He shakes his head, and I laugh again. “The hell, man? Now I’m supposed to walk around with this secret like I know nothing? Thanks a lot.” I grin, for once delighted to be the keeper of secrets.
“I’m scared.”
The raw honesty in the blunt statement wipes the smile from my face. I’ve never heard Knox utter those two words before. At least not to me. And I can’t imagine my big brother fearing anything.
“What if I can’t provide for them? What if I can’t protect them? What kind of father will I be? Dad…” He pauses, briefly closing his eyes. “Dad died before he could finish teaching me how to be a man, much less a father. I’ve grown up fighting with my fists. I’m not gentle or affectionate. What if I’m not a good father to this baby? What if I’m not what he or she needs—”
“Knowing what must be done does away with fear,” I murmur.
Knox blinks. Stares at me. “What?”
“Rosa Parks.” I shrug. “It’s a new hobby I’ve decided to pick up. Memorizing quotes.” Knox frowns, but before he can ask any more about why or, more accurately,who, I continue. “Knox, since Dad died, you’ve been raising us. When Mom couldn’t get out of bed, you got Simon and me up, dressed, and out to school. You made sure we ate, even got our homework done. At fifteen, you became father, brother, protector, and role model to us. If not for you…” I glance away, clenching my jaw and swallowing reflexively against the fist of emotion suddenly blocking my throat.
“If not for you,” I continue, choosing to ignore the hoarseness in my voice, “Simon and I might not have made it through those first few months. Let’s face it, if not for you, I might not be here, in this shop, doing what I love. You showed me what and who I could be, what and who I wanted to be. And you would annihilate anyone who came at someone you love. You’d die for that woman out there. So how could you do any less for your own kid? Are you selectively mute with the communication skills of a rock? Yeah but—ouch, dammit!” I yell, grinning as I slap a hand over my arm where he slammed his big-ass fist. Sobering, I clap a hand on his shoulder. “Man, you don’t have to worry about being a good father, a good man. You alreadyare.”
He lowers his head, and I swear to God, if Knox cries, I’m going to lose my shit. Right here.
But when he lifts his head, there aren’t tears on his face. Though his eyes are a bit bright. The corner of his mouth cranks up, and he arches an eyebrow.
“I thought Simon was the sensitive one in this family,” he says. I’m choosing to ignore the thickness of his voice for both our sakes.
I snort, moving back to the stool. “That motherfucker likes to pretend to be sensitive because he knows chicks eat that up.” I wave a hand toward the tattoo bench. “You ready?”
But instead of resuming his position so I can continue inking him, he folds his arms across his chair and fixes that steady, unblinking scrutiny on me. The one that never fails to have me fighting not to fidget. Hell no. He’s not going to have any problems being a dad with that goddamn stare.
“What?” I ask, snatching the top drawer in his station open and removing a new pair of black gloves.
“You still leaving for London in a couple of weeks?”
London. In a couple of weeks. The words reverberate off my skull, and I pay more attention than is required to fitting the gloves over my hands.
Knox is wrong, though. I’m flying out of here for England in twelve days. The Tuesday after next. That’s when I’ll travel to the other side of the ocean and leave my family and friends behind for four months.
Leave Cypress behind.
Until she stormed into my life five weeks ago, I was more than ready to go. Excited about finally working where I was Jude Gordon, tattoo artist, becoming my own man. Earning a reputation based solely on my merit and not my brother’s. But now… Now, there’s a hollow pit dead center in my chest. And she dug it. Hell, she’s still shoveling deeper and deeper with every passing day. The thought of not seeing her, touching her, inhaling her scent, watching those denim-and-moonlight eyes brighten with humor or darken with hunger…
Exhaling, I rearrange the caps of ink that don’t require rearranging.
“Jude?”
“Yeah,” I reply. “I’m still leaving.” Because though it hurts like acid through the veins, I still have to go. And the least reason is because I gave my word and signed a contract. No, Ineedto go. For myself.
“Y’know, I get why you’re going,” Knox says.
I stiffen, spinning around on the stool. Surely I didn’t hear what I…? “What?”
“I said, I get why you’re going.” He cocks his head to the side, eyes narrowing. “I just don’t agree with it because I think your reason is bullshit. You’re fucking good, Jude. One of the best in this city, and arguably this industry. And I know you don’t believe it, but you’re even better than me.”
This must be my day for him to knock me on my ass, because I’m speechless. Shock paralyzes my body, my vocal cords, and I can do nothing but stare at him.
“True, I bought this place, and my name is out front. But when it comes to art, to tattooing, anybody who knows a damn thing about it would never say you’re in my shadow. I’m in yours.”
“Knox,” I rasp. Because it’s still hard to speak, to comprehend what he’s saying to me.
“But I also know that no amount of assuring you of that can make you believe it,” he continues. “Some things you have to find out on your own, and that’s what London is for you. Like I said, I get it. And I’m not mad. I’m proud of you.”
Well, damn.
