“It didn’t go well?” I ask, pain slicing through my heart, like a thousand tiny daggers, at the anguished, tormented look on his face.
“Why won’t you ink me?” he barks, catching me completely off guard.
“What?” I’m frowning as I step toward him. He falls back, holding out his arm, keeping me at bay, and damn, if that doesn’t hurt. “What’s going on, Keats?”
“Answer the question! You designed that tattoo for me, but you won’t do it yourself. I want to know why.”
I have no clue what’s going on here, but he’s hurt and he’s angry, and if my answers have the ability to soothe his ache, then I’ll tell him whatever he wants to know. “Because I’m not skilled enough to ink you.”
That was clearly the wrong answer, because the rage misting in his eyes thickens, and the vein at the side of his neck pulses.
“But you were skilled enough to ink Dax,” he says, lowering his voice, but not in a way that brings any reassurance.
I work hard to keep my anger at bay, because directing it at Keaton would be wrong. “I should’ve known he’d reach out to you when his attempt to seduce me failed.”
“What?” Keaton’s face drops, and he’s shielding nothing from me. Fear mixes with hurt, and I wish I could click my fingers and make Dax fucking Madden disappear from the face of the planet.
“He was waiting for me when I left the gym this morning,” I admit. “I went for coffee with him because I was afraid he’d make a scene in front of the guys on the team. He declared undying love and begged me to come back to him. I told him I was in a committed relationship and I had no feelings for him anymore. I didn’t tell him I was with you, but I guess he must’ve connected the dots. I was planning on telling you this tonight, but I didn’t want it to overshadow your news.” I’d actually wanted to call Keats straightaway, but he’s prone to overreaction, and I didn’t want him freaking out all day or to have that conversation over the phone.
Now, I wish I had called him. At least he would’ve had a heads-up and been prepared.
I step toward my boyfriend, tentatively holding one side of his face. “What did he say to upset you?”
“He said you were soul mates and no one would compare to him.”
I force his eyes to mine. “And you believed that bullshit?” I’m trying not to get mad, because I don’t want Dax driving a wedge between me and Keats, but it’s difficult. “Hasn’t anything I’ve said registered with you?” I grip his face tighter. “I love you.” My nostrils flare. “You. Not him! He means less than nothing to me.”
“But you tattooed him.”
It clicks into place, and I exhale heavily, working hard to quell my anger. Keaton lacking confidence and self-belief isn’t anything new. Dax couldn’t know how cutting his words would be or how well they would work to foster his agenda. It hurts that Keaton would buy the bullshit he’s peddling. That he’d forget everything I’ve told him and all the ways I’ve shown him how much I love him. But he’s not doing it intentionally, and his self-doubt won’t magically evaporate overnight. He deserves my understanding and my compassion, not my frustration and rage.
“Keaton.” I hold both sides of his face, eyeballing him as I admit the truth. “I was barely seventeen when I inked that on him. On him. Not me.” I rip my shirt off to drill my point home, pointing at the empty space above my heart. “It was his idea, and I was working at Pete’s shop for the second summer and itching to get more experience. Pete only had me cleaning tools and practicing on leather, so when Dax suggested it, I was excited to ink skin. That’s all that was going through my head. I thought nothing else of it. Not even the fact I was a total amateur and I’d be marking my then boyfriend for life.” I chuckle, attempting to lighten the tense atmosphere. “If he showed it to you, you’ve seen how bad it is. I bet a five-year-old would do a better job.”
His blue eyes remain latched on mine as he listens. I place my hand on his chest, right in the place where his heart pounds. “When you told me you loved me, you handed me this.” I rub his chest, the steady beat of his heart comforting underneath my palm. “You trusted me with your heart, and that’s the greatest honor you could give me. An honor I never forget. I love you, Keaton. Enough to want to ink your skin and leave my mark permanently on you. Trust me. I want that so badly.”
