He nodded at me. “I’ve thought about this,” he said. “I think I know what to do.”
“Whatever you say, I’ll do it.”
“We’ll go tomorrow then.”
I lifted the back of his shirt, grazing the warm skin there barely, then hooked my thumb through his belt loop. He watched me as I did this, a small smile growing wide against his teeth.
I glanced to my left. The girls who’d sat in the hall when I was trying to get into Aidan’s door were standing next to Atticus’s booth. They signaled to me, so I bent toward them. Before I knew it, a blonde girl had me by the hair and was trying to drag me out of the setup. “Bitch! He’s mine!” I heard her yell. I yanked up but a few more girls grabbed hold of me before I had a chance to slip the first’s hold. They were actually making progress when I felt Atticus lean over me, his fist connecting with a few of their hands. Their grips were starting to wane and I was able to lift myself up slightly.
“Let her the fuck go!” Atticus yelled.
I saw Miguel and two other bouncers fight through the crowd then scoop up the three girls who had hold of my hair, but they refused to let go. One by one the bouncers peeled the girls’ fingers away and dragged them out the front door kicking and screaming. The blonde pointed at me and yelled something, but it was too loud for me to hear. Atticus lifted me up, his face stricken.
“Jesus, Hazel, are you okay?” He ran his hands over my head and face, looking for obvious injuries.
“I’m fine,” I answered him, out of breath. “Head’s just a little sore.”
“Let’s go,” he said, heading for the edge of the booth.
“No! Finish your set. I’ll be fine.”
“Fuck it, Haze! I don’t care!”
“What about your label?” I asked.
“I’ve played over an hour. They’ll be fine.”
“I don’t want you to get in trouble, Atticus.”
“I won’t, Haze. Besides, I don’t fucking care right now. Let me get you the hell out of here, please.”
He wouldn’t let me say any more and edged me to the wall near the end of the booth. He made a movement with his arm and people stepped back to make room for us. He jumped down and held his arms out for me, placing his hands on my waist. My fingers went to his shoulders as I let my body fall forward. He caught me and I slid down his chest. When my boots hit ground, he wrapped his arms around me and elbowed his way toward the back of the bar.
We heard the guy who was supposed to follow Atticus come over the speaker, thanking everyone for him and announcing Atticus was done for the night. The crowd erupted in cheers, and it was a relief they weren’t pissed we’d left the way we did. We meandered through the packed floor, people slapping Atticus on the back and shoulder, and girls screaming his name. We rounded the back of the bar, but instead of going through the hall to Aidan’s office, he led me through the bar itself and through the pair of swinging doors to the small kitchen.
All Atticus’s brothers were in there; we barreled our way past them toward the back employee entrance.
Aidan smiled at me.
Cillian winked. “Nice to see you again,” he said.
“Hi,” I said, as Atticus whisked me past them.
Brendan, Liam, and Malachi waved at me.
“You look good, Hazel,” Cillian said.
“Thanks!” I yelled as we exited the building.
When we hit night air, we stopped. Atticus searched the parking lot. He pointed at the valet section and started walking.
His brothers followed us out.
“Atticus, wait!” Aidan said. Atticus and I turned toward them. “We have something to say to Hazel,” he said. Atticus, who’d kept my hand in his, squeezed it.
We stood there, all of us quiet.
“We’re sorry about that day,” Liam said, “for everything. We didn’t realize what we were saying. We saw our brother hurting and we took it out on you and we’re sorry.”
“It’s okay,” I said.
“No, it’s not,” Cillian chimed in, “but we’d like your forgiveness all the same.”
“Of course,” I said.
“You okay, Miss Stone?” Miguel asked, after coming through the doors.
“Fine,” I said with a smile. He returned inside with a nod.
“What happened?” Aidan asked.
I looked at Atticus. “One of his adoring fans wanted to slit my throat,” I joked. Apparently it was the wrong thing to say because Atticus’s face looked panicked. “Hey, hey,” I told him, placing both hands on the sides of his neck. “Don’t worry. I’m fine. I promise.”
