“I am. I just thought this year would be more fun. It’s our last year together before everything changes. We should be enjoying it, but we can’t hang at your place anymore, West is a grumpy motherfucker, and Bowie is still being an asshole. It sucks.”
“We can hang out at my new place sometimes, but we can’t party like before. I promised Jimmy I wouldn’t piss off the neighbors.” There are apartments over most of the business premises adjacent to the boxing club, and I don’t want to cause issues for Jimmy when he has helped me so much. Also, I want to keep my weekends free so I can see Kendall. We don’t have much time together, and with Curtis being a dick over the divorce and constantly switching the days he takes Ridge, I need to be fluid with my weekend planning.
I reach my truck just as Gayle Turner slides behind the wheel of her BMW a few cars down. She revs the engine, scowling as she flips me the bird through the window before she peels out of the parking lot.
Shep laughs. “She really hates your guts now.”
“Thank fuck.” I unlock my truck and throw my book bag in the back alongside my gym bag. I just about have time for a quick training session before I’m picking up Kendall to get her tattoo. “Took her long enough.” I climb into the driver seat and roll down the window. “Later, dude.” We touch knuckles through the window, and then I floor it out of there.
“Hey, Van.” Stella greets me at the door to Kendall’s house a few hours later. “The Sulk is up in his room.”
“The Sulk?” I quirk a brow as I step into the hallway.
“It fits West to a T right now. He is so freaking moody all the time.”
I don’t disagree. “You know why.”
She sighs and runs her fingers through her long dark hair. “Yeah. He’s taking the impending divorce really hard.”
“You seem to have accepted it,” I say as she closes the door behind me.
She shrugs. “Not much we can do. It’s happening whether we like it or not, and honestly, Mom is way happier now Dad is gone. According to Ridge, Dad is happier too. Maybe it’s for the best.”
Stella is thirteen months younger than West, but in a lot of ways, she acts like the older sibling. Not that I begrudge my buddy his feelings. He is entitled to them, but Stella is taking a more pragmatic approach while West is succumbing to anger, and he can’t see much of anything else right now. Kendall is worried, and so am I. He’s skipped a few classes and gotten into trouble with Coach for showing up late to training, and he seems to be constantly arguing with Hazel these days.
I like hearing Kendall is happier, and I’d like to think part of that is due to me. “Sounds like it,” I reply, purely to not appear rude. “Is your mom ready?” I add.
Stella frowns, before her features smooth out when realization dawns. “Oh, right. You’re here for Mom.” She giggles. “I can’t believe she’s getting a tattoo, but good for her.”
Kendall and I have agreed we’ll be as honest as we can with the people in our lives. I know she hates lying to her kids about where she is on those weekend nights when she’s with me. Ridge is none the wiser because he’s with Curtis, but Stella and West think she stays over with June, and I know the guilt is killing my love. “I think it will be incredible.”
“It will.” Stella nods. “It’s a stunning design. Mom loves it. You did good.” She thumps me in the upper arm.
“If you ever want me to design something for you, let me know, and the guy who does my ink, the one who’s doing your mom’s ink, is a good friend. I can hook you up with an appointment any time.”
“I definitely want ink, but I’ll probably wait until I’m eighteen. Dad would never consent, and I don’t think Mom would either. I think she’d prefer for me to wait and properly think about it.”
“Think about what?” Kendall asks, descending the stairs and stepping foot in the hallway.
“Getting a tattoo.”
“Is that something you want?” she inquires, coming to a halt alongside her daughter.
Kendall looks gorgeous in a floaty red-patterned dress that drapes seductively off her shoulders, molds to her cleavage, and flows outward from under her tits to her ankles. My dick approves, instantly hardening behind the zipper of my jeans. Thank fuck, I’ve got a hoodie on, and it covers the evidence of my all-consuming need for her.
“I haven’t given it a lot of thought, but probably someday, yeah.”
“We can talk about it when I get back,” Kendall says. “Wish me luck.”
“You should do a few shots to numb the pain,” Stella suggests as Kendall grabs a black jacket from the coat stand.
Kendall grins at her daughter. “I have delivered three babies, Stella. I think I can handle one small tattoo.”
“Holy fuck.” Kendall grips my arm with her free hand as Boner works on her ink on the inside of her wrist. “That hurts more than I was expecting it to.”
“The wrist is a sensitive area,” Boner explains, not looking up from the design. “The skin is thinner, so you feel it more.”
“That’s why I suggested your upper arm.” I remind her of the conversation we had in the truck on the way here.
“It’s a pretty design, and I wanted to put it in a place where I could show it off when I wanted to and hide it when I need to.” She doesn’t want anyone in the office to see it, and it will be covered by the sleeves of her suit jacket.
“I think it’ll look cool here.” Boner lifts his head, flashing her a mouthful of gold teeth. He’s a scary-looking motherfucker. Over six feet tall. More than two hundred and fifty pounds of sheer muscle with bulging biceps and thick thighs. His head is bald, contrasting sharply with his long, straggly brown beard. Add in the ink covering most every part of exposed skin, and the numerous piercings, and he sends some women running in the opposite direction. But the guy has the biggest heart. He would do anything for anyone and he’s a kickass tattooist. “It’s a good choice.”
“Thanks, Boner. I really appreciate you doing this.”
Boner chuckles. “So you’ve said.”
I cock my head to the side and smirk. “At least four times in the twenty minutes we’ve been here.”
“It never hurts to be gracious,” she replies, narrowing her eyes at me.
“Yes, ma’am.” Boner smiles warmly at her, and I can tell he likes her. It’s hard not to. After two seconds in Kendall’s company, anyone can see what kind of a woman she is. Good. Sweet. Kind. Compassionate. Caring. Smart. Thoughtful. Loving. I could go on. “Good manners are underrated these days and hard to come by,” he says.
“That is very true,” Kendall says before hissing and gripping my arm tighter.
“Do you want to see my tattoo?” I ask, knowing she needs a distraction.
“You’re getting more ink?”
“Yep.” I slide my small sketch pad out of the back pocket of my jeans and pull the stool up closer to her chair. I flip through the pad until I come to the page I want. “I’m getting this done over my chest.”
Her brow creases in concentration as she inspects my drawing of the circular snake eating its own tail. I’ve drawn it in the same blue as her butterfly with some contrasting gold elements. “It’s an Ouroboros,” I explain. “It’s from ancient Greek and Egyptian mythology, and it symbolizes death and rebirth.” Her eyes whip to mine. “In the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, they were often carved on gravestones as a symbol of reincarnation.”