Nova

The note I leave behind for Warren is a lie. Not a great way to start a relationship, but this is something I want to do alone.

For the first time this summer, I skip out on a morning run and decide to take the car and drive down to where Greyson works. In the note, I mentioned that I wanted to go for a run in one of the parks Warren told me about, which is why I took the car.

I know I disagreed with the tattoo suggestion, but I stayed up long after Warren fell asleep, thinking about what he said. I came to the conclusion that he had a point. I figured I might as well look into what he said.

After struggling to parallel park between two trucks, I get out of the vehicle and begin walking toward Greyson's shop. I pass the building Hazel works at, the café they met at, and a small garden of flowers and shrubs that decorates the remaining space. It's a very beautiful garden, complete with large bushes of lavender.

Turning my attention away from the garden, I continue past it and stop in front of the tattoo shop to think about what I'm doing.

Am I crazy? I ask myself.

It's a legitimate question – I've never been one to think about getting a tattoo, and now that I have considered it, the questions are filling my head. Am I blinded because it was Warren that suggested it? Am I letting what I feel for him get in the way?

I instantly shut down those thoughts. Sure, he suggested it, but in the end, it's my decision. I'm the one that's going to decide what gets inked into my skin. Not him.

When I step through the building, I'm struck with awe. Greyson's tattoo shop has a contemporary flair to it. The walls are patterned with pale bricks, and the one wall that sits behind the front desk is painted a pale tan colour with multiple pictures of sketches and previous tattoos that have been given, all framed in black. The floors are rustic – a well-worn oak. Adjacent to the front desk is a line of black seats with a small coffee table in front of them that's covered with magazines.

"How can I help you today, Miss?"

I blink, and look away from the seating arrangements. At the front desk is a girl with multiple piercings in her left ear and black hair with blue tips.

"Oh," I say, walking up to her. "I was, um, wondering if Greyson Williams is here?"

She looks over her shoulder. Behind her, I see a large hallway with four rooms that stem off of it, all covered by thick black curtains. The areas behind those curtains must be where they do the tattoos.

"Yup," she says, getting to her feet. "Let me get him." She turns back to me. "Do you have an appointment?"

I shake my head. "No – I'm a friend of his, and I was just walking around. Thought I would stop and say hello before heading home." My second lie of the day. I'm actually here to talk to him about getting a tattoo. I want to see what he would suggest doing and if the place I'm considering is worth it.

"Okay, give me a sec..."

She walks off and I find myself standing in front of the desk alone. Turning around, I head over to the seats and sit down. My hands can't seem to stay still as I wait for the girl to bring Greyson out here, so I reach for one of the magazines. No – wait. It's a portfolio of pieces of work that have been done by each artist at this tattoo shop. Curiosity fills my blood. I've heard many people say that Greyson's work is astounding.

Glancing up, I see that I'm still alone; all I can hear are muffled voices and the buzz of a machine. I then turn back to the portfolio in my hands and begin to flip through the pages until I find the section I'm looking for.

Greyson's work is amazing. And the style of the tattoos he can do? Well, they differentiate from one degree to the next with perfection.

"See anything you like?"

I jump, almost dropping the portfolio, and look up to see Greyson. Today, he's wearing a black muscle shirt that shows off his profoundly tattooed arm, faded blue jeans, and his black hair has been slicked back with hair gel. The stud in his left eyebrow is visible under the lighting.

He smiles at me. "I have to say that when Jacquelyn said I had a friend here to see me, you were the last person I expected, Nova. I figured Warren or Easton or even Levi was here." He sits down beside me. "So, what can I do for you?"

I take a deep breath, scared that I'm being absolutely senseless. "Can you get a tattoo over scar tissue?" I ask.

He frowns in thought. "Yeah, you can. But you should be aware that tattooing over scar tissue can be extremely difficult. The ink can blur easier than it can with normal skin tissue. That's usually why you have to trust your artist when it comes to the right design idea that will cover your scar, or scars, with a tattoo. Sometimes we don't tattoo over them, we simply incorporate them into the design. All in all, yes it can be done, it's just very time-consuming."

