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“You sure? There’s no going back once you’re inked and it’s damn addictive.”
“Yep. Will you take me?”
“When?”
“Now. Today.”
There wasn’t anything on this earth that I wouldn’t have given him, and Colter knew it. A brother from the club had a cousin with his own tattoo shop. We drove to the location and stepped inside, greeting a few of the staff. Colter pulled a drawing from his jeans and handed it over to the artist who showed us into a room.
“You sure this is what you want?” I asked, staring at the design on the paper.
“Yeah, Dad. I’ve been saying it for a long ass time.”
Kid sure knew how to push my buttons. “Watch it, birthday boy.”
Colter was sixteen today. What did he want to do? Get a fuckin’ tattoo of the Tasmanian Devil. His favorite cartoon since he was little.
My son ticked his head in my direction. “Well, pop?”
“Yeah,” I agreed, shaking my head with humor, “Give him what he wants.”
Diablo grinned wide. He was a talented artist. Guy liked to get dirty. He was as skilled with ink as he was with carnage and blood. Had a reputation as a tough bastard and someday I was gonna convince him to patch into the club. We could use a brother with his talents.
“Where you want it, Colter?”
“My right forearm. Gonna look kickass. Bet Ro likes it too.”
Diablo snorted and I couldn’t help chuckling. This kid.
Oh, to be young again and want to impress a sweet piece of ass.
Diablo began to work, and Colter didn’t make a sound the entire time. Just winced once or twice on the parts where the needle had to go over repeatedly with dark ink. Brave as hell and twice as fearless.
“All done. Take a look, Colter.”
Diablo backed away after giving him a final swipe to remove the blood and applying some kind of ointment over the skin. Tattoo was badass and on my son’s arm it was fuckin’ perfect.
“Fuck. That’s perfect. Isn’t it, Dad?”
I ignored his language and gazed at his reflection in the mirror. Kid was gonna break hearts. Too damn handsome and intelligent. Book smart like his mama. Street smart like me. One lethal combination.
When the day came, I’d be proud as hell for him to prospect with the Royal Bastards MC.
“Sure is, son.”
“Santa?”
Blinking, I knew I had done it again.
A part of me didn’t want to return to reality and the agony that Colter was gone. I didn’t want to breathe through every single minute haunted by the ghost of my son and his memory. Noah’s brown eyes were almost the same shade and it was a special sort of torture to gaze into the innocence within and know that while my son had been cruelly taken away this boy had been abandoned and unloved by his own father.
No, Bess hadn’t said much. She didn’t have to elaborate for me to put the pieces together.
My chest ached for both boys and the fact that I could never live up to what this kid in front of me needed. I was
too old, too broken. I kept trying to convince myself that tonight I should just draw the line and walk away. Wasn’t working.
“You seem upset,” Noah observed, plopping his bottom down on the concrete floor of the garage. “Don’t you want me to get a tattoo?”
