Permanent (Indelibly Marked) (Volume 1) (2 page)

“I have to do this myself.” She shook her head.

In an attempt to stall, he retreated in small steps. “What about your door?”

“I really need to handle it myself.” For the third time she repeated the bizarre mantra. “Thank you again.”

“No problem.” Still taking small backward steps, he hesitated. She seemed really tiny among all those boxes towering around her.

“Come on.” Carson pulled his sleeve. “She didn’t even tell us her name.” His brother stepped outside.

He held one finger up as she swayed with the wall as her only support.

Blood dripped between her fingers onto her pretty pink shirt and he leaned against the doorjamb. She may not want him there, but he wasn’t going to leave her wobbling. Instead, he decided to give her two more minutes of his time.

It took less than ten seconds to get what he was after.

“Lindsay!”

“What?” He straightened up. Bleeding or not he would make sure she wanted his attention.

“My name is Lindsay Stevens.” Her knees buckled.

He rushed to her side. Her tremble vibrated though him, but she managed to raise her head.

“I’m your neighbor.”

“I gathered.” He chuckled and pulled her toward him for support and a chance to take another peek at those good girl baby blues. She was exactly the type of girl that loved but hated his type. His gallant efforts were the key to winning this woman over.

Carson returned. “What’s going on?”

“This is Lindsay.” With his arm around her he guided his little charge toward the door.

Before they stepped outside she stopped and looked up at him, her focus going right to his Mohawk.

“I’ll take you to Urgent Care and then I’ll marry you.” He tilted his head down. Girls loved the Mohawk. “The odds are with you on that one.”

Chapter Two

“Hi Shane.” The receptionist at Urgent Care wiggled her fingers at him, stood up and lifted her shirt. “Look.”

Only humiliation blunted the throbbing in Lindsay’s head. All she wanted to do was break those heels in. Instead, she ended up walking through Hollywood in a pair of men’s questionably clean athletic socks. Right in front of her, the receptionist showed her rescuer a ring of flowers tattooed around her belly button.

“Looking good.” Shane gave a thumbs up. “We have a situation, stat.”

“Oh no!” The receptionist lowered her shirt. “Come on back right now.”

Except for the shirt-raising woman who seemed perfect for a motorcycle ad, Lindsay barely got the chance to take in the interesting selection of people around her. A virtual tossed salad of characters congregated there, ranging from those who looked ill, a man with a crutch, another with a sling, and a family who appeared to be having a party right in the waiting room. However, nothing compared to the men who brought her.

As they led her to an examining room, she assessed her saviors once again. Carson, the brother and donator of socks, could have joined the woman in the ad. He wore tight jeans, a tight red t-shirt, and multi-colored tattoos of various plants and animals intertwined and trailing up both arms. A black knit hat covered most of his hair, but what showed was straight, dark brown and hung in his eyes, causing him to continually flip it back.

Then there was Shane.

Shane was unlike any man she had ever laid eyes on except for maybe a rock star on television. With his blue-black Mohawk hairstyle and tattoos that started inches above both wrists and disappeared beneath the sleeves of his black t-shirt, he was the portrait of a bad boy. He had the dangerous and fun appearance that always attracted her. That type of man never showed a hint of interest. Unless he thought she was an old lady with a broken hip, and he felt obligated to help when he found her in a pool of her own blood.

Shane and a medical assistant interrupted her thoughts as they laid her down on an examining table. Out of nowhere, a paper blanket covered her, a tray of supplies wheeled next to her, and a bright light aimed on her forehead. She blinked.

“How did this happen?” The male medical assistant asked, but clearly did not direct the question at her.

“She fell and got hit by a hammer.” Shane helped him remove the gauze.

“I brought the hammer in case you needed to see it.” Carson held it up.

“This is bad. We’ll need to wait for the doc.” The assistant rolled up his sleeve. “Hey man, look.”

Lindsay straightened up to watch the medical assistant show off a tattoo of a bright red demon on his upper arm.

“Sweet.” Shane nodded. “Keep it out of the sun or my colors will fade.”

For a moment she wondered why Shane called it
his
colors, but in her misery decided it didn’t matter.

