“A brat, that’s what you are. I’ll buy you a fucking jacket…and get a tattoo today.” I grumble the last part and glare into his teasing green eyes. He’s got me by the balls and he knows it.
“Reece James!” interrupts a sharp Southern voice.
Jax and I jolt apart, heads snapping to the doorway.
Harper stands with her hands on her hips, her hair in a messy bun. She marches to her son, who has chocolate smeared across his cheeks and covering his fingers and pajamas.
“I swear to God, if he crashes out today after being hyped up on all this sugar, you’re dealing with him.” She surveys the chocolate disaster and shakes her head. “And you’re giving him a bath.”
Reece points the spatula in our direction. “Don’t blame me! This was Jackson.”
“Traitor,” Jax hisses. “You fed him. I would’ve done a much better job.”
“I only have one arm!” Reece fires back.
“Ugh, here we go again,” myboyfriendgroans. “Always using your injury to get attention and sympathy. You were shot. We get it. Jesus.”
Chapter 40
Reece
Never in my wildest dreams did I envision shooting the shit with an old Army buddy while getting tattoos with Jax and Ethan. Yet, here I am, laughing my ass off, mostly at Jackson.
He leans over the table, gawking at my freshly buzzed sides and the half-finished tattoo etched in my scalp. “Are you fucking serious?” He draws a deep inhale, readying for the tantrum he’s about to throw. “You always have to show me up, don’t you? First with your dazzling dick, and now you get Aurora’s name tattooed across your head? What the actual fuck, Viking? You look like a walking billboard for fuckboys and bad decisions. Stand next to Ethan, and you’ll be his goon. Fucking Christ,” he curses, loud enough for the entire shop to hear. “Fine, I’m getting my tongue pierced. Compete with that.”
The needle hits a sensitive spot, and a spike of adrenaline rushes through my veins. “I don’t need my tongue pierced to have your wife gushing on my face, but go ahead, do it. Then I won’t have to listen to you bitch and complain for at least a few days.”
“You’re not getting your tongue pierced,” Ethan cuts in. His expression is contorted in horror—by the thought of a needlegoing through Jackson’s tongue or the sight of the tattoo gun at my temple, I’m not sure. “It’s against league rules.”
Sadie’s fiancé, Cal, a buddy of mine I asked to watch over her—another story for another day—chuckles as he works on my head. “You’re all insane. I love it.”
***
Ethan
I follow Kelly, Cal’s apprentice, to a tiny room in the back of the shop, away from Jax’s prying eyes and Reece’s knowing smirk. The door clicks shut behind us, and suddenly, my legs are made of concrete. A wave of dread washes over me—not because I’m second-guessing the tattoo, but because I doubt I’ll make it through this without passing out cold on the floor.
“Decided what you want?” She pulls on a fresh pair of gloves and snaps me out of my panic.
I clear my throat. “Yeah.” I slip my phone from my pocket and show her a simple design I found on Pinterest—fucking Pinterest. Who have I become?
“Two black bands?” Kelly studies the image. “Classic. I like it. Ring finger?”
“Yup.” I swallow hard, my heart palpitating. I’m bound to go into cardiac arrest one of these days.
“Have a seat.” She nods toward the leather chair, similar to those in a dentist’s office, which does nothing to help my fear.
I ease into the chair, rigid as a board, and place my left hand on the armrest.
Kelly preps her station, setting out small bottles of ink and assembling her torture device. “First tattoo?”
“That obvious?”
She grins. “Your white-knuckle death grip and pale face give you away.” She cleans my trembling finger with alcohol. “Try to relax. Don’t forget to breathe.”
Easier said than done. I stare at the ceiling tiles and focus on why I’m doing this—for Jax, for Aurora, for our family, a permanent commitment no one can question.
“You sure you want this?” Kelly asks, tattoo gun in hand. “Once it’s on…”
