Ink
Such a tiny little thing, this girl. I could pick her up one-handed. Toss her over my shoulder and climb up a ladder and barely even feel her weight. If I was gonna put numbers to her, I’d say she stood no more than five-five, but likely that’s generous by a few inches. Weight? Ehh, I ain’t really the type to care or know much about such things, but put a gun to my head and tell me to guess and I’d peg her at about a hundred pounds. Course, I could be off a bit simply because she didn’t look frail or slight despite being so short—she looked tight. That’s the only word for it. Hard. Strong. She moved, despite the limp, as if she is a powerhouse…smooth, lithe, strong.
Hard to tell much about her build beyond her obvious height and leanness—she was wearing a baggy hooded sweatshirt that hung past her booty and it hid her whole torso. She was wearing those black leggings girls like so much these days, and damn me if I didn’t find myself wishing that sweatshirt was a little shorter, because I had a feeling she was hiding a mighty fine backside under it.
But I shook off those thoughts like a dog shaking its fur dry. Every instinct I had told me loud and clear that this girl was in need of a friend, not someone hitting on her and staring at her body.
I’d been ambling down the docks, watching the waters of the Ketchikan channel chuck against the pylons, thinking about my next piece—a spray of butterflies turning into sparrows flying up a woman’s ribcage to cover a mastectomy scar. Lost in thought, working out details mentally, preparing for the first session, outlining, which would begin after my lunch. For which I was headed to my cousin Juneau’s boyfriend’s cousins’ bar—Badd’s Bar and Grille. Sounds like a more complicated relationship than it is. I’m pretty good friends with all the Badds, and I frequently took my lunch break at the bar. Today, I had been angling away from the channel, about to head for the opposite side of the street and the bar when I noticed a girl. Young, beautiful. About my age, short, with long platinum blonde hair—and she was powerwalking as if she was raging about something in her head.
None of my never mind, right? Just keep walking, leave her to her mental rant.
Course, it became my business when I realized she was so lost in her thoughts that she didn’t seem to realize the street she was walking down was about to come to an end—in the frigid waters of the Ketchikan channel. Which, even in summer, were cold enough to be life-threatening if you were in it for too long. And she was seconds from taking a very unexpected dip.
I had hesitated another moment, hoping she’d glance up, but her gaze was on her feet, hands shoved into the pocket of her sweatshirt. Stomping angrily right for the water.
Nope, she wasn’t stopping.
Crap.
I had darted forward, lunged, and caught her by the sweatshirt literally as she was falling forward into the water. Held her nearly horizontal, feet planted partially on the edge of the pier. Solidified my grip and my balance, and then I’d hauled her up. Turned her around, setting her firmly on her feet.
And had caught my first glimpse at the most fiery, expressive hazel eyes I’d ever seen in my damned life.
I hadn’t gotten much of a story out of her, only that she’d undergone a recent and life-changing trauma of some kind—a car accident, maybe? Something. And she was struggling with it. So, I’d suggested Badd’s, and she’d agreed, saying she needed to get blackout drunk, and comfort food. So, here we were, heading for Badd’s, and I was setting myself up to babysit a five-foot-nothing angry blonde beautiful girl I’d only just met moments ago, and I was wondering what the hell I’d gotten myself into.
I wouldn’t say I’d saved her life, really, but had definitely saved her from a nasty spill in the channel. I should’ve been done with her after yanking her back from the channel. So why was I inviting myself into her life? Into being her blackout drunk babysitter?
Something.
Something about her. Not sure what, but I just knew I couldn’t walk away yet. If I didn’t watch over her, if nothing else, I knew no one else would. I mean, the Badd clan would make sure nothing horrible happened to her, but some gut reaction was screaming that this girl just needed a friend, and that I was it.
I wanted to be it.
Why, I wasn’t sure, and didn’t care to think too closely about. But I did, so here we were, together.
We reached the front entrance of Badd’s Bar and Grille, and I reached past her to yank open the heavy wooden door. She eyed me like I’d shot her cat.
I frowned down at her as she sidled inside, letting her eyes adjust to the dim lighting within. “The hell was that look for?”
She scanned the interior of the bar which was mostly wood—worn, squeaky, weathered wood planks on the floor, heavy tables and chairs, and a long wooden bar running the length of the building on the right side, the top of it polished to a shine despite the pits and scars and grooves. TVs played SportsCenter highlight reels, old football games, and talking head type shows. The house speakers played Delta Blues—Muddy Waters by the sound of it.
I saw Bast behind the bar pulling a beer, and Kitty at a table taking an order from a foursome of biker types. At six feet four, Bast was tall, only three inches shy of my own height, with arms covered in tattoos, wearing a plain white T-shirt stretched around a physique most athletes ten years his junior would be envious of. His brown hair was longish and left messy over his dark eyes, and he had the beginning of a beard—new for him who tended to cultivate a heavy stubble most of the time.
Kitty was on the taller end for a girl, brunette, a beautiful smile that lit up her face, dressed in blue jeans and a black V-neck T-shirt embroidered with “Badd’s Bar & Grille.”
The bar was fairly busy for this time in the morning, albeit most of the clientele was here for an early lunch rather than anything like real drinking.
“Which one is your cousin?” she asked.
I pointed at Bast. “Cousin-in-law, not cousin.” I grunted noncommittally. “Well, sort of cousin-in-law. My cousin is serious with his cousin.”
She blinked up at me. “Wait, what?”
I chuckled. “Confusing, I guess. I got a cousin, Juneau. She’s dating a guy named Remington Badd, who is the cousin of the guy with the tats behind the bar.” I pointed at Kitty. “And she’s dating my cousin’s boyfriend’s identical triplet brother.”
She blinked at me again. “Wait. Wait, wait, wait.” She indicated Kitty. “That’s Kitty, girlfriend of Roman Badd, son of Lucas Badd?”
I nodded. “Yeah. Why, you know ’em?”
She tipped her head side to side. “I know Lucas. My mom is dating him.”
“Ahh, now it all comes together,” I said. "So, your mom is dating my cousin’s boyfriend’s dad.”
She laughed, an unexpectedly beautiful sound, light and merry and energetic, like a small handbell. “Does that make us related?”
I hummed. “No…I don’t believe so, no. Not even by law, since they ain’t married.” I laughed again. “Well, they might be. None of these folk make too big a deal about the difference between being legally married and married in all but the legal sense.”
“So, you don’t know.” She rolled her eyes. “Good to know.”