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 needle going 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…”
“I’m sure.” I’ve never been more certain of anything. Besides, it’s just two black bands around my finger. How painful can it be?
Reece has Aurora’s name on his head, for fuck’s sake. Jax has intricate wings across his shoulder blades. I got this.
The gun buzzes, and I count the ceiling tiles.
One. Two. Three. Four. Fi—fuck!
***
Jackson
I glance over at Reece, who’s admiring his new ink—Aurora’s name written in script from his temple to the base of his skull. Such a suck-up.
Next is my turn. Ethan has been gone nearly twenty minutes, and I’m getting antsy.
“What’s taking him so long?” I ask no one in particular. “It can’t be that complicated.”
“Maybe he chickened out,” Reece answers with a shit-eating grin. “Maybe he decided you’re not worth it.”
“Fuck you,” I retort, but it lacks any anger. My mind is too preoccupied with Ethan and what he might be getting. Something hidden, I bet. Something safe. “What if he fainted?”
“They’ll finish the tattoo while he’s asleep,” Cal jokes as he takes a seat at my station. “Got a picture?”
“Many.” I grab my phone and flip through photos. “This, on my collarbone.”
“That’s sick.” He takes the phone and zooms in. “I’ll need to send myself a few of these pics. That okay?”
“Yeah, but make sure it’s this one.” I point to the bite mark I’ve been obsessing over since the day Ethan and I first kissed.
Reece snorts. “It’s his teeth, Romeo. They haven’t changed in thirty years.”
“The placement is slightly different, fuckface,” I shout back before removing my shirt. “Has he always been a dickhead?” I ask his soon-to-be brother-in-law.
Cal chuckles while preparing the transfer paper. “Since day one. We were deployed together. He was the most serious motherfucker I’d ever met—stoic, by the book. He didn’t talk unless it was to correct someone or give orders, but you’d want him by your side. Nobody was better.”
“Yeah, no shit,” I agree. The Viking might be an asshole—sometimes—but he did take a bullet for me. “You just can’t trust him with your girlfriend,” I tease to lighten the mood.
“I can hear you.” Reece adjusts the ice pack on his scalp. “Pay no attention to a thing he says, Cal. They were separated.”
I grind my molars. “I’m going to separate your teeth from your gums if you don’t stop repeating that.”
Cal bursts into laughter. “You two are a riot.” He positions the transfer sheet on my collarbone and presses firmly. “I can’t imagine you living together.”
Me neither, but here we are, living and sleeping together, sharing a life.
A door swings open, and Ethan emerges, white as a ghost. He stumbles toward us, his hands stuffed in his pockets, his jaw clenched tight, his throat working hard.
“Oh, shit. You okay, big guy?” I reach for him, careful not to disturb Cal. “Come here.”
“I’m fine,” Ethan mutters, but his voice lacks its usual confidence. He collapses into the chair beside me, and his head falls to my bare stomach. With a grimace, he extracts his hands from his pockets and holds them gingerly in his lap.
Eager and impatient, I demand, “Let me see.”
“It’s nothing,” he insists, eyes squeezed shut. “Later.”
“Bullshit.” I run my fingers through his newly trimmed hair. “Show me.”
He slowly lifts his left hand. His ring finger is wrapped in clear plastic, two bold black bands encircling it.
My throat tightens. “You got a wedding ring tattoo?”
“Two of them,” he groans, his breathing shallow, his skin clammy. “One for each of you.”
The sentiment hits me like a check into the boards—unexpected and breathtaking. I blink rapidly, trying to contain the emotion welling up. I’ve never seen him this way—vulnerable, open, raw. “Fuck, are you dying? Anything I should know?”
He places his hand on my chest. “Maybe a heart attack. Let’s not do this again.”
I can’t stop smiling. “You only get tattoo-married once, Coach. You’re good.”
Reece jerks upright, the ice pack slipping from his skull, and gives us that smug grin. “So, by your own logic, Aurora and I are tattoo-married.” It’s not even framed as a question.
“Congratulations.” I smirk. “You’re officially part of the harem. Welcome to the club. We go to bed at eleven p.m. and shower at nine—”
“Nope.” He shakes his head adamantly. “I’m not showering with you.”
I ignore him. “Ethan enjoys two mouths wrapped arou—” The hand on my chest clamps over my lips, and I chuckle.
Best day ever.