Life Support (The Breathe Series Book 2) (40 page)

“I… Wow, Owen. This…this is pretty major! You’ve been sitting on this news for some time, you fucker. Took you long enough to tell me!”

I cringe a little, really not interested in telling him the other half of that story.

“Well, congratulations, buddy. You’re a Potent Pete—knocking your Fertile Myrtle up,” he laughs.

“What?” I laugh, shaking my head in confusion.

“You’re potent with your swimmers and Olivia is fertile? Potent Pete and Fertile Myrtle? Get it? Ah, shit. Never mind. Congratulations, Owen,” Tanner says, pulling me in for a bro-hug.

“Thanks, Tanner. Kinda crazy, huh?” I say, scratching my head.

“Owen Maxwell has himself a baby mamma. Holy shit. How does that feel, man, knowing that you’re going to have a kid?” Tanner grabs his rag and we both continue to work on the truck—him determined to finish, me doing my best to stall.

“There are no words. I’m eighty-five percent excited out of my fucking mind and fifteen percent scared to the point of having a panic attack. And at any given moment, those percentages flip-flop. It’s all so new, you know? I’m still wrapping my head around it. I’m trying really hard to be one hundred percent supportive and not show Liv how freaked out I am. I’d like to think it’s working, but she knows me too well. At the same time…I’m really proud. Like,
really
proud. It’s a pretty heady feeling.”

Tanner and I begin to work our way toward each other on the final section of the truck. “So, now with Olivia being pregnant, are you going to pop the question?”

I groan in frustration.

“Come on, Owen. It’s a natural question and you know Olivia’s been thinking about it.”

“I don’t know, man,” I frown. “I’m a born-again virgin to this commitment shit. I just found out that my girlfriend is pregnant and you throwing the “m” word at me is like asking for anal on our first date. Can’t I just ease into the one first before you start getting greedy?”

Tanner tosses his head back in a loud laugh. “Okay, no anal…today,” he jokes back. He steps back from the gleaming truck, admiring our work. “There. Finished. And you, sir, are finally getting your ink.”

I scrunch my nose and contort my face. “Umm…” Nervously, I rub the back of my hand and forearm across my forehead. “A bet’s a bet and I’ll make good on it once I figure out what I’m getting.” That should stall Tanner awhile.

“You’d better figure it out soon, asshole.” He looks at his watch. “Because when our shift ends in an hour, I’m taking you to see my guy, Moose. He’ll fix you up.”

“Today. I’m getting this done today,” I say in more of a statement then a question way.

“Yes. Don’t be such a pussy. It doesn’t hurt…that bad. You’ll be in and out of his chair before you know it,” Tanner assures me.

“I’m not worried about the pain, dipshit.”

“Whatever, loser.” Tanner grins as he throw his waxing rag at me. “This’ll be fun!”

Yeah… Fun
.

After Tanner and I put all the wash and wax materials away and get the dirty rags going in the laundry, I called Olivia to let her know that I was going to be late getting home. She didn’t ask why and I didn’t tell her. All I told her was that I was going to be with Tanner, and then I suggested that she order in some food for dinner. She told me that she was elbow-deep in one of her grant projects for her department at NYU and not being distracted by me for a night would be a good thing. We said our I love yous and I told her that I would see her later tonight.

At around five thirty p.m., the next shift of guys starts to filter into the firehouse. A common courtesy amongst firefighters is that you always,
always
show up to the firehouse early. If you’re on time, you’re late. It’s just how it is. We mingle with the relief guys for another half hour until our shift ends at six. After I grab my bag containing my extra clothes and others to be laundered, I catch up to Tanner who is waiting for me at the end of the truck bay.

“Ready to pay up?” he chuckles, slamming his hand between my shoulder blades and then squeezing the back of my neck. “You decide what you’re going to get tattooed on your body for the rest of your life?” Tanner taunts.

I chuckle. “You’re mighty proud of yourself, Wilson. I was always going to get the ink, you know. You’re going off like this is some big coup for you.”

“This
is
!” he exclaims excitedly as he unlocks the doors to his new navy Ford F250 pickup truck. We both hop into the lifted truck before Tanner continues. “You always win our bets. The Mohawk I had to get because the Seahawks thumped the Broncos in last year’s Super Bowl?”

I laugh. I had a great time turning on those clippers and giving him that haircut myself. Serves him right for betting against the Hawks.

Tanner starts the truck and we head out in the direction of his friend’s tattoo shop. “Or when I had to be your cousin’s plus one at some family members wedding a couple of years ago?” he rattles off, clearly set on reminding me that I always win.

“Hey! Shelby is a nice girl,” I say, coming to the defense of my relative.

