They aren’t even married yet.
“That’s cute as shit,” Forker declares, nodding with approval.
Saltzy, wisely, says nothing.
It’s a sweet gesture. If it all goes down in flames, I’m sure he could remove it easily, anyway. Not that I’m hoping for that. I’m just…realistic. Marriages and all that shit are usually more hellfire than they are fun. Penny and Declan know that. They almost tore each other to shreds before they admitted how they felt about each other.
“Why on that side of your hand?” Fork asks.
“She likes tracing patterns on my hand when we’re laying around, so I wanted it to be somewhere she’d always see it. So she remembers, you know?”
“Remembers?” I ask.
Lowesy’s hazel eyes meet mine. His neck gets a little red, those dimples popping out of his cheeks. He shrugs. “That I love her in the permanent kind of way.”
Wyatt’s grin grows tenfold, he nudges Lowesy’s leg with his own.
Dec glances at him—his own smile widening.
They both adore that girl. In different ways, obviously. They’ve been through the trenches with her. I’ve learned a lot about Penny over the years, and I know how badly her ex messed with her head. Lowesy’s ability to understand her and to love her in the way she needs it gives me hope that he’ll never need to remove those tattoos.
Don’t start calling me a romantic or anything. I just think they might be one of the rare ones that last.
He fixed a lot of shit that her ex broke in her. He still does it, I think. Actively. Still don’t know the guy’s name, though. Declan has called him everything from Greg to Galapagos Island. The only thing I’m certain of is that he exists, he’s a dick, and his name probably starts with ‘G.’
When we finally leave the arena, I feel hundreds of pounds lighter. My parents are no longer missing. My relationships with my brothers remain fucked up, but I feel a twinge of hope that things can be different. I can breathe again. The worst is over. I’ll survive the rest of it.
I’m being tormented by the desire formorefor the first time since I was a kid, and I can’t begin to make sense of those feelings. But it’s okay. I have my boys. I have the sport that saved my life. I have my farm and my solitude.
I’ll be okay.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
ariana
I don’t like him.
I can’t put my finger on it, but alarm bells are going off in my head.
He doesn’t look at me when he talks. There is a strange inability to maintain eye contact, and that’s a serial killer trait. He also says nothing about himself, but wants to know everything about me. He even asked about my blood type. Tell me I’m not sitting across the table from a psychopath?
I swallow, ignoring my martini and choosing my water instead. He ordered dessert, even after I refused, so I’m stuck here for a bit longer. I want to run from this disaster, jump into the tub at my brother’s house, and pretend tonight never happened. I know that I have a history of dating losers, but they’re not usually creeps. I have standards.
“So, do you have any botox or filler?”
Well, that’s a new one.
My brows shoot up. “Excuse me?”
He’s not looking at me when he asks again. “Botox or filler? Do you have any of it?”
I frown, staring at his face while he looks over my shoulder instead of at me. He’s squirrely. I don’t like it. I was planning to walk home since this restaurant is close to Carter’s place, but I’m not sure I’d feel safe doing so anymore. He might follow me and carve my skin from my bones.
“Is that your business?”
His eyes, for the first time all night, snap to mine. I nearly cringe at the look in them. “You think that a man doesn’t need to know if a woman he chooses to procreate with is built up of features that aren’t genetically hers?”
What. The. Fuck?