I peer deep into his eyes, making sure he’s seeing what I’m saying and truly listening to the words. “But, if I tried to ink that design on you, it would look awful, because I have limited experience, and I won’t mar your beautiful body.” I rest my head against his brow. “You’re special to me, Keaton, and when I ink that design on your skin, it will be perfect. Just like you.”
When his arms fold around me, I release a shuddering breath. “I didn’t care enough about Dax to care how the tat ended up,” I continue, talking against his ear. “I didn’t feel even a twinge of remorse when it turned out shitty.” I pull my head back, needing to look him in the eye when I say this. “Because he wasn’t important to me. Not in the way you are. Maybe, if I’d stopped to consider it, I would’ve realized I wasn’t actually ever in love with him.”
Keats sucks in a gasp, and I pause to draw a breath. “These past few weeks, I’ve realized that anything I felt up to now was child’s play, because I have never, ever, felt this way about anyone before.” I place a tender kiss on his lips. “You’re the only man I’ve truly loved. The only one I ever see myself loving. Please tell me you believe it. That you know Dax means nothing and you won’t let a single word that comes out of his mouth impact you in any way.”
Keats molds his mouth to mine, kissing me slow and deep, and I hold him close, reaffirming my words with every sweep of our lips. “I’m sorry,” he rasps when we break apart. “I got all up in my head and made a big deal out of nothing.”
I drag my fingernails through his scalp, in the way I know he likes. “Don’t apologize for how you feel. I wish, sometimes, you wouldn’t think the things you do, but then you wouldn’t be you.” I deliberately soften my features, glad to see his shoulders relax and the pained look disappear from his face. “I always want to know what you’re thinking. What you’re feeling. Even if it frustrates me, and I can’t lie—it pisses me off that you believed him so easily. I know you have insecurities, but I’ve always been honest and never given you any reason to doubt me. I need you to trust me, because without that, we have nothing.”
“I do trust you.” He grabs the back of my head. “And one of the things I love most about you is how straightforward you are with me, but I still struggle to believe you’ve chosen me.”
I open my mouth to respond to that, but he places his finger against my lips, stalling my words.
“That’s all on me. Not you,” he says. “You reassure me through your words and your actions, but my insecurities are deep-rooted, and it’s going to take more time to work it all out, but I’ll get there. And it’s not about trust, because I trust you with my life, man.”
I could continue laboring the point, but I don’t want to argue with him tonight. I still don’t know how it went with his friends. “I know you’ll get there, and I want that for you, because when your confidence shines through, it’s beautiful to behold. Just don’t doubt my feelings for you. Don’t doubt what I’ve told you is the truth no matter what any dickhead says.”
“I won’t. I promise.”
“And forget about Dax. He’s my problem to handle,” I add, as the doorbell chimes.
I frown. “You expecting anyone?”
Keats shakes his head as I put my shirt back on, walking toward the front door with purpose. A muscle pops in my jaw and my fists clench at my side. “If that’s my ex, I will not be responsible for my actions.” I’m planning on ripping that asshole a new one, and if that’s him pounding his fists on our door, I may just throw him off our rooftop terrace.
I yank the door open, ready to let loose on Dax’s ass, stumbling back as a tall, beautiful redhead with emerald-green eyes barrels past me
, entering the apartment without invitation. “Surprise!” Gia says, darting back to kiss my cheek. She looks out into the hallway, grinning at the tall, lean dark-haired guy who shares my DNA. “And double surprise!”
“What the hell are you doing here?” My question is directed at Orwell but could just as easily be for Gia because she’s not supposed to be here until tomorrow night.
“Wow. Good to see you too, dude.” Orwell saunters through the door, hands shoved in the pockets of his low-slung jeans, ball cap backward on his head, looking like his shit doesn’t stink.
Some things haven’t changed.
Shaking my head, I grab both their weekend bags from the corridor, dumping them on the hall floor, before shutting the door. “Do Mom and Dad know you’re here?” I ask although I’m pretty sure I already know the answer.
“I’m guessing they’ve figured out I’m gone by now,” he replies, pinning me with a sly grin, and I curse under my breath.
“What’d you do this time?”