I contemplate his words. I came in here without an appointment, without a plan – if I tell him I want a tattoo, it's going to be very time-consuming. Bothering him is the last thing I want to do right now because he must be stressed enough with all the wedding stuff on top of his job.

But, even with all those cons, I still ask, "How bad does a tattoo on the side of your rib cage hurt?"

He squints at me this time, clearly understanding what I'm getting at here: I have a scar on my ribcage that I want to be covered up. "For the vast majority of human beings, a tattoo on the ribcage can hurt like hell because the thinner the skin, the more sensitive it generally is. Because of the needle puncturing the thin areas of skin around the ribcage, the pain can feel quite sharp and intense when compared to the regular scratching and burning sensation that comes with being tattooed on areas of the body that have a much thicker skin layer. But, then again, it can also be different for anyone. I've done work on people that have been in more pain on the ankle than the ribcage."

I slowly nod my head. "Okay," I say. "So, what if there was a possibility I was in that situation and wanted a tattoo to cover the scar? And let's say I have an idea of what I want. Do you think you could do it?"

He grins at me. "You were looking at the photos, Nova – you know I can do anything."

I laugh because it's so out of character for him. Getting to know Greyson, I now know that he's not one to be cocky or brag about what he does. He's humble and kind, and I can understand why Hazel loves him so much.

But at this moment, he's got every right to brag about the talent he has – his work is amazing.

"Do you think we could try and figure something out?" I ask quietly.

Greyson stands up. "Follow me."

We walk past the front desk and start heading to the furthest room on the left. Greyson pushes the curtain back and we step it, revealing a fair-sized room with a smaller desk in the back right corner. What looks to be hundreds of papers and a few pens are scattered across the top of it. In the middle of the room is a padded chair that can be turned every which way to accommodate the client. In front of the chair, I see a small table with wheels. Above that are shelves with various shades of ink.

Greyson sits down in the chair behind the small desk and gestures for me to sit down on the stool. I do so while he gathers a fresh sheet of paper and a sharp pencil.

"So," he says. "What were you thinking?"

For a moment I wonder if Hazel has said anything to him about what I've been through. I hope she has. When I told her that I didn't want anyone knowing, I'd mainly meant Warren. I really hope she told Greyson the moment after everyone left the party on Canada Day.

"Has Hazel told you anything about me? About my life before I moved to Vancouver and met Warren?"

He nods. "I know everything from Carter Jackson to how much you and Warren hated each other when you met, to the fact that you're now an official couple. Congrats on that by the way. I figured that fake relationship wouldn't last long before it became something else."

I blink. Oh, wow. I wasn't expecting him to know so much, but part of me is greatly relieved that he does. The only thing that confuses me is how he knows about Warren and I.

He seems to sense my confusion because he says, "Warren called his sister last night after dinner at some point to tell her. She was ecstatic in case you're wondering. I'm warning you – she's going to hug you senseless when she sees you next."

I smile. "Sounds like something she'd do. Apparently, she's been wanting Warren and I to be a thing for weeks now."

We lapse into silence for a moment, and he takes that moment to get up and find an eraser. As soon as he sits back down, he asks me what type of tattoo I was thinking about.

Averting back to business, I clear my throat and begin to tell him: "I want a quote – Strength is what we gain from the madness we survive. I just don't know what to put with it; I can't figure out a symbol that would correlate. Something that represents strength or a new beginning." I sigh and glance at the ceiling. I can barely understand what I'm trying to get at. In my heart, I know what I want. "Do you understand what I'm attempting to get at?" I ask.

Greyson looks at me, and then turns his face down to the paper. He begins to sketch something. I try to take a peek, wondering if I've gotten my message across to him. To be honest, I'm a little worried that he's going to draw something atrocious. How do I tell him that I hate it if that's the case? I don't want to hurt his feelings in any way.

"Well?" I ask after a couple more minutes.

Greyson nods his head. "You've actually explained what you want better than most people. Which is why I've sketched this." He pushes the paper in my direction.

Glancing at him with a certain unease, I cautiously pick up the paper. When I look down, I instantly fall in love with the rough sketch. It's a simple lighthouse with the saying written beneath it in cursive writing. The left side of the sketch is shaded drastically compared to the right side, and I also notice that the right is missing a line in the structure of the lighthouse.

