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“So B couldn’t stop talking about us, either. I’m flattered, beautiful.” Jackson’s voice is so deep. One of the deeper voices I’ve ever heard, so low it sounds almost like a rumble coming out. I don’t correct him and say that’s literally all I know about them. Their names. So I just smile and nudge Maverick in a gentle request to butt in.
My very astute mate does so without further prompting. He goes to the counter, pays, and starts the goodbyes all within a few minutes.
My goodbyes with the men are quick. Either a handshake or a simple nod. Then B walks up to me. I don’t bother trying to give her a hug this time, and she doesn’t initiate one either. Instead, she hands me a piece of paper.
“If you need anything, you can call me. For a friend, another tattoo, to talk, whatever.” Scrawled in a messy jumble is a number. Barely legible in such an ironic way that it makes me laugh. A supremely talented artist who just finished giving me three gorgeous pieces and can’t write for crap.
“Thank you.” I give her a genuinely grateful smile, tuck the piece of paper in my pocket, and then Maverick ushers me out the door.
A two-toned beep comes when Maverick unlocks the Jeep while we’re walking to it. The headlights fire up and illuminate the Chinese restaurant and, just like that, my stomach is growling again. I try to pull Maverick to it, but he pulls even harder when he sees where my eyes are locked on.
“Don’t look at me like that,” he laughs at my scowl. “Besides, they’re closed.”
Ugh.
I pout at my mate, who winks at me and opens my door. The most delicious smell wafts out immediately, making my eyes search the cab. Right there on the floorboards is a metric ton of Chinese take-out.
I whip around to face Maverick so fast that I get a little dizzy. He’s smirking at me, leaning against the passenger door. “Have I told you how much I love you today?” The smirk he’s sporting softens into a dopey smile.
He pulls me in for a kiss, then holds me against his chest. It is such a sweet, tender moment until he opens his mouth. “I can think of a few ways you can show me just how much.”
“Ugh.” I pull back, smacking him in the chest in faux indignation while he roars out another laugh. “Just get in the car, Casanova. I’m hungry.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he chuckles, lifting me up into my seat, closing the door, then jogging around the front of the car to his side. I watch him the whole way, admiring how the headlights shine on him, giving me an unhindered view of the way his shirt molds to every inch of him.
Hopping into the cab, he must remember he didn’t get to watch me get tattooed because he turns to me and asks, “So do I get to see them now? Or are you going to make me wait a little longer?”
I’m half tempted to tease him, make him stew a little longer. But I relent. With a turn of my body, I show him my right ear where a string of black sparrows are, starting at the bottom of the lobe where the puncture wound from Blaire’s bite is and stopping halfway up.
“Sparrows signify loss.” I don’t explain that further to him. Let him think it’s only for the child I lost. If he knows it also symbolizes the life I lost–the future I envisioned–when I met Pack Monroe, when Jade swept me out from the gutter, it’ll only make him want to kill them more than he already does. Still, he nods in understanding. I’ll have to tell them about the phone call, but I’d rather tell it once. To all of them.
My work slacks are still unbuttoned, so I pull those down a little to show the only color tattoo of the three. It’s a bouquet of marigolds–brilliant oranges, reds, and yellows. “The marigold is the flower for October babies. When mine would have been born.” Thank the Goddess I already got all my crying out with B. Or the sympathetic frown Maverick gives me would send me over the edge. If anything, crying on the table and sitting in silence after spilling our secrets felt like washing off all the dirt and grime of a long day’s work.
“And the last one?” Maverick prompts, taking my hand and lacing our fingers together.
I grin at him, my first real and effortless one since Doctor Tanner’s phone call. This is the one I wanted to be a surprise. Still barefoot, but with the socks B gave me, I peel one off to show him the tattoo I got for my pack. It’s a heartbeat tattoo, with a filled-in black heart in one of the lines to cover one of the puncture wounds andWhitlockwritten in cursive next to it.
For my mates who helped me feel something again besides heartache and betrayal. When he gets a good eyeful of what it is and says, his eyes shoot up to mine. The look he gives me can’t be described as anything other than stunned. I meet his stare without blinking, suddenly feeling self-conscious.
Oh my Goddess. He hates it. I should have asked first. I don’t even know if they want me to take their name.
He opens his mouth to speak but has to clear his throat first. “You know once Mason sees this, he’s going to be at those doors first thing in the morning when they open to get a matching one, right? And I’ll be right there with him.”
“Wait… You don’t hate it?” The nervousness shaking in my voice is hard to hide.
“Hate it? I’m only mad I didn’t think of a pack tattoo first.” The insecurities vanish as quick as they came. Maverick pulls our laced hands to his mouth and kisses the back of mine, something he’s become very fond of doing. It never ceases to make butterflies erupt in my stomach, though.
“Alright. Let’s get home before Hudson has a coronary. He’s texted at least a dozen times in the past two hours telling me to stop hogging you.”
Hudson, my overprotective teddy bear. I smile and lean back to buckle up. As I do, my eyes catch on the side mirror where a black sedan is parked on the opposite end of the lot. Wells’ figure is barely visible, but I know it’s him. Following us as I knew he would like the big brother I never had.
Twenty
Summer
“After you,”Wells says, holding the door to the restaurant open for me.RJ’s Steakhouseis supposed to be one of the better steakhouses in the city. I’ve wanted to try it since I started really exploring after moving here, but up until recently, my budget didn’t allot for frivolous expenses. Which I put a fifty-dollar steak into the category of.
The ambiance is quiet and polished, in the sense that the people eating look the part of the higher middle to upper-class echelon. It’s the middle of the work day, so most of the patrons are dressed in their nine-to-five attire: dresses, pantsuits, and crisp khaki. Murmured voices are audible over the slightly muted music filtering through the place.
