Page 117 of Dirty Like Brody
“I remember the funeral,” I said softly. I’d never forget; there had been too many funerals in my young life. But what struck me most about that funeral was how grand it was, how many flowers there were, how fancy everything was compared to the tiny, humble services for my parents… and how many people turned up to the funeral of a man whose son never had a word to say about him. “Youdidn’tcry.”
“No,” he said. “You did.” He entwined his fingers with mine. “You held my hand thewholetime.”
I ran my thumb over his tattoo, the one on his palm, of the rose andvines.
“This hand,” hewhispered.
I kissed his palm, right on thetattoo.
“You did that, too,”hesaid.
Yeah. I remembered that, too. “That’s what thetattoo’sfor?”
“That’s what thetattoo’sfor.”
Wow. I’d always wondered… but neverbeensure.
I’d been there when he got that tattoo. Jesse and I both were. We’d gone to a tattoo parlor to get the tattoos that he’d promised me we’d get together when our mom died, and while we had the abstract angels with the tall, proud wings inked on—Jesse’s, large, on his inner arm, and me, small, on my ankle—Brody had the rose and vines inked onhishand.
That was right after his father’sfuneral.
“I think you were a bit drunk,” I said,rememberingback.
“Maybe,” he said. “A bit. But I knew what I wasdoing.”
I brought his hand to my lips and kissed the rose again. Then my eye caught the tattoo on his forearm. “You ever going to tell me what this one means?” I ran my fingertips along the runes. “Abstinence… I mean, I know I said I wouldn’t fuck you before you told me, so I’ve kind of lost myleveragehere.”
“It means self-restraint,” he said. “Resisting something. Like something you’re hungry for anddependenton.”
“Thank you, Mr. Dictionary,” I replied. “But that’s not what I wasasking.”
“No?”
“No. Why do you have it tattooed onyourarm?”
There was a silent pause. “Promise you won’t getupset?”
“I make no suchpromise.”
Brody kissed my shoulder. “Then I’m nottellingyou.”
Iconsideredthat.
“Okay. How about I promise I won’t totally freak out and start throwing shit? But I can’t promise you how I’m going to feel when I don’t even know what you’re goingtosay.”
His arms tightened around me. “It’s supposed to remind me why I should stay awayfromyou.”
My hand stilled where I was caressing a trail back and forth along the tattoo. “And why should you stay awayfromme?”
His arms tightened even more and he said, “Because Ican’t.”
Oh.
Wow.
Had anyone ever said anything like that to me before? That bravely honest? That filled with love and pain andhumility?
“I love you,Brody.”
