We talked for a little while longer, but eventually, I stood slowly, kissed her forehead, as I promised to be back next week.
“I’ll be waiting.” She called after me as I reached the door: “And tell Tristian to behave… no, wait.Don’t. I want those great-grandbabies.”
And lucky me, I caught Tristian’s eye as he stood at the edge of the door, already smirking.
“No promises,” I called back.
When we got to the car, he didn’t wait for me to get in. He pulled me into his arms, lifting me off the ground, and kissed me like we had nothing but time.
“Think we’re ready to fulfill your abuela’s dying wish?” he asked against my lips, and I slapped his shoulder before placing another kiss on his.
Tristian’s gaze caught me the moment I stepped into the apartment. I was biting my lip, the stinging heat beneath my ribs a sharp reminder of what I’d done.
I’d always sworn I’d never get a tattoo. Not because of some moral high ground, but because I never believed anything in my life was permanent enough to warrant a mark.
Until Tristian.
Add in a father who viewed my skin as his property and any rebellion as a sin, and the reasoning for staying “clean” was clear.
So… on a random Tuesday, with my hands shaking but my heart finally mended, I let Kane ink a name right beneath the curve of my ribs. James stood by, cheering me on and letting me crush the bones of his hand in a silent, white-knuckled grip.
It was small. A delicate script. His name.Tristian.
It wasn’t for show or some hollow proof of devotion. It was a landmark. A reminder of everything we survived, everything we rebuilt, and the fact that I would never run from him again.
He approached me slowly, his eyes raking over me while his sweatpants hung low and loose off his hips.
“You did something…” he muttered knowingly.
I looked up at him, my hand instinctively finding the heat of his bicep. “Something bad…” I murmured.
He hummed, leaning down to brush my lips with a kiss that soothed my nerves. Then his fingers slid slowly beneath the hem of my shirt, his breath warm against my cheek. “Show me.”
I lifted the fabric inch by inch, my heart thudding against my sternum as I revealed the ink. It was still tender, weeping slightly under the protective plastic.
He went rigid, my heart racing at his stillness. His thumb hovered just beside the tattoo, refusing to touch it—as if he feared he might smudge something he considered sacred.
I tried to shrug off the intensity of his stare. “Kane said getting your boyfriend’s name is a trivial rite of passage for most people… I hope he was joking when he said they usually end up separating.”
Tristian let out a soft laugh, but it didn’t reach his eyes. They were fused to the ink, to his own name etched into my skin.
Then, he let out a long sigh. “I should kill him for touching you.”
“But you need him to work tomorrow. Please don’t,” I said, leaning into him as his hands began to roam, caressing my skin.
“I’ll think about it,” he muttered.
I pressed another kiss to his lips, wrapping my arms around his neck.
“Are you gonna get one too? Of my name?” I asked shyly.
He shrugged, and my heart gave a small pinch at the casual response.
Then his words made me freeze.
“I already have it about five times under my skin right now. Gonna wait a little while before the major chest piece of it.”
I furrowed my eyebrows. “I’ve never seen them?”
