Serious Ink (5 page)

“Yesterday.”

“Well happy birthday, then. How old are you?”

“Eighty-six.”

“Wow. Happy birthday.” She knew she was repeating herself, but what else could she say?

Herb looked so frail wrapped in his plush new robe, and even if his granddaughter had mailed a gift, Zoe knew he rarely got visitors. The thought of his birthday passing by with only an acknowledgement from the nursing staff made Zoe feel like her heart was shriveling. If only she’d known – she could’ve brought him a card, or something.

Instead, she left him with only good wishes, retreating farther down the hall. Eighty-six… Herb was twenty years her father’s senior, and yet, he often seemed more lucid – more alive – than the younger man. That knowledge weighed in Zoe’s chest like an anchor as she entered her father’s room. “Hey, dad.”

Her father sat in a wheelchair too, also wrapped in a robe – his was a deep forest green that at one time would’ve complemented his dark hair. Nowadays, it was salt and pepper, silver strands interspersed with glistening black that reminded Zoe just how young he really was.

Sure, he’d been older than average – thirty-eight, to be exact – when he’d married Zoe’s mother, who’d been ten years younger than him. They’d started a family though, and for years, things had been great. Even now, a picture of Zoe’s mother rested on the bedside table, the largest portrait in the room – and the most cherished, Zoe knew.

Her father didn’t respond as she pulled up a chair, sitting close beside him. She kept talking anyway. She was dressed differently today, in her skirt and heels – had he noticed? She’d taken on a new part-time reception job, and she really liked her boss…

Of course, she didn’t mention the money troubles that had prompted her to seek out another twenty work hours a week. Instead, she talked about the company, the building … and the news that was public, now that they’d gotten through the press conference. The Elite East Championship Tournament would include a series of events strung out over the next few months, culminating in the championship rounds in August.

The event was expected to draw fighters not just from local areas, but all over the country. The possibility of winning a twenty-five thousand dollar prize purse at the end of it all would call to hardworking and cash-strapped fighters like a siren.

Zoe’s jaw had just about dropped when Noah had quoted the prize amount during the press conference. Twenty-five thousand dollars was
way
more than anything Paul had ever won in the various cage matches he’d participated in throughout the Mid-Atlantic. In comparison, he was fighting for mere pennies. If he managed to fight his way to the top of the Elite East Championship Tournament… Well, the prize money would put them back in the black with Azalea Hall.

Zoe tried not to think about it too much, not to get her hopes up. Paul was good, but what were the odds, really?

“You look nice today.” Her father’s voice – raspy and a little shaky from disuse – echoed throughout the room when Zoe paused after finishing her explanation of the tournament.

For a few seconds, Zoe was stunned into silence. “Thank you,” she hurried to say when she’d gathered her wits. “It’s for my new job…” She retold what she’d said in the first place, in case he didn’t remember. Early onset dementia combined with the effects of the stroke he’d suffered meant that he probably didn’t, and she wanted him to know her news – wanted him to know she was happy.

For the rest of her visit, he was silent, but Zoe’s spirits were buoyed by what he’d said. Lately, he’d been having a string of bad days – days where he didn’t speak at all. This was a definite improvement. She stayed as long as she could, rising to leave at four-thirty, knowing she’d have just enough time to get to Hot Ink for her shift there.

“Love you, dad. I’ll be by again soon with Paul and Britney.” She leaned down and hugged him, breathing in the familiar scent of his Old Spice aftershave. He’d used it ever since she could remember, and the scent brought memories of before flooding back – before the onset of his illness, before her mother’s death… Remembering was bittersweet. “Bye for now.”

Herb was still sitting in the same spot when she emerged into the hall. She bid him goodbye – and happy birthday again – before retreating to the parking lot and climbing into her aged Honda. The car was reliable – she had to give it that – but the heating system seemed to be on the fritz lately. As she pulled out onto the street, it refused to work, blasting out frigid air instead of warmth. She shut it off, not even thinking about having it repaired as Azalea Hall loomed in her rearview mirror, reminding her of her mounting debt.

What would happen to her father if they didn’t get caught up on bills – if they couldn’t afford to keep him at Azalea? The care there was above average – way above average. Some of the other nursing facilities she, Paul and Britney had visited two years ago, when it had become clear that he absolutely needed professional care, had depressed and even scared her. Azalea Hall wasn’t like that. Though she didn’t like leaving him alone, it wasn’t because she worried about how he’d be treated. She knew he’d be taken care of.

She couldn’t lose his place at Azalea Hall, no matter what.

* * * * *

When Zoe arrived home around ten-thirty, there was more than just a new stack of bills on the kitchen table. As she shrugged out of her jacket, something else caught her eye – a flyer, printed in bold black and yellow.

She picked it up, simultaneously sinking into a chair. After visiting her dad, she hadn’t had a chance to change clothing, so she’d worked her shift at Hot Ink in her heels. Now, her feet ached. Next time, she’d at least change shoes.

The flyer bore the name and logo of her new part-time employer, Elite East MMA. Below it was information on the tournament. In the center of the flyer, $25,000 stood out bright and large, an unmissable figure that had no doubt induced Paul to bring home the advertisement.

