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“I love it!” She smiles, handing the mirror back to Drew before sitting up.
“What are you going to get, Hardin?” I ask him quietly.
“Your name.” He smiles.
Shocked, I step back from him with my jaw on the floor.
“You wouldn’t want that?” he asks.
“No! Gosh no, that’s . . . I don’t know, that’s insane,” I whisper.
“Insane? Not really, it’s just showing you that I’m committed to you and don’t need a ring or marriage proposal to stay that way.”
His voice is so clear that I’m no longer sure if he’s joking. How did we go from joking to commitments and marriage in less than three minutes? This is how it always is with us, so I suppose I should be used to it by now.
“Ready, Hardin?”
“Sure.” Hardin steps away from me and pulls his shirt over his head.
“A quote?” Drew speaks my exact thoughts.
“I just want it across the top of my back; it’s ‘I never wish to be parted from you from this day on.’ Just make it like an inch in height, do it in your cool freehand,” Hardin instructs and turns his back to face Drew.
I never wish to be parted from you from this day on . . .
“Hardin, can we talk about this for a second, please?” I ask him.
I swear he knows about my plans to go to Seattle and he’s taunting me by getting this tattoo. The line he chose is perfect but cruelly ironic, considering I’ve been withholding telling him about my move to Seattle.
“No, Tess, I want to do it,” he says, dismissing me.
“Hardin, I really don’t think—”
“It’s not a big deal, Tessa, it’s not my first tattoo,” he jokes.
“I just—”
“If you don’t shut up, I’ll have your name and Social Security number printed across my entire back,” he threatens with a laugh, but I get the feeling he would actually go through with it to prove his point.
I stay quiet to try to think about what to say. I should just blurt it out right now before the gun touches his clear skin. If I wait . . .
The now-familiar buzz of the gun sounds, and black ink litters Hardin’s back.
“Now, come over here and hold my hand.” He smirks, holding out his hand to me.
Chapter one hundred and twenty-three
HARDIN
Tessa shyly grasps my hand, and I pull her closer to me.
“Stop moving,” Drew snaps.
“My bad.”
“Does it hurt?” she softly asks.
The innocence in her eyes astounds me, to this day. She was on her knees last night, and twenty hours later she’s speaking to me the way she would speak to a wounded child.
“Yes, really fucking bad,” I lie.
“Really?” Worry flashes over her features.
I love the feeling that comes with the needle transferring the ink to my skin; it’s no longer painful, it’s relaxing.
“No, baby, it doesn’t hurt,” I assure her, and Drew, being the dick he is, makes gagging noises behind my back.
Tessa giggles, and I put my middle finger in the air. I didn’t mean to call her baby just now, in front of Drew, but I don’t really give a fuck what he thinks, and I know for a fact he’s head over heels for the girl he just had a baby with a few months ago, so he can’t say shit to me.
“I still can’t believe you’re doing this,” she says as Drew spreads the ointment over the new tattoo.
“It’s already done,” I remind her, and she looks worried as she stares at her phone screen.
I hope Tess doesn’t make too big of a deal out of this tattoo; it’s not that serious. I have a shitload of tattoos. This one is for her, and I’m hoping she’s excited about it. I know I am.
“Where the fuck are Steph and Tristan?” I look out the windows of the shop in an attempt to spot Steph’s bright-ass hair.
“We can go next door and find them?” Tessa suggests after I pay Drew and promise to come back and let him give me an entire back piece.
I nearly knock his teeth out when he suggests giving Tessa a sleeve or belly piercing.
“I think I would look cool with my nose pierced.” She smiles as we walk outside.
I laugh at the thought and bring my arm around her waist as a bearded man stumbles past us. His jeans and shoes are dirty, and his thick sweatshirt is stained with liquid. From the smell of it, I assume vodka.
Tessa stops next to me, and the man does the same. I gently pull her behind me. If this homeless drunk thinks he’s coming any fucking closer to her, I will fucking. . . .
What she says next is so spoken so softly that it comes out as a whisper, and I watch in confusion as all the color drains from her face.
“Dad?”