His hands lifted and found my wrists then held there. “I don’t know what happened,” he said. “It wasn’t supposed to happen. I’m not big enough for that to happen.”
I sighed. “Atticus, I think you are.”
“No way, I’m just a producer. We live in the shadows. It’s part of why I took the gig. I don’t like the spotlight.”
I smiled up at him. “You’re too pretty for them not to notice, Atticus.”
“I’m supposed to keep you safe, though. This hit too close. It’s too much.”
One of the valet guys must have spotted us congregating outside and brought Atticus’s car around, pulling up beside us.
“Thanks, Jason,” Aidan told the driver, who’d noticed Atticus’s distracted expression and threw the keys at Aidan.
Atticus came to when he heard his keys and held out his hand. “You all right?” Aidan asked.
“Fine. I’ve just got to get the hell out of here.” Aidan threw them at Atticus, who caught them with one hand. “Come on, Haze.”
He opened my door for me and I piled in. We started to take off but he stopped abruptly. “Shit,” he said.
“What?” He looked at me, he was torn. “What, Atticus?”
“I need to let the label know I’m out for the night. I don’t want the waters any more muddied than they are.”
“Of course,” I said. “Go.”
“Cillian!” Atticus yelled toward his brothers. “Come here.” He put the car in park and started to climb out. “Make sure those psycho girls don’t go anywhere near Hazel. I’ve gotta go in and get the label guys sorted out.”
Cillian jogged our direction and sat in the driver’s seat while Atticus ran in.
“You look good, Hazel,” Cillian offered.
I snorted. “You already said that, Cillian.”
“Yeah, well, I mean it.”
I laughed. “Are you flirting with me, Cillian?”
He smiled that smile all the Kelly boys seemed to possess, the one that could make any girl weak at the knees, then shrugged. “So what if I am?”
I barked a short laugh. “Cillian! What is wrong with you?”
He shook his head then sighed. “Jamie broke up with me.”
I gasped. “What! No!”
He ran his palms over the steering wheel. “Yeah.”
“What happened?”
He took a deep breath and looked over at me. “Fell in love with someone else. Cheated on me.”
My hand went to my mouth then fell to my chest. “Oh, Cillian, I’m so sorry.”
“It’s okay. We were young when we had Nick. If it hadn’t been for him, we would have never lasted.” He looked at me. “I would have stayed forever, though, for Nick.” He shook his head. “Poor Nick. He’s such a great kid. He doesn’t get why she’s never around anymore, and I don’t know how to explain it to him. I just tell him I love him and take him bike riding or to the movies or whatever.”
“It sounds like you’re doing exactly what you should do, Cillian.”
“Am I, though? Eventually I’m going to run out of distractions, and what then?”
“I don’t know, but my mom ran out on me when I was a little younger than Nick and I wondered for a while what happened to her, but eventually I stopped wondering why she didn’t love me and focused on the ones who did.”
He nodded, wrapping his arms around his sh
oulders. “That’s so fucked up, though, Hazel. If I could, I would take away all his unhappiness and carry it on my own shoulders. I’d do anything for him not to suffer.”
I smiled at him. “That seems to be a Kelly trait.”
He smiled back. “Damn, I thought I had that one on lock or something.”
I laughed. “No, all of you boys are like that.”
“So, uh, you and Atticus, huh? Is that a for sure thing or—?”
I laughed again. “You haven’t been single in a long time, have you?”
“No, and it’s a bitch out there.”
“A little tip? Don’t hit on your brothers’ girls.”
His brows shot up. “So does that mean you’re Atticus’s girl?”
I cleared my throat, not sure how to respond. “Uh, well, I don’t know, but you get what I mean.”
He winked at me. “Yeah, Hazel, I think I do.”
Atticus dropped me off at my studio, and I slept harder than I had in more than a year. I didn’t know if it was because he was starting to make me feel better or I was just so exhausted, but I didn’t wake up one time in a panic. Not once.