“It’s not my fault.” He’s instantly on the defensive. No surprise there either. I cast a glance into the living room where Gia has just thrown herself at my boyfriend. Fuck it. I hadn’t even had time to warn Keats about my bestie. This should be fun.
“It never is,” I deadpan, steering my brother into the living room. He either got caught smoking dope, fucking someone he shouldn’t, or he skipped school.
“They overreacted. Like usual. So what if Romy Saunders is engaged? She’s only twenty, and she shouldn’t be getting tied down when she’s so young and so freaking hot.”
I roll my eyes, watching in amusement as Gia grabs Keaton’s hand, pulling him down onto the couch beside her, bending his ear.
“Romy Saunders as in Preacher Saunder’s daughter?” I ask, pushing my brother down into the recliner chair.
“His pride and joy,” Gia says, cutting into our conversation. “The apple of her daddy’s eye. The good little virgin who was saving herself for her wedding night until Casanova over there seduced her into taking a walk on the dark side.”
Orwell grins, because he truly doesn’t see anything wrong with what he did. “What can I say?” He grabs his crotch. “I’m the man. Not my fault she fell on my dick and liked it.”
I swat the back of his head. “I’m guessing someone put the idea in her head though, right?”
Orwell shrugs, grinning, and tipping his head at Keaton as he notices him for the first time. “Hey, man. Cool place,” he adds, looking around.
“Keaton, meet my brother, Orwell, and my bestie, Gia.” I drop down beside Keats, sliding my arm around his shoulders and pulling him into my side. “Keats is my boyfriend,” I say, feeling it’s best to get straight to the point.
Gia screeches so loud I place my hands over Keaton’s ears to protect them. She throws herself on top of us, circling her arms around us in an awkward group hug.
Orwell chuckles. “Welcome to our crazy family.”
“Trust me,” Keats says when Gia sits back. “I’m well versed in crazy families.”
“That’s right!” Orwell leans his elbows on his knees, his eyes lighting up. “Your brother married your cousin, and your other brother’s girlfriend cried rape, and twisted fucks tried to hand your brother’s girls to shady sex trafficking pervs, and your dad was having an affair with—”
I make a slicing motion with my hand against my throat, and for once, my brother listens.
“I should explain that neither Gia or my brother have any filter and they blurt shit without thinking,” I tell Keaton, rubbing my hand up and down his arm. “And they are both the biggest flirts known to mankind. Consider yourself warned.”
“I prefer manwhore,” Orwell says, not being untruthful in the least. “Or ladies’ man, if you want to be more politically correct.”
“I’m in a long-term relationship,” Gia adds, elbowing me in the ribs. “And being friendly does not equal being flirty.”
“She’s a big flirt,” I pretend to whisper in Keats’ ear. “But let’s call it friendly. She is our guest after all.”
“You’re lucky I love you,” Gia says, sticking out her tongue. “Otherwise, I’d slap the shit out of you or give you a wedgie like when we were younger.”
“You didn’t tell me your family was crazy,” Keats says, planting his hand on my knee. “We have more in common than I thought.”
“My family isn’t crazy,” I correct. “In fact, our parents are the exact opposite of crazy. Restrained and repressed would be more the words I’d use.”
“Truth,” Orwell agrees, kicking off his sneakers like he owns the place.
“That’s not fair,” Gia says. “Pamela and Gary might not be free-spirited like their kids, but they’re not repressed.” She turns to Keaton. “They are your typical middle-class conservative family. Pamela works at the local high school, so it’s important her family is respectable. She likes to be a pillar of the community.”
Orwell cracks up laughing, slapping his thigh. “A pillar of the community. Damn, Gia, where’d you come up with this shit?”
“High school,” she drawls. “You’d know if you ever showed up there.”
I sigh, pulling my cell out of my pocket, dialing Mom’s number. Stretching forward, I shove the phone in Orwell’s chest. “You need to tell Mom where you are. She’s probably freaking out.” My parents are conservative, and appearances matter, but despite my less than close relationship with them, I can’t say they’re bad parents, because they’re not. They’ve always wanted what’s best for each of us. It’s just a shame their version of that is so vastly different from what I want to do with my life.
