38
The piece was probably five inches in diameter and vaguely familiar. It was inked in black—a skull in the center with feathered wings unfurled behind it. Scrolls above and below contained words that I couldn’t make out, and the skull had something on its head that flopped to the side. It was no wonder he refused to get in the hot tub. I didn’t know a single classmate with a tattoo—not that it was impossible, but considering the design and the situation, I could tell this was more than a rebellious teen getting ink. At the sight of his muscular torso, along with the tattoo and a beer in hand, he’d never looked so mature. Kane had a past—more of a past than an ordinary kid would have—and that tattoo had meaning. How could I have ever confused him for an ordinary high school senior? My heart
- Writer