I woke at eight, showered, drank a cup of joe, and picked up my pencils. I swiped a hand across a clean canvas. It was my favorite moment when I painted, the promise of something new, of something wonderful, the rush it gives you, the love you feel. I bent over the canvas and traced my outlines. It was another realism piece, but this time it would be different. I didn’t know why, but I knew it would be different.
At noon, someone knocked on my door, so I draped a bit of cheesecloth to hide what I was drawing. I lifted the peephole slider and got a fish-eye view of Atticus. My heart started to beat into my throat. I unchained the door, slid the lock, and twisted the deadbolt before throwing open the door.
“Atticus,” I said, slightly out of breath.
“I tried to call, I swear,” he said.
I pulled the door open farther. “No, it’s fine, come in.”
He walked in with a bag of something and set it on my counter. He stood still while I bolted the door again, sliding the chain home.
“How’s your head?” he asked.
My hand went to the knot that had formed after the girl had yanked my hair. “It’s fine,” I lied.
He walked in front of me and tenderly ran his hands through my hair, wincing when he landed on the swollen lump.
“It’s okay,” I told him, dragging his hands down. I nodded my head at the bag. “Is that for me?” I asked, hoping to change subjects.
He glanced backward. “Yeah.”
I bit my bottom lip. “Well, can I have it?”
“Of course,” he answered.
He took three steps and yanked the bag from behind the bar and brought it over to me, opening it and offering it for me to look at. I peeked inside.
“Oh my God, breakfast tacos from La Ventana’s.”
“Yes, ma’am!”
I grabbed the bag and skipped to the bar. Atticus instinctively grabbed two plates from my cabinets while I grabbed a spoon and, because I wasn’t an animal, my homemade salsa from the fridge. I slid into a seat and he sat beside me, setting a plate in front of me. Eagerly I grabbed a taco from the bag and giddily untucked the wrapper. I reached forward and grabbed the salsa, prying open the lid and setting it between us. I glanced over at Atticus and he was watching me, making me feel self-conscious.
“What?” I asked, aware of myself.
He smiled at me. “You’re happy today.”
I took a deep breath, the easiest breath I’d taken in a long time. “I guess I am,” I told him.
He didn’t say anything more while we ate. When we were done, I took our plates to the sink. I began to rinse them when he snapped his fingers.
“I left my guitar in my car. Be right back.”
“Okay,” I told him, placing our plates in the dishwasher to run later.
I went to my canvas, unwrapped the cheesecloth, and picked up my pencil again. Atticus came back inside and bolted the door again. I watched him walk, his strong, lean legs in a comfortable stride, the swish of his jeans like a song in my head, arriving at my green velvet wingback. He shed his jacket on the floor, fell into his seat, and propped his feet, crossing his legs at the ankles, on the sushi-roll footrest I paired with the wingback. He brought the guitar to his lap, plucking at the strings and turning the tuning pegs with his long, slender fingers until the guitar was on pitch. Everything he did put butterflies in my stomach. I was overly aware of him and it did things to me.
I turned back to my canvas and began to draw, but his proximity made my hands shake and I kept having to erase and reapply the lines. He began to strum the strings, and eventually a beautiful melody came pouring out.
I stopped what I was doing and set my pencil down. “That’s ‘Hazel,’” I told him.
He smiled but continued playing, only shifting to a minor version of the original. “That it is, madam.”
“Is that how you wrote it?” I asked.
“Yes,” he answered succinctly.
The song danced across my skin, swam through my head, made me feel drunk. I walked toward him and stood at his feet. He shifted, sitting up a little, letting his feet fall to the floor, and I sat on the footstool in front of him. He leaned forward, his guitar on his thighs, and kept playing.
“Are you ready for an adventure today?” he asked me over the song.
“It depends on what it is,” I told him.
“It involves you and those skilled hands.”
“Oh, really?” I asked.
“Got a pencil and some paper handy?”
“Yeah,” I answered, leaning back and grabbing my pencils. I stood up, grabbed my sketchpad, and sat back down.
