“I told you. We broke up.” Nearly a year ago, he decided not to remind her.
“I know that, sweetie. But you said you two were still friends. I miss seeing her.” She made a tsking noise with her tongue. “She’s such a sweet girl. Good head on her shoulders.” There was a pause. “She’d make a great mother, you know.”
AJ waited for it…
“But you’re just determined not to give us any grandbabies, aren’t you?”
Her tone had a teasing lilt to it, but AJ wasn’t fooled. Coming so close to death had really freaked his mother out, and she was now on his case more than ever to enter a new phase in his life, the one that involved giving her a daughter-in-law to gossip with and a grandchild to dote on.
“I haven’t found the right woman yet,” he said awkwardly. “But don’t worry, I’ll let you know the moment I do.”
She looked pleased. “Good. Because your father and I aren’t getting any younger.”
The conversation blessedly shifted again, back to his father’s business and all the new clients he’d picked up this past month. After they’d finished eating, AJ helped his dad clear the table, then went to the counter to cut three slices of store-bought apple pie for dessert.
As he handed his parents some pie, he swallowed a lump of despair and tried to maintain a happy-go-lucky demeanor.
But God. It was all so fucking perfect he felt like tearing his hair out. And like clockwork, a familiar itchy sensation pricked at him, the same one that had led him to join Reed’s boxing gym when his friend had announced he was going to fight pro. At first, AJ had pretended he was doing it to keep Reed company. He’d been Reed’s sparring partner and training buddy, and when Reed had convinced him to fight in a few amateur bouts, he’d acted like he’d needed arm-twisting.
But he’d wanted to fight. He’d craved the adrenaline rush, the messed-up sense of peace it brought him.
“Did I tell you I ran into Tamara Howard the other day?” his mother spoke up. “You two went to high school together.”
AJ shoveled a massive bite of pie into his mouth in order to delay his response. Tamara had been one of the cheerleaders who’d harassed Brett, and as he remembered that, a vise of possessiveness squeezed his chest.
For some reason, the thought of someone tormenting Brett pissed him off, and he suddenly wished he had the ability to travel back in time so he could stick up for her. But he’d been oblivious back then, sparing no thought to a girl who was three years behind him in school. He’d been too focused on getting a football scholarship.
Another attempt at pleasing his parents, of course. AJ didn’t particularly care for football, not the way his father did.
Or the way Joey had.
And bad idea thinking about Joey, because the memory just achieved the same old result: deep rush of guilt and the overpowering need to atone for his sins.
“Yeah…what’s she up to?” AJ asked, injecting as much interest in his tone as he could muster.
“She got divorced not too long ago.” His mother looked far more delighted than the news warranted. “She has two little girls. She brought her youngest with her to the store—the most adorable baby I’ve ever seen! Big blue eyes, curly blond hair, cherub cheeks.”
“Damn cute baby,” his dad agreed.
“She told me to say hello to you. She also gave me her phone number,” Karen hedged, a meaningful note ringing in her voice. “I think you should give her a call.”
AJ uttered an inward curse.
“I know it might be daunting to date a woman who already has kids, but I think you’d make a wonderful stepfather.”
Fuckin’ hell. He wasn’t married and popping out kids like they wanted, so now they were going to saddle him with a ready-made family?
AJ jammed the rest of his pie in his mouth and chewed as fast as humanly possible, then scraped back his chair and picked up his plate. “Tamara and I didn’t have much in common back then,” he mumbled. “But sure, maybe I’ll give her a call.”
Ten minutes later, he left his parents’ house with anguish in his heart and the phone number of a woman he didn’t care about in his pocket.
…
“There.” Brett dabbed the excess ink from her client’s butt. “All done.”
“How does it look?” the burly man demanded. “Did you do the shading like I asked?”
“See for yourself.” She waited for him to heave his huge body out of her chair, then led him to the full-length mirror against the far wall. She swiped a hand mirror from the counter and held it up behind him, angling it so he had a clear view of his bare ass.
Lou whooped loudly when he saw her handiwork. Two words, done in intricate calligraphy and underlined with barbed wire, just like she’d sketched for him the day before.