That had to be where it had come from – how else would it have gotten there?

When Zoe had ended her first shift at Elite East early that afternoon, Noah had mentioned that he was planning to spend the rest of the day spreading the word at local gyms and martial arts centers. He must’ve dropped off flyers by the stack at places like the gym where Paul trained. In a way, this took the fun out of the news – Zoe didn’t get to tell Paul. But the important thing was that he knew and was, no doubt, excited.

“Pretty cool, huh?”

Zoe looked up, lowering the flyer.

Paul stood at the end of the hall, leaning against the doorframe beside the stove.

“Yeah. Are you planning to compete?”

“Hell yeah, I am. The first rounds are in a month, and registration opens this week. I’m gonna start training tomorrow, sign up as soon as I can.”

So far as Zoe could tell, Paul was always training, especially since he’d lost his job. She just smiled. “Still heading to Philly next week?”

“Yeah. Gotta scrape together some money in the meanwhile. I’ll probably only bring home a few hundred bucks, but it’s something. Twenty-five thousand dollars, though…” A look of longing flashed in his eyes, and Zoe recognized it easily: it was the exact same way she felt whenever she let herself fantasize about Paul winning. “We’d be back in Azalea Hall’s good graces, with that kind of money.”

Zoe nodded, careful not to let him see the same look in her eyes. Giving and taking beatings for a living was hard enough without so much pressure. The last thing Paul needed was to feel like their family’s entire future depended on the outcome of a tournament that he might not win. Not that she didn’t admire and respect his fighting ability, but twenty-five thousand dollars wasn’t chump change. Fighters – fighters just as experienced as Paul – would come from all over to participate.

Noah and the others at Elite East were counting on it. There’d even been a reporter and cameraman from a local news station at the press conference that afternoon.

“It’s cool to think about,” Zoe finally said, sensing that Paul was waiting for her reply. “By the way…” Finally, she filled him in on what she’d held back yesterday: the fact that her new part-time job was with Elite East.

Paul seemed impressed. “Seriously? That’s awesome, Zoe. What’s the company like?”

A hint of heat crept into her cheeks as she remembered sitting on her freshly-assembled desk with Noah, gobbling up chocolates and downing coffee while half-heartedly exploring the software they’d installed on a company computer for her. “The company is pretty small right now, and the work environment isn’t too stiff or formal. My boss is great. I think I’m really going to like it there. I can’t believe I lucked out enough to land a second job I actually like.”

Working at Hot Ink was awesome – she’d been happy there for the past three years. When she’d decided to take on a second job, she certainly hadn’t expected to find another exceptional employer.

“A tattoo studio and an MMA promotion company – how do you always find the cool jobs?” he asked. “My last gig was in a factory. Lame.”

She laughed. “You’re an MMA
fighter
, Paul. I’m pretty sure most people would say that’s a lot cooler than being Elite East’s part-time receptionist.”

He shrugged, grinning. “Hey, you get to be a part of what’s happening, and you don’t have to get punched in the face. Sounds pretty cool to me.”

“Maybe you should turn in your gloves then and see if Elite East has any other desk job openings.”

He pretended to consider it for a moment. “Nah. I don’t think I could pull off the whole pencil skirt look. Besides, I don’t mind getting hit, so long as I can hit back.” He shadowboxed for a few seconds, obviously in a better mood than Zoe had seen him in in a while. “And I want that twenty-five thousand dollar prize.”

“I’ll be there cheering for you. By the way, I have some good news about dad…”

* * * * *

Noah didn’t bring fancy chocolates to work on Monday. He did, however, make it a point to show up a few minutes before nine, the time when Zoe’s shift would start. He’d swung by the day before and dropped off a few things – filing cabinets, mostly, and a couple boxes of paperwork that were in serious need of organization. Little by little, the place was starting to look more like an office.

Zoe arrived at nine o’clock sharp, dressed this time in black pants instead of a skirt. He missed her first day outfit, but couldn’t deny that she still looked amazing. The three-quarter sleeved blouse she’d chosen let the floral tattoo on her forearm show, and he caught himself staring as she draped her coat over her chair.

“Filing cabinets,” she said. “Just like you promised.”

“Yeah. And a bunch of paperwork ready to be filed away. I hope you’re ready for a couple hours of boredom.”

She smiled. “Hey, it’s what I signed up for. I have to admit though, I’m a little disappointed that you forgot about the candy dish.”

“What? Oh.” He eyed the surface of her desk, which was bare except for the laptop, phone, a new printer, a blank pad of Post-it notes and a few pens. “I guess I did say I’d pick one of those up, didn’t I?”

“If you don’t, I’ll bring one in,” she said. “I’ve always thought it would be nice to be the receptionist who hands out candy. I don’t do that at Hot Ink – Jed has a rule about food in the shop and he takes it very seriously.”

“So where do you eat then, when you’re on break?”

“The roof.” She met his eyes and grinned.

He must’ve looked taken aback.

“Only sometimes,” she said. “When the weather’s nice. Normally we just eat out, or head upstairs to the apartment above if we want. Jed lets us eat in the kitchen up there. It’s pretty convenient, actually, since there’s a microwave and a fridge and everything.”