Atticus laid his guitar against the outside of the chair, the neck resting in the dip of the wingback’s armrest. “Draw me something, Haze.”
“Like what, Atticus?”
“Something that honors Juniper.”
I took a deep, shaky breath. “Anything?” I asked.
“Anything.”
Briefly, the tip of my pencil sat on the surface of the paper before I sketched out Juniper’s name hidden in a juniper branch. I filled in the empty spaces with melting juniper berries and dripping paint, gossamer threads, and geometric color blocks. It had an abstract quality to it. It took approximately an hour to finish but Atticus sat still, not saying a word while I worked, and watched my every move.
I shaded in the last bit and held it up. “There,” I said, feeling cleansed.
Atticus shook his head at me. “It’s like you’re not even human,” he whispered, making my cheeks feel flushed. “How is it possible that human hands created this?” he asked no one, grasping the sketchpad. “This is ridiculously incredible, Haze.” He swallowed. “I think about her, us, all the time,” he confessed, looking into my eyes.
“So do I,” I revealed as well.
“Feel like taking a little trip with me?”
I laughed. “Why are you being so cryptic?”
“I’m surprised you haven’t figured it out yet.”
“I’m wracking my brain, dude, but I can’t figure it out.”
“That’s okay,” he said, standing up and offering his hand. I took it and he pulled me up. “Do you need to get anything? We’ll be gone for a couple of hours.”
“Okay,” I sang, reaching for a light jacket and my purse. He helped me put it on and opened the door for me then I locked it.
We rounded the corner near my building and came upon his car. I started making my way toward it but he tugged me toward him. “No, we’re walking,” he said.
I followed him a few blocks down Hall and we hooked a left on Elm and landed at this little hole in the wall.
“What is this place?” I asked. “It’s not even marked.”
“It’s a tattoo parlor, Haze.” My eyes blew wide. “I’m getting your drawing done.”
“Oh my God,” I whispered, my throat go
ne dry.
Atticus smiled at me. “Come on, Haze,” he said, grabbing my hand.
We walked through the narrow door. The entire parlor was about fifteen feet long but probably only six feet wide. The walls were painted brilliantly, lots of Mexican art, just gorgeous. There was one vintage barber chair and a table just behind it lining the right wall. It was small and intimate and beautiful. A man came through from a small curtained section in the back, lots of insane tattoos over his skin, but none of the typical art you see. Just like Atticus’s, his were unconventional, a true testament to the art. He had quarter-inch wood gauges in his ears and his brow was pierced. He wore a pair of dark jeans, a short-sleeved print shirt with the sleeves rolled a few times, and a fedora.
He smiled when he saw Atticus. “Hey, Atticus,” he said, extending his hand.
Atticus slapped his hand and they did some secret handshake thing, laughed, and patted each other on the back. Men.
“Keitel, this is Hazel. Hazel, Keitel.”
He held out his hand for me and I took it. He bent at the waist and kissed across my knuckles. “Miss Hazel, nice to meet you.”
I smiled. “Same,” I said.
He turned and took two steps, rolling a stool with his foot his direction, and sat smoothly. “What are we doing today?” he asked Atticus.
Atticus handed him my drawing and Keitel’s eyes bugged as he studied it. “Who in the hell drew this?” Atticus smiled and threw his head my direction. Keitel looked at me. “You drew this?” I nodded. “Whoa, man, this is some shit right here.” He looked at me again. “You really drew this?”
I laughed. “Yeah.”
“Damn,” he said, playfully bowing my direction, “you’re a master, dude. Seriously,” he shook his head, “this is some grade-A stuff right here.”
“Thanks, Keitel.”
“Thanks, Keitel. Thanks, Keitel, she says. No, man, thank you! I don’t even know what to say.” He looked at me as if something dawned on him. “Yes, I do, actually. You want a job?”
Atticus and I both laughed. “Thank you, but I’ve got a gig,” I said.
“If you ever change your mind,” he said. “I’m for real.”
“Well, thank you, if I ever feel like changing my profession, I’m all yours.”