“No. She’s not, Owen.” Tanner turns to look at me pointedly. He’s not kidding. Not even a little bit. “She kept talking shit about your other cousin who was getting married during the ceremony. Then she thought I was her manservant all night, demanding I get her drink after drink after drink,” he drones on. “Being the gentleman I am, I complied…mostly because I thought Shelby was semi hot and if I got her drunk enough I could hit that.”

I shake my head at Tanner, unable to hide my eye roll.

“Then, when she was good and drunk, I made a move when we stepped outside to get some fresh air. We were going at it all hot and heavy. She was moaning and totally into it, right? Until she wasn’t. She hauled off and slapped me across the face! Then she grabbed me by my ears and started mackin’ on me again and groping me, and then I thought,
Okay, maybe she wants it a little rough. Maybe she’s into that.
So then I started pulling on her hair and kissing her back. And that’s when she decided to knee me in the jewels—while I was hard, mind you—slap me again, and tell me I was a poor excuse for a man or something… I don’t remember her exact words, but she’s the devil, Owen. The devil.” Tanner is rambling and barely coherent, but I know he was fairly shaken by his experience with Shelby. This has to be the thirtieth time I’ve heard the story.

I’m doubled over from laughing so hard as Tanner recounts his traumatic story. I remember that bet—he said he could lift more weight than me at the gym. He couldn’t. Sucker.

Tanner chuckles as he recounts the story. “So, yes, I finally won a bet against the great Owen Maxwell and I’ll be damned if you’re going to stall. You’re paying up today, my friend. You. Will. Pay.” He laughs menacingly.

“Moooose!” Tanner bellows low and deep as we enter his friend’s tattoo parlor. He and his friend greet each other before Tanner turns to introduce me. “This loser here is my good friend, Owen. He lost a bet to me today and he’s here to get a tattoo,” Tanner scoffs. “He’s a newbie for the ink, Moose, so don’t go easy on him. At all.”

I shake my head and smile. If Tanner had a handlebar mustache, he’d be twirling it. He’s getting a real kick out of this.

Moose and I shake hands before he ushers me to an open seat at the shop. Looking around the store, I see that the walls are covered in pictures of all of Moose’s artwork—family crests, hearts with various peoples’ names written in them, and impressive likenesses of kids, dogs, and lots of Marilyn Monroe. There are pictures of women showing off their newest tramp stamps and men with close haircuts displaying a military affiliation. Lots of roses, tribal arm bands, skulls, and lettered script.

“So, Owen, what am I doing to you today?” Moose asks.

Tanner crosses his arms and grins down at me with mischief behind his green eyes. I glance from him to Moose and take my wallet out from the back pocket of my jeans. Among my fives, tens, and twenties, I remove a piece of paper two inches by four inches and silently hand it to Moose—almost reverently. Both ends of the paper are frayed and jagged from my looking at it all the time.

Moose looks from me to Tanner and then back to me again. “So this is what you want, huh?”

Tanner walks around to stand behind Moose and looks over his friend’s shoulder at the well-worn piece of paper. His arms unfold and Tanner’s eyes soften. “Is that what I think it is?” he asks.

I nod, smiling proudly. When push came to shove, I knew exactly what I wanted to permanently have on my skin for the duration of my life.

“All right! I’ll go trace this and be back in a few minutes.” Moose smiles and excuses himself to prepare my new tattoo.

After nearly an hour of feeling a mixture of cat scratches, burning, and someone repeatedly snapping a rubber band against my skin, I survey the one-and-a-half-inch-by-three-inch tattoo on the inside of my left forearm.

“Looks good, man,” Tanner affirms. “Olivia is going to fuck you so hard tonight when she sees this…”

I smile back at Tanner in the mirror. “How is that different than any other night?” I tease.

Tanner gives me a fist bump and grins.

Once I’m satisfied with the ink, Moose slathers the fresh artwork with vitamin A&D ointment before putting a protective bandage over it. He gives me a speech he no doubt gives several times a day: use an antibacterial soap, dab with a paper towel to dry, keep the ointment on for a couple of days, don’t scratch, tap, and a slew of other rules. I pay Moose for the tattoo, leaving him a generous tip for being able to see me last minute, and he sends me on my way with a handout reiterating all the instructions he just rattled off.

Thirty minutes later, Tanner is dropping me off in front of my apartment building.

“Thanks for making me follow through with the bet today, Tanner,” I say. “Once I figured out what I wanted, it wasn’t that big of a deal.”

“It’s a good choice for you, Owen.” Tanner’s words are full of sincerity. “It obviously means something important to you, and that’s what’s important. Congratulations again on the baby and on the new ink. You did good.”

“I’ll always remember you as the one who took my tattoo cherry, Tanner,” I joke.

“Get the fuck out of my truck, Maxwell. Go be all cutesy with your woman upstairs. I’ll see you in a couple days.”