Rattled: Rattled (The Baxter Boys #1), Page 3

  Because I was too blinded by my own bitterness to see anything else.

  Kelsey

  * * *

  Wow! I didn’t expect to tell him so much, though his being an ass isn’t such a big surprise. But he wasn’t nearly the ass I expected when I walked in here. I think there were even tears in his eyes when he left.

  I know it’s not possible. Guys like Alex don’t cry. I’m pretty sure he doesn’t have many emotions, other than those only his ego will allow.

  Should I stay and let him do that tat? What if he’s still pissed and screws it up?

  I glance over at the camera. The cameraman is back at the table with the guy holding the clipboard. They are drinking coffee and eating donuts. It’s weird having them here, but for the most part when I was talking directly to Alex, I forgot they were here.

  Alex won’t screw up the tattoo. This is too important to him. He’s an artist. He was in school, and he’s got to be good to have made it this far. He won’t fuck me over because if he does, he’ll lose his shot at being on the show. Though if he does make it, I’m not so sure I want to keep watching it.

  No, that’s a lie. I’ll keep watching it. It’s the Reeds, the best eye candy on television. Yep, it’s a good thing one of them isn’t doing this tat. I’d be too tongue-tied to utter my name, let alone describe how I want my baby’s footprint for my tattoo.

  I don’t know what’s taking Alex so long. I reach to take a drink of my water, but it’s empty. “Could I have more water, please?” I ask the guys in the back.

  They bring me a fresh cup, but don’t say anything.

  I look down at the rattle in my hand. It’s all I have right now. Alex took everything else. Why? All he needed was the footprint.

  A few moments later he comes back, handing me the envelope. I quickly check to make sure everything is back in there where it should be, and not ruined. He’s carrying sheets that I assume he’s going to use for tracing.

  “You want it where only you can see it, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “We can do your hip, which I’d rather not, and you said the ass was out.”

  “If I have to…”

  “But I’d rather put it beneath or on your breast.”

  I glance back over at the camera. I’m not showing my boob to the world, if this makes it that far.

  “You’ve seen the show. They filter out anything that isn’t PG.”

  “Still, you’ll see my boob.” I look over at the crew. “They’ll see my boob. I’m not really comfortable with that.”

  He opens a drawer and pulls out two things that look like bandages. “Put these over your nipples.”

  I glance back at the crew again, not sure I want to expose myself like this.

  “Listen, I’ll turn my back, they will too, and they’ll shut off the camera until you are set. And I’ll keep what I’m not working on covered. Does that work for you?”

  If I don’t agree, he’ll put it on my arm, or stomach, or some other place the world can see. And I don’t really want it on my hip. If I wear the wrong cut of pants or shorts, it might be seen, and this is for me and nobody else. “Okay.”

  Alex looks at the crew. “Guys, can we have a sec?”

  One lowers the camera and then they both turn around. “When you are done, just lie back and put this over you.” He hands me a towel and turns away.

  I pull my shirt over my head and unhook my bra. My hands are shaking and I quickly lie down and cover myself. It doesn’t matter that something’s covering me. I still feel exposed.

  Alex

  * * *

  All I hear is some movement and clothing shuffling. “Okay,” she finally says. I turn. She’s on the table, wearing nothing but her jeans and a towel.

  “I’m going to warn you, this may still be seen if you wear a swimsuit or a really low-cut top.”

  “I don’t wear bikinis, and the only skin I show, besides my legs and arms, is sometimes my belly. But that’s rare. I’m kind of modest.”

  I chuckle. “I got that when you wanted everyone to turn their backs.” Hell, I’ve had girls wanting to strip naked when it wasn’t necessary. This is the first girl who has tried to remain as covered as she could possibly be. I like it, and she’s given me more skin to work with if she’s as modest as she claims.

  “Can I see what you are going to do?”

  I meet her eyes. “No.”

  Kelsey practically comes off the table, holding the towel against her breasts. “Why not?”

  I tilt my head. “Will you trust me?”

  She narrows her eyes.

  “Let me surprise you. Please?”

  “I want the feet, remember.”

  I bite back a grin. “I know you do. But that’s not all that you need.”

  “What do you mean?”

  I gently push her back. “Please, just trust me.”

  Kelsey is practically glaring at me.

  “I’m sorry for being an ass. I’m so fucking sorry for the way I treated you in school. Please, let me make it up to you and give you the tat you deserve. The one you need to have.”

  She’s got to let me do this. I know exactly what I want to do, but I’m afraid if I tell her what it is, she’ll reject it. She just wants feet, but she needs more.

  “Okay,” she finally says. “But don’t fuck it up.”

  I laugh. “I promise, I won’t.”

  “I’ll cut off your balls if you do.”

  This makes me smile. I have no doubt that’s exactly what she’d do. “What’s your favorite color?”

  “Blue.”

  “Brandon’s?”

  “Green.”

  “Any colors you hate?”

  “Yellow!”

  “Okay, easy enough, let’s get started.” I start on the ribcage, just below the right boob, and for the moment she’s completely covered.

  “I thought you said the boob.”

  “I’m not there yet.”

