Delayed by Nathan Kingsly (the false prince TXT) 📗

well done and one of my favorites from a trip I took to New Orleans.

“That depends.”

“On…”

“When you talk about Emma, you come alive. This is how you view death.” He rolls his eyes, and his fingers tap the tattoo. “The ticking of the clock and death waiting patiently to collect you. I can’t think of a better place to remind you that there’s more to life than living in the shadows…” He leaves it open on purpose, forcing me to choose.

Despite how she left, I wouldn’t shove Emma back where I keep my darkest views on the world. Her memory would be eaten alive, shrouded in pain and loss. Yes, she caused me pain and loss. Yet it felt different; she is different. When she crosses my mind, it’s so acute that it’s hard to breathe, but she is the light, the beacon I can’t snuff out, even in my mind. More good came from knowing her than bad.

When I say nothing, he starts in on me again. “Look, I know you’ve been through a bunch of heavy shit in your life. But isn’t it about damn time there be a little of what's good about life? You’ve become a Greek tragedy.” He looks over some of the tattoos he can see and then back to my face. His features show resolve. “Her leaving you sucks, but she gave you something you didn't have before. Hope that there’s still good even if it’s brief.”

“Let’s make room for her.”

His nod is confident as if he knew that’s what I would say all along, and without another word, he walks into the back. He’ll be tracing it on transfer paper and be back with it for placement.

As I sit waiting, I consider how easy the decision to go through with this has been. Even if I don't see her again, the thought of that possibility cuts deep; I still know forgetting is not an option. Riley is right. Alive is what I felt.

There’s a prickle on the back of my neck, and I turn to look behind me—the cheeks of the receptionist blush before she ducks her head. Before I can consider my reaction, Riley is back and placing the paper on my arm.

Riley is one of the best tattoo artists I know, and it didn't take him a second try to find the best placement for it amongst its neighbors. While he works, dipping the tattoo gun in the ink caps, then to my skin, we talk about main events since we’ve seen each other.

He’s now married to a nice girl, a baker on the same strip. He’s no longer living with his overbearing mom because he now owns Sweet Hell. The owner passed away, and he jumped on the opportunity. The shop is the most popular in town.

The hour goes quickly, yet I didn’t contribute much to the conversation being I haven’t done much. I wished this distraction would last, but Emma’s tattoo is the size of a playing card, and with it being only black and white, it's over quick.

“We’re not guaranteed happiness, Liam. That’s a fact you know all too well, but you know what I think?” He rubs my tattoo down with a soapy solution, and the extra ink that failed to sink in washes away.

“What’s that?”

“Sounds like you need to get your shit together to be worthy of this girl because she has given you reason to believe that it’s possible.”

“You’re starting to sound like a sappy book of poetry.” I jab. The quick retort, meant to be funny, only clings to her memory.

He looks at me over his glasses. “You know what they say the meaning of an upper arm tattoo is?” He doesn’t wait for me to answer. “It signifies strength and commitment towards a goal. You place it there to strive for the purpose and be reminded of it. Consider it my gift to you.”

“You planned this to be in a place I couldn’t ignore.” Not a question, but he nods his head.

“You deserve to be happy, Liam. You need a reminder of that every day.” He taps the tattoo before turning to his workstation to grab the plastic and Vaseline.

“Promise that it won’t be another six years until you come to see me again.”

“Promise.” Holding out a hand, he grasps it, and we say a quick goodbye.

The woman at the counter looks up and smiles.

"Kitty, right?"

"Yep."

"My tattoo by Riley is done." I pull my arm from my side to show her the piece.

Nodding, she goes through the papers on her desk. Her face twists when she finds the sketch with a price scribbled next to it. Riley and I didn’t negotiate one, but he’s only ever been fair.

“Um, one sec.” She leaves me staring after her as she walks to his station. I watch in bemusement as they talk with their hands back and forth with one another. Eventually, she comes back shaking her head.

“Sorry about that. Twenty-five dollars, please.”

I pause, reaching for my wallet. “What?”

“He won’t take a cent more.” She shrugs.

I look over, but he’s not at his station anymore. Most likely in an attempt to not have me argue with him too. Rolling my eyes, I grab inside my back pocket. Handing her my card, she slides it through the machine, but it doesn’t escape me the glances she sends me through her lashes.

When the tell-tale ding comes from the tablet that the payment is successful, she hands my card back. Over the top of the receipt is a card from the shop as she slides it over under her bright cherry fingernail. Her pink cheeks alight again, but she pops her gum to distract me from it.

I’m no stranger to this move, even done it a few times myself, and I know her number’s printed on the back of the card.

She’s gorgeous, there’s no denying that, but nothing rises in me at the temptation of her. Before, she would have been my type, brave enough to make the