Misfits Like Us (Like Us #11)(10)

This time, Donnelly shakes his head like it’s nothing. Then he literally says, “It was nuthin’.”

My older brother didn’t make it seem like nothing when he told me. So Donnelly could just be downplaying the gravity.

“If you need to abort, I’d understand.”

Donnelly proceeds to flip the next sketch page. “I don’t need to.” He looks up at me. “Do you?”

Do I want this to end?

“Only if it hurts you,” I say so quietly, I’m unsure if he hears, but in the stillness of my room, his ears must catch the words because he replies, “It won’t.”

“My dad could hurt you,” I remind him, more loudly. “I don’t know exactly what he said, but I heard that he threatened your job if you tattoo me again.”

I’m not throwing my brother under the bus and naming him. Moffy received the info from Farrow and then shared with me. In part, I think Moffy only told me about our dad threatening Donnelly so I’d stop asking Donnelly to tattoo me.

Maybe I should.

I can still abort.

Donnelly is giving me the keys to the exit hatch, but I want this tattoo about as much as I wish I could explore a hundred-thousand galaxies. Maybe even more, because I know the tattoo is a true, real tangibility and the explorer in me can only remain inside pages of fiction.

“I’m not worried about it,” Donnelly says, again, like it’s nothing.

It being my father. What if Moffy just exaggerated everything? What if I am worried about it, even if Donnelly isn’t? I weigh everything.

“I think I’ll hide the tattoo from my dad for a while, anyway. Just to be on the safe side.”

He slips the pen out from behind his ear. “It’s up to you.”

And this is the part of the story where I recognize that Paul Donnelly does not care if harm comes to him. Either he believes he’s strong enough to defeat any evil, like most bodyguards would, or he does not value his life as much as he values the life of others.

In both circumstances, he is a good bean.

I’ve liked him as a person ever since we talked on the tour bus, late at night on Christmas Eve, and he sketched what would be my first tattoo.

Today, I think I like him even more.

“I’m still sorry about my dad,” I say, meaning it. “He is my dad, so I guess I feel the need to apologize on his behalf.” I curl a piece of hair behind my ear. “Sometimes, I think he wishes he were Professor X just so he could use Cerebro to keep tabs on me.”

Donnelly is a bodyguard.

Security would love Cerebro.

Donnelly nods like he gets the reference. Maybe he does. He’s into some fandoms. I’m not exactly sure which ones, but he did talk a little about Marvel on the tour bus. Then he says, “Makes sense.”

“Because I’m famous,” I realize.

“’Cause he loves you.” He pulls out reading glasses from his pocket. “I’d tap into Cerebro for the people I love too.”

My pancake flip-flopping heart has grown, unearthly reader. “And for the aliens, to see what they’re up to.”

“You’re the one with the alien connections. You gotta hook me up.”

“Galactic space channels are complex. But I do think you have what it takes to make contact.”

Donnelly leans back a little bit. “Question is whether they want me.”

“That’s the question I ask all the time. What if they refuse to answer my call when I make contact?”

“Sounds like they’d be the dumber species rejecting someone like you and me.”

I grin. “Totally.”

“Totes,” he banters, flashing a rock on hand gesture, his lips inching higher, then he asks, “You sure you wanna go ahead with this?”

“Close the exit hatch.”

Donnelly smirks. “Been closed on my end.”

“Secured on mine. The tattoo is a go,” I nod resolutely, wishing I could peek at his sketchbook. He holds the pages upright so I only spy the worn blue cover.

He curls the sketchbook. He must’ve found the page, but his blue eyes flicker to the colored pencils stacked in the tin. “You draw?”

“Not really. I tried,” I admit. “I wanted to first show you an idea of the design I have in mind, but I couldn’t sketch anything worth showing.”

“Can I see them?”

My drawings? “They’re in the dumpster outside.”

His forehead creases like that’s a sad place for them, but he just nods. “I only have one sketch. I can make changes to it. It’s just a starting point, so don’t be afraid to tell me what you think.”

“Okay.” I bow closer, brushing against his arm to obtain a better look.

Donnelly reveals the page, but my gaze catches the black writing around his wrist, his tattoo that I first saw on the tour bus.

win some lose some is inked in small letters.

And then the design in the sketchbook stuns me silent. Thin black lines travel in curves around spheres of all shapes and dimensions, some ringed like Saturn. Others are comets and stars. Lines connect and twist in a magical geometry so I can easily color in different sections of space and fill in the planets.

“I…” I try not to cry. Forcing back tears that well, I whisper to him, “I love it.”