  She sighs. As I start, she takes deep breaths and slowly blows them out. There isn’t much meat, if any, between the skin and the ribs, so I know this isn’t exactly comfortable for her, but Kelsey hasn’t complained and she’s barely twitched, thank God.

  “So, how did you end up at my high school?”

  The term my isn’t what stops me. We all call Baxter my school. It’s how I answer the question, or if I can answer, that makes me pause.

  “I told you my story, you have to tell me yours.”

  “Are you still in school, or are you done?”

  Kelsey blows out a sigh. “I’m in my senior year. I’m getting a degree in music and education. I teach piano and voice on the side to earn cash.” She lifts her head up.

  “Lie back down.”

  “You know all you need to know about me. Your turn.”

  Shit. She’s right. After everything she’s told me, how can I not tell her the ugliness in my life?

  “I graduated last May with a double major in Fine Arts and English. I like doing tats and I’m damn good at it.”

  “So you’ve told me,” she says with a dry tone.

  “I still want to publish graphic novels and comics, but that business is hard to break into. Maybe someday, but right now, I really like creating art on bodies.” It isn’t really a lie. I do like this work, but I’d be happier working for Dark Horse, Marvel, or DC Comics.

  “You haven’t answered the question.”

  Well, that’s a little harder to answer. “I ended up there, like you. Lots of foster care, and a therapist noticed me drawing one day and the next thing I know, I’m a student at Bax…my high school.”

  “That’s a bit glossed over.” Kelsey snorts. “What about your mom and dad?”

  “Don’t have any.”

  “Ever? What, the system found you in a cabbage patch?”

  “Nope. Fire station.”

  She’s silent and I continue to work, concentrating on the fine lines of the small feet. I’ve put them exactly where Kelsey
said they pushed against her after Brandy was born.

  “Is that why you hate me?” she asks quietly.

  “I don’t hate you, Kelsey.” It’s easy to talk to her while I’m concentrating on the tat. I don’t want to have to look her in the eye. To see the pain I caused, or feel the shame.

  “You sure acted like it. All high-and-mighty about me giving my child up.”

  “That’s because my mom got rid of me to make a better life for herself.”

  Silence follows but I know better than to hope that this is the end of the conversation.

  “She left you at a fire station?”

  “Kind of.”

  “What do you mean?”

  I blow out a sigh and stop for a minute. She’s not going to shut up until I tell her, and I have a tat to do. I can do both; I just wish the camera wasn’t hovering and watching. And listening.

  “I don’t know who my dad is, because my mom had lots of boyfriends. One after the other. She was always looking for the next best one. The guy who would help her make something out of herself. She wanted to be an actress. That’s why she was in New York. One day she was going to make it big. At least, that’s what she always told me.”

  “Did she make it on the stage eventually?”

  “Not in New York,” I grind out. “I was in the way. Each time a new sugar daddy came along I had to hide in my room, or in the closet, or under the bed, until she had them hooked. Then I got an introduction. Most guys hated that she had a kid.”

  “I’m sorry.” There’s sympathy in her voice and I try not to let it get to me. I can’t afford to get emotional right now. Not while I’m working.

  I reach deep inside and pull up the coldness I’ve learned to surround myself with when I think of my mom. It’s been my security blanket for years and easier to carry than remembering the pain of abandonment.

  “She had this guy who said she could make it big, but not with a kid. The last day we were together, even though I didn’t know it was the last day, she kept telling me how much she loved me and that she promised that when she made it big we’d be together all of the time.”

  “How old were you?” Kelsey asks quietly.

  “Seven.” I clear my throat. “I didn’t know it was her goodbye. The dick she was with had taken me and Mom to play arcade games, to get ice cream, to the park. It was the best day I could ever remember. Mom was telling me she loved me. This guy seemed to like me. All was good.”

  “What happened?” she asks, like she’s almost afraid to.

  “We stopped at my favorite burger joint. Mom and I rarely ate out because we couldn’t afford it, but that day, the guy was treating us to everything. After I got done eating I went to the bathroom. When I came out, they were gone.”

  Kelsey sucks in a breath. I know it’s from shock and nothing I did with the tattoo.

  “The waitress said they got up and drove off as soon as I went into the bathroom.”

  “What did you do?”

  “I went outside and looked for them. I waited and waited for them to come back, and then I started to walk to where I thought home was, but got lost. Then I saw a fire station. Mom always said that if I was in trouble or lost to talk to a police officer or a fireman and they’d help me.”

  “You went there?”

  “Yep. Walked in and explained. They called the police, who talked to the waitress at the restaurant, and before I knew it, I was put in a temporary home.”

  “How did they know who you were? You were so young!”

  I have to laugh. “I always carried around my favorite backpack with my favorite toys. That morning Mom had put my birth certificate and social security card in it, along with a letter that basically said that she couldn’t take care of me anymore.”

  “I’m so sorry.”

  “Well, she did say she wanted a better life. One that she couldn’t have as long as she had a kid.”

  Kelsey sucks in a breath. “That’s why you hated me.”

  “I never hated you. Just resented you because you gave up your kid.”