The receptionist returned. “Someone needs to fill out this paperwork.”

Before she reached for the clipboard Shane swooped in and stuffed it under his arm. “I’ll do this. I’m the next of kin.” He returned to assisting the assistant.

She wanted to protest, even opened her mouth, but the doctor entered, high-fiving both Carson and Shane before coming to her. “I’m Doctor Wilcox.”

When no one else chimed in she figured he’d spoken to her. “Lindsay Stevens.”

“Well I think this is a pretty easy diagnosis.” He scanned her chart. “Let’s get this cleaned up and then we’ll stitch it.”

“Stitches?” Her muscles seized.

“It’s okay.” Shane patted her shoulder. “Doc is also a cosmetic surgeon, so he won’t mess up.”

The doctor gave her a thumbs up as he put on his gloves. “Let’s clear the room so I can get to work.”

She sat back, or more accurately the assistant pushed her down and cleaned the wound. The icy burn of antiseptic stung and she gasped.

“Maybe I should stay.” Shane stood near the table.

Not wanting to look needy or pathetic, she shook her head. “I’ll be all right.”

“You weren’t all right before.” Shane pursed his lips and walked out backward, keeping his gaze on her.

With her head pounding, she tried to wrap her mind around the whole evening while the doctor prepared the copious equipment he needed to sew her back together.

“Can’t you just use a bandage?”

“That cut is too deep to heal properly without stitches. You did a number on yourself.” The doctor lifted a vial and held his hand out to the medical assistant.

“What would happen if it didn’t heal properly?” She pressed her back into the table.

“We wouldn’t want that.”

She dug her nails through the protective paper into the vinyl on the table. “Maybe I do?”

The doctor nodded and smiled.

Heat overtook her, covering her in sweat though the air conditioning vent blew cold air. She searched for exit options and focused on Shane, standing just outside the door, filling out the paperwork. How did her neighbor know what to put down on the forms?
Please, let it be legal
.

“First, we’ll numb the area.” The doctor held up a syringe.

The bright light glistened off the huge pain-inducing instrument. Her fight or flight instinct took over. One glance at the medical assistant told her fighting wasn’t an option and he blocked her flight path. With no other option, she yelled the first thing that came to mind. “Shane!”

Faster than it took for a hammer to gouge out her forehead, Shane shot back into the room.

“What’s the matter?” He dropped the clipboard and the papers scattered across the floor.

“I think we should leave.” She reached for him then stopped, her hands in mid-air. Her actions were the complete opposite of taking care of herself, she even used the ‘we’ word.

He pressed her hands to his chest and glared at the doctor. “I brought her here ‘cause I knew you would take good care of her.”

Something about Shane said he wouldn’t let the mean doctor hurt her. She managed to inhale. In this unfamiliar setting she could let him take over. After she left Urgent Care she’d be independent.

The doctor narrowed his eyes. “I only wanted to numb her.” He lifted the syringe.

At the sight of the weapon, she squeezed Shane’s hands, yanking him toward her. “No!”

The unexpected action nearly tripped him, but before he fell, he braced his arms on either side of her. “Needles?”

She wrinkled her nose.

With a laugh, Shane righted himself. “We have to get you all patched up.” His voice took on a singsong tone.

“I feel much better.” Unsure there was any further way to embarrass herself, she turned away.

“No you don’t.” Shane wedged against the examining table and put his arms around her, taking her chin in his hand and turning her wound in the direction of the doctor, while keeping her focus on him. “We can do this, okay?”

Calm encompassed her and she sighed.

“It’ll be quick, don’t look.” He held her hand. “Okay?”

She gazed up. He’d literally swooped in and saved her, but why? Since she arrived in Los Angeles five days ago, no one had given her a second glance. Until he broke her door, all she knew about the person next door was that he played his stereo too loud, though she welcomed the noise to confirm others existed on the planet.

“Everything copasetic down there?” He gave her a perfect megastar smile.

