“Well, that’s my ride.” I stood at the same time as Presley and gave him a short nod in appreciation. “Thanks for the life advice.”
He dusted off his jeans. “Think about it. And if you want a real expert to tame that hair and beard of yours, come visit me. Who would you rather take care of it? Abarberor a hair curator?”
“I’ll take you up on that.” Inclining my head as a goodbye, I headed toward Jester, who sat patiently waiting. The closer I got to him, the more the shame of what I’d done began to weigh on me. I’d walked off on PD, and the fury at myself for being so quick to react was a fire in my chest that wanted to explode. No matter what I did, I made the entire situation worse. PD deserved an apology. Even if he couldn’t understand what I was going through, he’d supported me.
I paused as I came to Jester’s bike, and he stared at me. He didn’t have a helmet on, but that wasn’t anything new for Jester. After being through the accident, I couldn’t help but internally wince. If he flew off the Harley, it’d kill him.
But it was his life to live.
Jester tilted his head but didn’t say anything. The dark rings under his eyes were more prominent than ever, and I hadn’t seen him around a whole lot recently. But he looked damned exhausted.
“You okay, brother?” I asked.
He pressed his lips together. “Y-yes.” He gestured for me to hop on the bike. “I’ll take y-you to PD’s tattoo parlor.”
I frowned. “Are you sure you’re all right?”
He dipped his head and nodded at the saddle bag on the Harley. I reached in to grab the only helmet in there and carefully put it on. Jester wasn’t a huge talker. He was a good vice president and loyal to the club.
I slid onto the Harley behind him and held on as he pulled the Fatboy back out onto the street. He moved with the grace of a man who’d spent most of his life on the back of a motorcycle, and from the snippets I knew about his history, he had. His father had been part of the MC world.
The ride to Ink Well didn’t take long enough. As much as I wanted to talk to PD, I also didn’t want to face him. I kept fucking up. Why did I keep doing this?Fuck!
I leaned my head back and breathed in the fresh air that whipped past us. When Jester pulled into a small spot in front of PD’s place, I wasn’t ready. I’d been tempted to ask him to keep going around the block. Instead, I braced for a deep conversation.
I patted Jester on the shoulder before I slid off the helmet and returned it to the saddle bag. “Thanks. You good?”
He sighed and rubbed his face, where he wore the tiredness like a flashing red traffic light. He was hurting, and it was a reminder that I wasn’t the only one with trouble. After a few long moments—it always took Jester a little longer—he spoke. “Fine. Go. Fix it before it’s too late.”
The roar of his motorcycle filled the air as he took off back into traffic, and I watched as he disappeared around the corner. I straightened and winced as my ribs ached at the movement. Rubbing my chest, I headed toward the door of the tattoo parlor and opened it. The belljingled.
Jake, one of PD’s artists, turned first, and he grinned as soon as he saw me. He patted the customer in the chair and said something before he stood and rushed over to me. “Hey, Will, how are you?”
Jake had short dark hair and a classic handsome appearance. He was the type you’d see in magazines as a model, and he was a nice guy. I liked him.
“Not bad.” I offered him a nervous smile as I glanced around the shop. There wasn’t much to see. The newest employee, Dawson, was sweeping somewhere near the back of the shop and he wasn’t paying attention to us. Other than Jake and the customer—a woman who looked no older than twenty-one—there was no one else. “Is PD around?”
“He just stepped out to the bank. He cleared his schedule for the afternoon, though. I’m not sure he’s coming back.” Jake eyed me in a way that told me he knew PD and I’d had another fight and my gut churned with shame.
I touched my chest and rubbed my aching heart. My ribs had stopped hurting for a bit and now it was the organ in my chest that stung. Fucking traitor. “Are you busy right now?”
Jake glanced back toward the young woman and shook his head. “I’m just finishing up with my customer, but I can get Dawson to run down the care instructions.”
I laughed at the absurd thought that filled my head. It had been a long time since I’d gotten some ink.
“You got time for a small tattoo? Just writing across here.” I stroked my chest, right above my heart.
His eyebrows rose. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”
“Why not?” I huffed. “It’s always the right fucking time for ink.”
He made a face. Yeah, he definitely knew PD and I were fighting.
“What do you want it to say?” Concern laced his tone. I ignored it.
“Property of Paris Deiters.” I raised my chin. “If you don’t want to do it, I can find someone else.”
Jake held up his palms. “I didn’t say that, I just don’t want you to regret it. You know ink’s forever.”
