And on top of the exhaustion, I’ve got to work, and Zane’s on my back to take on my first solo ink. Under his watchful eye, I’ve completed parts of tats on real skin, but doing it all on my own…

Dammit.

The key drops from my fingers, and I bend to get it. When I straighten, someone is standing right in front of me, and I jerk back.

What the hell, why the fuck should I be hallucinating Seth standing there with a dark frown on his face?

“Hey,” Seth says, scratching at the stubble on his jaw. “Um. Whatcha doing here this early, J?”

“Oh, you know.” I straighten, key clutched in my hand, digging into my palm, my mouth on autopilot. “I like to come in early and jerk off on the reception desk.”

The hallucination in the form of Seth lifts a dark brow but doesn’t look too impressed. Damn. I have to try harder.

“Have you ever noticed how Zane’s tattoo gun looks like a dildo?” I wag the key at Seth. “Have you ever thought to try—?”

“No.” The Seth hallucination winces. “No, dude. Seriously?”

“No, not seriously.” I sigh, try the key again, and, miracle of miracles, it slides into the lock. “What do you think? It’s my cleaning shift.”

“No, actually, it’s not.” He follows me inside.

“Come again?” I stop in my tracks.

“Man, yours is tomorrow. Hate to tell you this, but today’s mine. You came over here for nothing.”

Oh, Jesus Fuck. “You serious right now?”

“Yep. Sorry, J. Not that I wouldn’t mind swapping with you, but after my shift at the movie theater tonight, I plan on getting hammered and will need tomorrow morning to recover.”

“What’s tonight? Fuck.” I kick at the carpet and jam my hands into my jeans pockets. I wander inside, following Seth. “Can’t believe this.”

Although, okay yeah, I’m tired. My memory’s shot. Should’ve seen this coming.

“Hey, Seth?” I sink into one of the ugly-ass orange easy chairs beside the reception desk and rub my eyes. Amber’s face flashes behind my eyelids, I hear her laugh in my mind, and God, I just wish I could be pressed to her right now. She’d feel so good, I think—and how fucked up is it that she’s stuck on my mind? I blink, the shop returning around me. “About tonight, you said—”

I shoot to my feet. “Damn, are you okay? Seth!”

“Fuck.” He’s hunched over, clutching his shoulder, his face twisted in a grimace.

I’m by his side in two long strides. “What the hell’s wrong?”

He hisses out a breath and slowly straightens. “I’m okay.”

“Fuck that, a blind man can see you’re not fucking okay. Is that the shoulder you dislocated?”

Dislocated when Evangeline’s psychotic ex, Blake, found a way to get back to her by using her friends as punching bags.

He nods and lets me steer him to the stool inside Zane’s workstation. “It’ll pass.”

“You shouldn’t force it, man. Did the doctor clear you to mop and sweep?”

He shrugs, then groans and curses.

Right.

“What about your ribs? And the kidney bruising? Did you get checked?”

“Yeah, I’m okay.” He starts to get up, scowling at the tattoo shop in general. “It’s just the shoulder. Doc said it might hurt for a while longer.”

“Listen.” I let him get up, then grab him by the shoulders, making him yelp, and steer him toward the ugly orange chairs. “You sit there now.”

“What the hell are you doing, J?”

“Your shoulder hurts. Mine doesn’t. I’m here, and I got nothing to do. I’m too tired to argue about this, so don’t say anything, okay? I’ll clean.”

“But tomorrow—”

“Yeah, I know. Tomorrow, too. Rest that shoulder, d’you hear me? Dr. J’s orders.”

“Dr. J, huh?” He snorts but doesn’t resist when I push him down into the chair and go look for the mop, which tells me he has to be in a fair amount of pain, even if he doesn’t admit to it.

Damn. He should tell Zane about it, but knowing how annoying Zane can be when he hovers, I understand why he hasn’t.

“Dr. J, you coming tonight, right?” Seth asks after a while.

“Tonight.” I dig through my stagnant memory for clues. Nothing comes up. “What’s tonight? Was I invited?”

“It’s guys’ night out. Beer and pool. Damn right you were invited.”

About to tell him to screw the beer and pool night because I’m not in the fucking mood, I hesitate.

Might as well go, I think as I fill up the bucket and carry it back to the main area of the shop. Sleep is impossible with Travis banging random chicks until the walls shake, Gage and his buddies hammered and yelling at each other, and Alex… well Alex is quiet, but hell, the other two are enough.

Might as well get shitfaced. Then at least I know I’ll pass out till morning.

***

Halo, the gang’s favorite hang-out, is packed for a Tuesday night. It’s also warm and stuffy inside, the smell of too many breaths and sweat steeped in alcohol overpowering the reek of fried fish tacos that clings to my clothes and skin.

It’s late, and I don’t feel like swinging by the apartment to change. Just wanna say hi to the guys, get a few beers in, head back and hit the sack.

I spot Ocean’s head of blue hair at the back and head that way, pushing through the crowd. Loud music spills from the speakers. It’s rock. Celtic rock, I decide, as I skirt a table with a rowdy group, barely avoiding a guy’s fist as he swings it to give a friendly punch to his friend. At least I hope it’s friendly.

Maybe it’s a theme evening, and I missed the memo.

Like I missed the fact that today is Tuesday, and not Wednesday, and ended up working both. Dammit.

Though, have to admit, reaching the back of the bar and seeing Seth planted on a stool sipping at his beer and smiling, no trace of discomfort on his face, makes me glad I did. I hate seeing the people around me in pain, and hell, I’d take over the motherfucker’s shift any day if it means he’s going to rest his damn shoulder and come through fine in the end.

Ocean raises his beer at me, grinning like a jackal. “J, you made it.”

Obviously. I’m here, aren’t I? I nod at him and mellow down when he shoves a chilled bottle into my hand. “Hey, Shun.”

He laughs. “My brother used to call me that.”

I lift a brow. “Didn’t know you had a brother.”

Ocean’s eyes are a light color—blue or gray, I never paid much attention—but now they darken and flatten, turning into polished stone.

“Yeah, well.” He takes a long swig from his beer, his tone inscrutable. “I wish I could forget I have one, too.”

Whoa. I don’t have siblings—that I know of, at least—and the brothers I know, like Asher and Tyler, would literally die for each other. Seth and Shane, who granted, are cousins, not brothers, look out for each other. And, hell, although my adopted brothers of Damage Control are sometimes a royal pain in the ass, we get along just fine.

Doesn’t take a genius to realize Ocean’s relationship with his bro isn’t all sunshine and roses, and his stony expression tells me he isn’t too keen on talking about it, either.

I shrug to myself and take a gulp from my beer. It slides, cool and soothing, down my throat, and I make a show of watching the pool game happening a few feet away—Shane vs. Micah—while my mind whirls away to something Megan told me today, at work, when we were talking about Audrey and Asher’s upcoming wedding.

Normally I wouldn’t have paid much attention. My attention is scattered on the best of days, and today I’m running on fumes. But it was about Amber, because I mentioned she was invited, too, and I can remember what Megan said, word for word.

“Your girl. She’s something special.”

That was it. Then a flood of customers interrupted her impromptu analysis of Amber, and I’d spent the afternoon running up and down without a moment to wind down. And then I did the same for another four hours at the taco joint.

No wonder I’m dead on my feet and my brain is rattling loose.