For the first time, he was close and still far enough for her to see his face. After his extremely straight white teeth, she took in his dark blue eyes that shined in amusement. His face fit Hollywood, a leading man, the one rogue secret agent who needed to prove his innocence, the effervescent unexpected love interest in a romantic comedy with his crisp, well-defined features. Caught up in imagining the other roles Shane could play, she forgot about the puncturing of her forehead.

“Let’s get going.” He tilted his chin up to the doctor and held his arm out in front of her. “You can look at the pretty pictures.”

The doctor began his work.

Grateful for something to look at, she studied his amazing tattoos. He presented her with an intricate vine interwoven with colorful Japanese artwork and a life-like Koi fish.

“They found a tattoo on a man dating back to 3300 B.C.” The words left her mouth, and she wished a net to get them back.

“Seriously?” He shielded her eyes. “That’s pretty cool.”

Even in her delicate state she knew when someone was placating her. Her useless fact wasn’t cool and neither was she. That kind of comment pigeonholed her into her role in life.

“So, where did you move from?”

She squeezed Shane’s arm at the doctor’s pressure and forced out, “Ohio.”

“Midwest.” He turned his forearm over and displayed a tattoo of a painter’s palate and brushes.

Before she could ask him about it, she winced at a pinch.

“So what brought you to California?” He moved his face closer.

“I got a job here.” She bit her lip and shut her eyes. “I start tomorrow.” Now she would go with a bunch of stitches in her head, ruining the image she wanted to portray. Maybe the injury would break the ice and her new co-workers would invite her out after work. Since arriving in Los Angeles, all she did was plan for her first day of work. Everything had to be absolutely perfect. Her future hinged it.

“What does Miss Lindsay do for a living?”

“Accountant.”

“Accountant?” He tightened his hold on her. “You’re an accountant, really?”

“Yes.” She ground her teeth together, ready for the jokes about her chosen profession.

“Do accountants have a specialty?”

He sounded interested, code for wanting advice. “I love taxes.”

“Why do you like taxes?” He swallowed.

“It’s a challenge. Everyone has to pay them but no one wants to. It’s a game.”

“Oh my God, that’s awesome!”

“You think it’s awesome?” In her entire career, no one ever called her line of work awesome. Still, she waited for the questions about his deductions.

“Are you good?”

She swore he held his breath. “I believe I am.”

“Then it’s awesome.”

“All done, and very well stitched if I say so myself.” The doctor handed her a mirror.

The bandage covered half her forehead, so there would be no hiding the evidence with her bangs.

With the treatment complete, she sat up, but Shane caught her shoulders.

“I think being an accountant, especially one that specializes in taxes, is completely and utterly awesome.”

“Thank you.” Her throat dried out.

“Here are her prescriptions and aftercare instructions.” The doctor handed Shane the papers and picked up the forms that dropped earlier. “We’ll need some real answers to this.” He turned the document around.

Her mouth opened, but no words came out. Shane got her name and address right. Because he was unable to answer the other questions, he drew on the page. It was a cartoon version of her lying on the examining table with the doctor as a monster preparing to attack her with oversized hammer.

“Did you draw this?”

“Give me that.” Shane reached for it.

She thrust her hand out, stopping him. “May I have it?” No one back home would ever believe it without proof.

He lifted his eyebrows then took the paper and bowed as he gave it to her. “You need the finishing touch.” He grabbed the doctor’s pen and signed his initials in the corner with a flourish.

Shane exuded added personality and flair that gave him an edge. Something she’d always wanted, never had, and was trying to capture by coming out to California in the first place.

“You are quite the artist.” The doctor lifted his sleeve and showed off a tattoo of a caduceus with the snakes wrapping around his forearm.

She leaned into study the tattoo and turned to Shane as everything came into place.

“I own a tattoo shop.” He took her arm and helped her from the table.

“Yes.” In one million years she never predicted a man who permanently marked people for a living would save her, and she knew the number was accurate.

“He owns THE tattoo shop.” The doctor slapped Shane on the back. “Our Shane is a superstar.”

“Don’t believe a word he says.” Shane grimaced. “Carson!”

His brother stuck his head into the room and waved.

Waving back seemed the right thing to do, even though it felt silly to Lindsay.