regret the night and her entire life.