  “But I explained—”

  I cut her off. “I know. I get that now. You have no idea how bad I feel.” I glance up and look into her dark eyes. “I really am sorry, Kelsey. I was just so blinded by what my mom did that I thought all women who gave up their kids were doing it for selfish reasons.”

  Her face softens and a sad smile comes to her lips. “I’m really sorry, Alex.”

  “Me too.” My eyes get blurry and I have to blink away the moisture. Must be from concentrating on the tat so hard, and the poor lighting. “For what she did to me, and for how I treated you.”

  “It’s okay.”

  “No, it’s not,” I argue. “You didn’t deserve to be treated the way I treated you.” I glance down at the footprint. “And I’m going to do my best to make it up to you. Starting with the best damn tattoo on the planet.”

  She says nothing for a long time and I just work, lost in my thoughts, trying to forget about my mom and concentrating on the tattoo. This has to be perfect. Not just so I can land a job, but for Kelsey. She deserves the best.

  Kelsey

  * * *

  I get it. His mom dumped him for a better life. I was giving up my kid so I could go to school. At least that’s how he saw it, and I never bothered to explain. Of course, he didn’t ask. Just judged me.

  How much pain could have been saved if we’d talked back then? But Alex and I didn’t talk. He glared and I glared back. Instant dislike, both with chips on our shoulders.

  Maybe I didn’t really have a chip. I was still struggling with Brandon’s death, the pregnancy, and giving up my daughter. No matter what anyone thinks, it was not an easy decision. I wanted to keep her. I wanted her with me, but at what cost to her? Just because I had a shit life, made better when I got to attend Baxter, didn’t mean my daughter had to have a tough life. There were hundreds of couples out there that would give anything to have a baby. I saw that when I went through file after file after file. To keep Brandy would have been the worst thing I could do for her. Now, she has a chance for stability, safety, and love. The only thing I could have given her was love, and a child needs so much more.

  “Did you like college?” It’s too painful to talk about the high school past, but not college.

  “Yeah,” he says. “Living like we did in high school prepared me for dorm life.” He laughs. “Though that was the first time I ever had to share a room with someone, luckily he was easy enough to get along with.”

  I wish I knew what he is doing, because Alex isn’t under my right boob anymore but at the side of the left, in the center of my chest. Kind of over my heart. That’s an odd place for a foot, especially since that is where I thought he was putting it, on my right side. And he put something on the skin between where I think the foot is and where he’s working now.

  How big is he making it? Maybe I should have mentioned I want the footprint to scale, not Big Foot on my chest, but I guess it’s a little late to tell him that now.

  I’m trying my best to hold still. I’d heard that sometimes tattoos could be painful, and these are. Not so much that I can’t stand it, but uncomfortable enough. And I’m trying my best not to move, or twitch, but sometimes it’s automatic.

  When I’m talking, I’m not so focused on what he’s doing, so I hope he doesn’t mind my talking.

  “You didn’t stay in a dorm all the time, did you? I got a house with friends my junior year.”

  “I did the same. It’s the first time I’ve ever had to worry about cooking my own meals, though. Laundry, I had that down from high school. Cooking was an entirely different matter.”

  “Cooking is fun.” I like trying to make different meals, within a budget of course.

  “Well, I have finally graduated from frozen dinners and canned soups.” He smiles up at me. “I’ve moved on to boxed meals. The kind that you cook on the stove.”

  “I’m so proud of you.” I laugh.

 
“I still live with those guys. We just aren’t on campus anymore, though. Our house wasn’t far from a frat house and we couldn’t wait to get away from them.”

  “Why?”

  “Rich kids, not a care in the world. More money than they knew what to do with. Daddy paying for everything, and partying every weekend, and sometimes during the week. All they had to do was pass their classes to stay in school.”

  That would get obnoxious after a while. Not that I didn’t go to parties in college, but some of those houses, all they did was party. And they were loud most of the time.

  “My friends and I were all scholarship and financial aid. We had to get good grades to stay in school and get jobs when we graduated. We didn’t have family money to fall back on and we studied our asses off.”

  When you come from nothing, like me and Alex, you do work hard and appreciate your chances. I would’ve continued going to high school if I had remained in foster care, but it wouldn’t have been the same. Plus, when you’re moved from house to house, schools often change too and it’s really hard to make friends that way. I’ve got a couple good friends now. One that knew me in high school and ones that I met in college. Even after I graduate, I’ll have those same friends as we start establishing ourselves in the real world. I just hope I don’t screw up. I want to make Baxter proud.

  “When the last one of us turned twenty-one, it was a Saturday and we decided to party like the rich kids did.”

  “How is that?” I laugh, imagining they had a keg in the corner and half-naked girls walking around.

  “Porn and beer.” He’s shaking his head. “We were convinced those guys watched porn every chance they got. Sometimes we’d see and hear it and had to shut our windows.”

  “So, was it a fun night?” What is it with guys and porn?

  “Not exactly.”

  Some tension eased out of me. If Alex had claimed it had been the best night of his life, the respect I’ve gained for him since I walked into this room would disappear.

  “It was all supposed to be a joke. Though we had the beer, and the DVD was in the player, we had our books out.”