“Can’t you do it?” He throws the phone back at me, and I catch it with a frown.
I stand, pressing it into his palm, as Mom’s voice filters through the line. “You made the mess. Now clean it up.”
The three of us move into the kitchen to give my brother privacy to talk to Mom.
“Are you hungry?” Keaton asks Gia, carrying the takeout bag over to the counter. “I brought takeout home. It’s probably cold, but we can reheat it, and there’s more than enough for everyone.”
“Sounds good,” she says, pulling me into a hug. “I’ve missed you, Woody.”
Behind me, Keaton attempts to disguise his laugh as a cough, and my lips twitch.
“Missed you too, Jess. I’m glad you’re here.”
“At least now I know why,” she says, swinging her long legs up onto one of the stools. “How long have you two been together?” she asks, as Keaton sorts out dinnerware and silverware.
“A couple months, but we were tiptoeing around one another for a few months before that,” I explain.
“I am soooo happy for you.” She hugs me again. “Helps me feel less guilty.” Sometimes I wonder if Gia knows the meaning of that word, because she hasn’t professed any such feelings to me over the course of our two-year-long fake relationship.
“About that,” I say, leaning my elbows on the counter. “Our arrangement will be coming to an end at some point, probably sooner rather than later.”
“Get out!” Her eyes widen in shock. “You’re serious about coming out to the team?”
I nod. “I’m sick of lying all the time.”
Her expression turns sad. “I know. It’s not a good way to live. It weighs on me too.”
I wonder if it truly does, because she seems to cope better with it than me. “It’s not imminent, but I know I can’t keep the secret until graduation. What will you do?” I inquire, watching Keaton set the table for four.
She shrugs. “I don’t know, but I’ll figure something out.” She holds my face in her hands, and I don’t miss the frown on Keaton’s face. I’ll have to find a private moment to warn Gia to stop being so touchy-feely if she can help it. It’s hard because that’s always been the nature of our relationship. Most outsiders don’t get it. It’s one of the reasons her boyfriend Hendrix hates my guts. But I care what Keaton thinks, and if the tables were
turned, I wouldn’t like his fake girlfriend touching him all the time either. “It’s not your problem to solve,” she adds, “and you’ve helped me out so much already. I owe you.”
“We’ve helped one another. Don’t forget it suited me too, and I need one final favor from you.”
“Anything, you know that.”
“Keats and I want to keep our relationship secret for now. It would help if the team saw me with you. Throw them off the scent.”
“I can do that.” She blows me a kiss. “Just tell me when and where.”
“You can come to the game on Saturday and the after-party, and we’ll put on a show.”
“One last hurrah!” She grins.
Keats walks past me, looking downcast, and I hook my arm around his neck, pulling him into me for a kiss.
“What was that for?” he murmurs when our lips pull apart.
“I need a reason to kiss my boyfriend now?” I tease, not wanting to admit in front of Gia that my boyfriend clearly needs reassuring.
“Never.” He pecks my lips twice before moving off, grabbing glasses from the cupboard.
“You two look so good together.” Gia smiles. “Good for you, Woody.” She moves to hug me again, and I subtly shake my head. She frowns but holds herself back.
“Here.” Orwell thrusts the cell at me. “Mom wants to talk to you.” His grumpy face tells me all I need to know.
I press the cell to my ear. “Hey, Mom.”
“Did you know about this?” Her aggravated tone glides over me like water off a cliff. I learned to tune Mom out years ago for my sanity.
“Nope, but he’s here now, so we might as well make the best of it.”
“He should be on the next plane back home. Did you hear what he did?”
“Saved the virgin Romy from a lifetime tied to one dick. Seems like we should be patting Orwell on the back.” I don’t necessarily believe that, but sometimes, I just can’t help riling her up.
Adoring Keaton: A Stand-Alone Friends-to-Lovers MM Romance (The Kennedy Boys Book 9) Page 16