I point at that. "Why is there nothing there?"

Greyson leans back in his chair and rubs the stubble on his chin. "Depending on what type of scar we're working with – either horizontal or vertical – I was thinking we could use it to our advantage instead of inking it out. In a regular sketch, the lighthouse would have two parallel lines. I left one of those out because if the scar is vertical, we could use it as the other side. Does what I'm saying make sense so far?"

I nod excitedly. The scar on my skin is vertical, so I know it would work perfectly. I look back down at the paper in my hands. "Why a lighthouse?" I ask. "Why not some type of flower that represents strength?"

"Lighthouses are rich with symbolism and conceptual meaning," he replies. "Illumination and guidance. Comfort and hope. Resilience and strength. The third one is what I'm aiming at here – when the ocean is rough and unsettling, the lighthouse stands strong, shining its bright light through the storm; it never moves and remains a steady pillar of hope."

"I love it," I say without looking up.

"Would it work with the placement of the scar?" he asks.

"Yes," I reply. "It definitely would."

"Well, great. Let's get started then. If you're certain you want to go through with this, that is."

I swallow thickly. "I'm not invading, am I? You don't have any other appointments?"

He shakes his head. "Not until late this afternoon. We're good to go."

Anxiously, I glance at the chair in the middle of the room.

I've overcome something that nearly destroyed me. And although sometimes I wish I could go back to the beginning and prevent certain events from happening, I know I can't. All I can do is continue living.

Taking a deep breath, I get to my feet.

* * *

"So how much do I owe you?" I ask, incapable of taking my eyes off of the brand-new tattoo beneath the side of my sports bra. It's been covered in a thin, see-through layer of sticky plastic, almost like a clear Band-Aid.

The tattoo beneath it is so beautiful I could almost cry. The pain I went through for five hours was worth it, and I couldn't be happier with what Greyson has permanently drawn into my skin. It's stunning. My brothers would definitely approve.

In the middle of the process, Warren called me wondering where I was. I told him that I took one of the longer trails and still had a couple of hours to go with my daily run. He believed me without a second thought.

"Nothing," Greyson replies as he cleans up the last of the supplies.

I blink at my reflection, drop my shirt back down to my hip, and then turn to face him. "What? No! You can't do that!"

He holds up a hand. "I can and I will. Nova, Hazel sprung the idea of you being her Maid of Honour on you out of the blue, and you've done so much for our wedding. It's the least we can do to repay you."

I find myself at a loss for words.

"I believe what you're looking for are the words "Thank you," right?" he laughs.

I nod. "Y-yes, thank you so much for doing this for me."

"It's really no problem," he shrugs, glancing at his watch. "Well, I'd ask you to stay so I can give you the rundown about what to do with a tattoo for the first week, but I have another appointment in fifteen minutes. So" – he stops talking and grabs a piece of paper from a folder beside his computer – "I'll give you this to look over. It gives you the basic information about how to take care of it, when to take the plastic coating off, et cetera."

"Okay," I say, folding the paper neatly and sticking it into my purse. "Thanks again."

Greyson smiles and then we say our goodbyes.

The drive back to the house is short and easy, minus the mild soreness from the tattoo, and as soon as I step inside, my phone goes off. I pull it out of my back pocket to see that Jordan is FaceTiming me. Hanging my purse on one of the hooks by the door, I answer my phone.

The connection takes a moment, but I eventually hear my brother saying,

"Hey, little sis! What's up?"

"Just got back from a run. How about you?"

Jordan squints at me, his brown eyes turning into thin slits. "You're lying to me, sis. What were you doing?"

Inspecting my surroundings to make sure no one is around, I slowly lift up the side of my shirt and position my phone so it has a full view of my ribcage. I swear I hear my brother gasp at the sight of my reddened and freshly inked skin.

"You got a tattoo?" he asks.

I bring the phone back to my face, unable to hide the smile. "Yes, I did."

"Huh," Jordan says. "I never thought you'd join me and the other two."

"I know," I reply. "It has kind of surprised me, too."

