“Hell yeah, you are.” I chuckle, but then ask, “Why the change of heart?”
His brow furrows. “What do you mean?”
“When we were walking to the showroom, and that woman referred to you as a Creed, you stiffened like it offended you.”
“It didn’t offend me,” he explains. “It just surprised me. And then all those old insecurities started to kick in. I didn’t want you to take my last name, but I wasn’t sure I deserved to take yours.”
“Hollis, you’ve been a Creed since the day you walked into that kitchen twelve years ago.”
“And now I want to make it official.”
I wrap my arms around his neck. “Well, you know there’s only one way to do that, right?”
His brow furrows. “With a legal document signed by a judge?”
“No.” My lips curve into a smile. “With ink.”
“Why am I blindfolded, Pres?” Hollis groans as we walk into the tattoo studio. He’s holding onto my arm, and we’ve been walking at a snail’s pace ever since he almost ate pavement when his boot hit the curb. “I already know where we’re going. You haven’t exactly been subtle. And you could have at least used a different blindfold than the one we use when we’re fu?—”
“We’re here!” I exclaim, ripping that damn blindfold off his face. His eyes adjust and then widen as he takes in everyone standing in front of us.
“Oh! Oh, shit,” he mutters, realizing what he was just in the middle of saying when we walked in.
“Uh, surprise?” Hendrix does some weird jazz hands, and everyone chuckles.
“You really all showed up for this?” Hollis seems genuinely surprised. I think it’s going to take some time for him to fully settle into the idea of a family.
“Of course we did,” Myles says. “It’s a family tradition.”
“It’s initiation rites,” Zander adds, his arms crossed over his broad chest, revealing the tattoo he got years ago in this very studio. It took some work, but we managed to persuade them to close for the afternoon to accommodate us. It sounds bougie as hell, but it’s the only way we could get Zander and Hendrix here without causing a riot.
“It’s our legacy.” My dad offers Hollis a hug. A swell of emotions twists my throat. “And it means a lot to me that you all started it.”
“Wait.” Hollis holds up a hand. “You guys started it?”
“Oh, notus.” Hollis motions with his finger, pointing to the siblings as a whole, and then points to just one. “Cash.”
“Cash?” My husband sounds like he’s just been told they’re remakingThe Goonies. A little confused. Possibly excited. Maybe a little nervous.
Cash, however, just stands there in his polished gray suit, looking completely unbothered by the revelation. He glances around the room and shrugs. “I’m a sentimental motherfucker. What can I say?”
The whole room explodes in laughter.
“We still think he did it to impress Dad,” Hendrix says once everyone settles down.
Cash flashes a rare smile. “Why would I need to? Pretty perfect already.” Then he sighs. “It was a Father’s Day present. I got it to match his, and then all you assholes had to copy me.”
If he’s trying to sound annoyed, he’s doing a terrible job.
“So, Hollis, where’s it gonna be?” Dad asks, slinging an arm over my mom’s shoulder.
He looks to me, then his gaze drifts down to my arm. “I didn’t think I had a choice.”
“Oh, you do. This isn’t a brand or anything.” Myles laughs. “I have mine on my rib cage. Easier to hide that way. Makeupartists hate tattoos.” He emphasizes his point by lifting his shirt to show the five letters that run vertically down the side of his rib cage.
“That must have hurt like a bitch.”
“It did, in fact, suck,” he confirms.
