Page 830 of End Game

“The original.”

Dex lifts his head. “You kept it?”

“Yeah.”

I don’t offer more than that, because I don’t need to. Ronan studies the paper through his glasses, his expression softening in a way most people probably wouldn’t notice.

Griffin notices.

So does Dex.

“Okay,” Dex says, quieter. “That’s actually disgustingly sentimental, Sad Boy.”

“Fuck off.”

“No. I support this version of you.”

I turn toward the copier before any of them can make the moment worse.

Same design. Four transfers. Nothing changed except the scale where it needs to fit each placement, because that matters to me more than I expected.

When Cami first asked for this tattoo, she told me twenty felt fake. Like a fairytale. Nineteen was effort—everything working almost perfectly, but still having to fight for the last inch.

At the time, I understood what she meant.

At least I thought I did.

Now I’m standing in my studio two days before she marries Griffin again, getting ready to put that exact same mark on four men who never planned on ending up here. Griffin and Ronan spent years insisting they’d never get tattoos at all. Dex has enough ink that another piece shouldn’t mean anything unusual. I have more tattoos than I could count without stopping to actually inventory my body.

None of that matters.

This one is different.

Maybe that’s the whole fucking point.

“Who’s first?” I ask.

Dex lifts his hand from the table. “Me.”

“You’re already lying down.”

“Exactly. Initiative.”

Griffin looks at him. “Where are you even putting it?”

Dex’s grin changes.

I already know what’s coming. Apparently Ronan does too, because he closes his eyes.

“No,” Ronan says.

“I haven’t said anything.”

“You don’t need to.”

Dex sits up and reaches for his belt.

Griffin makes a strangled sound. “Jesus Christ.”