Jordan looks at me intently, and I take that moment to study my brother that I haven't seen for almost half a year now. His coppery-blond hair is slicked back and he's wearing a white muscle shirt. He looks different but the same – if that makes any sense. Although he's lost any of the babyish looks he had last time I saw him, he still has that childish vibe to him.

"You look happier than normal, Nova. What's going on?" he finally says.

I smile to myself. After complaining about Warren so much to my brother, I wonder what he's going to say when I tell him what's happened between the two of us after spending so much time together.

"Well, um," I say. "It's kind of a funny story –"

"What's a funny story?"

I jump, spinning around to see Warren heading down the stairs. When he gets to the bottom of the stairs, where I am, he stops beside me, rests a hand on my waist, and kisses me, unaware of the call. My stomach muscles clench due to the fact that one of my big brothers just saw Warren kiss me on the cheek. At any moment, I'm positive Jordan is going to lose his mind. My three older brothers have always been so protective of me. Even with Carter, knowing that he was my best friend, they still were wary. I can't imagine what is going through Jordan's mind at this moment after hearing all the bad things I've said about Warren.

"Um," I say, "Warren, I'd like you to meet one of my older brothers, Jordan Elliot. Jordan, this is Warren. My...boyfriend."

Warren side-glances me, and I can tell he's thinking about my hesitation with the word. Without thinking, I grip his hand and give it a tight squeeze. He needs to understand that even though I'm all for trying out this relationship, I'm still a little scared – it's been a while.

I look to my right, watching as Warren turns his attention to the phone and smiles at my brother. "It's nice to meet you, Jordan," he says. "I've heard a lot about you."

"Hot damn, Nova," my brother says, clearly impressed with Warren's looks. "He's your fake boyfriend? Maybe I should move to Vancouver. I definitely would have said yes to him, but for a whole different reason."

Warren shifts uncomfortably next to me, but the smile on his face stays normal.

"Nice to finally meet you too, Warren. My sister has said many, many things about you."

Both men look at me, and I instantly feel guilty for all the things I said behind Warren's back. I basically made him look like a modern villain.

"Well," Warren says. "I can't blame her. I kept telling my friends I'd never change, but I guess your sister is that one girl that makes me want to change."

Jordan looks at me, and all I can do is shrug. "Warren isn't my fake boyfriend anymore – we're actually dating."

My brother has never been able to hide his emotions very well, and at this moment, I can tell he's proud of me for taking a step forward. That, despite all the things I've said, I've found someone that makes me feel good about myself.

He smiles at me and says, "You have no idea how happy I am for you, sis."

My heart squeezes. Jordan was the one I leaned on most, so he understands the pain better than anyone else. Yet it still surprises me that –

"But," Jordan says, interrupting my thoughts, "just because I'm happy for my baby sister doesn't mean you're off the hook, Hotshot. Consider this a warning: she's got me, Lee, and Matt supporting her, so if you so much as make her feel like crying, you're fucked."

"Jordan!" I exclaim.

Warren laughs – thankfully. "Don't worry about it, Nova," he says. "I figured this was coming sooner or later. And I'm guessing this won't be the last time. Am I right, Jordan?"

"Depends," my brother replies, grinning.

"Well," Warren drawls. "I think Liam and Matthew are going to have the exact same thing to say to me when I meet them."

I blink in surprise. So he was actually listening when I told him a little bit about my family.

Jordan looks at me, blatantly confused. "This really doesn't seem like the same guy you told me about. First of all, he's just way too good looking for you – no offence."

I roll my eyes. Whether it's at the fact that my brother is totally flirting with my boyfriend or my boyfriend is grinning like an ass, I can't tell. "None taken."

"Second of all," my brother continues, "he definitely doesn't seem like a total asshat. He seems...nice."

I cringe and squeeze my eyes shut. "Thank you, brother," I say, "for making me feel like the asshat in this situation." I peek through my lashes and look at Warren. "I'm sorry."

He shrugs. "I'm sure I've been called worse."

"So," Jordan says. "What did my sister do to lasso someone like you into her life? I need some advice."

"Well," Warren says, plucking the phone from my hand. He starts to walk toward the kitchen. "We started out as roommates..."

I stare aimlessly after Warren as he walks away with my phone in hand while in the midst of a conversation with my brother. I just can't seem to comprehend how they can get along so well through FaceTime.

From down the hallway, I hear Warren and my brother laugh. He glances over his shoulder and smirks at me.

I sigh.

I'm starting to think I should have run upstairs and locked myself in the bedroom when I had the chance instead of letting Warren meet my brother.

* * *

"So," Warren says from the breakfast bar twenty minutes later. "When were you planning on telling me that your brother is gay?"

"Was it that easy to notice?" I ask sarcastically.

Warren laughs and leans back in his chair. "Extremely."

I sit down beside him on the empty chair. "I'm sorry about Jordan – he's very...outspoken. Sweet guy, but sometimes he can't keep his mouth shut."

"Ah, it's all good"" he replies. "He's actually pretty funny. What are your other brothers like?"

I rest my head on his shoulder. "What are my brothers like?" I repeat. "Well, they're all extremely different. Matthew is the oldest – a year older than Hazel, actually. He's married and already has a kid, and he's a firefighter. Matt's always been the most mature out of all of us, and not just because of his age. It's hard to joke around with him and such. He's also six years older than me."

Warren nudges me. "Kind of sounds like you in some ways – you've always acted older than you really are."

"I know," I reply. "Anyway, Liam is sort of an odd duck. He's very environmental, which is why he doesn't get along all that great with my parents when we discuss certain topics. And I have to admit that before I moved to Vancouver, I was pro toward all the oil components Alberta deals with. But after moving and seeing what's at risk – the beautiful ecosystem the West Coast possesses, I'm against it. You should have seen how Lee reacted when I told him that. I swear he wanted to crawl through the computer and hug me."

"I don't see how that's odd," Warren frowns. "I hate what humans do to the environment too."

"That's not what I meant by odd," I reply. "First of all, he's vegan. I can understand being vegetarian, but vegan? How do you live life without eating seafood? He's also very introverted – hates big crowds and isn't very social, yet he's the lead guitarist for a band that him and his equally as weird friends made up. And, finally, he's smoked weed for years."

Warren starts laughing.

"What's so funny about that?" I ask.

He shakes his head. "I think the proper term you're looking for is a hippie. That's what Liam sounds like to me."

I smile to myself. "Yes, I suppose that would work as a definition for him."

"So how much older is Liam?"

"Four years – he's twenty-six," I reply. "And, as for Jordan, well, you had a good chat with him. I think you know why he's so different than the other two. Out of all my brothers, I'm probably closest to him because he's only a year older than me. So I guess that means he's the same age as you." I stop and frown to myself. "Well, there's that and the fact that I instantly accepted him for who he was when he broke the news. My parents had a hard time and so did Matt – they don't have anything against people being gay, but I think it was the shock of it. Liam basically just shrugged."

"And how did you react?" Warren asks.

"Well," I say. "I sort of expected it to a certain extent. Sometimes I would question my assumptions, but when he finally told us, I was so happy for him. Revealing a secret like that to your family is hard, and I was so proud of him for doing it. But more importantly, for embracing who he was – is."

Warren smiles at me. "I can't wait to meet them."

My stomach flips. "You want to meet my family?"

He nods. "I forced you to meet mine, Novs. I think I deserve to go through the wrath of your brothers. That aside, yeah, I want to."

I stare at him, remembering how I reacted the first time he called me that. As I stare, I notice his face falter.

"Shit," he says, looking away. "Sorry. I thought – "

"No," I say. "I meant it when I said I like you calling me that. I think it's time the nickname started being used again."

"You know," he teases. "You're being a bit of a hypocrite. You say you hate nicknames, yet you will allow me to call you by one, and you call your brothers by them."

"Shut up, Warren," I smile.

We lapse into a moment of silence, simply enjoying each other's company in the quietness of the kitchen. Until he says, "Y'know, now that we're dating, we should probably get to know each other a little better."

I smile because he's right. Although we know some things – the habits we have, the vocabulary we use when speaking, the type of food we prefer – we don't know the small things such as each other's birthday or favourite colour. And I want to know all those things about him.

"What do you want to know?" I ask.