Page 41 of I Stop Somewhere Waiting For You

I gotta say, watching Jesse’s face as I scrolled through images of her so he could use them as a reference made the experience alone worth it. Staring at me wide-eyed, he made me repeat my request three times just so he was sure he wasn’t hallucinating. Maverick Bishop wanted to tattoo the woman he loved on his body. Maverick Bishop was in love.

“I’m sorry,” Bentley sighs, catching me off guard and causing my head to snap in his direction. “For how I’ve been about J. I spent so much time focusing on who she is to him, that I failed to see who she is to you.”

Months’ worth of built-up tension between us seems to melt away as my shoulders instinctively relax. For the first time in what feels like forever, I have my brother back.

“Seeing you guys together these last few weeks,” he continues. “Watching you with her… I get it now. She’s it for you, isn’t she?”

A smirk crosses my face as the small black box burns a hole in my jacket pocket. After a brief hesitation, I slide my hand inside to retrieve it, holding it up in the space between us.

“What the fuck is that?!” Bentley shouts, his face morphing into a grin of epic proportions. “Is that what I think it is?”

I pop open the box with one hand, exposing a three-carat cushion-cut solitaire diamond set against a plain platinum band. Simple, classic, timeless—just like her.

“When the fuck did you buy that?!”

“’Bout a week ago. It was the same day I got the tattoo. I came out of the shop and across the street is that little jewelry store. You know the one that puts that big-ass red bow on the side of the building at Christmas time? I just knew. She is it, Bent.”

“Damn, Mav. It’s been like what? Six months?”

“Just shy of four,” I breathe out, a nervous smile playing on my lips. “I’m not gonna do it until after she graduates, and it will probably be a longer engagement. Not to mention, I’d have to somehow make it to the wedding day without Nicky putting a bullet in me.”

“Ha!” Bent cackles. “Yeah, good luck with that.”

I snort. “But I sure as fuck am not going to risk her slipping through my fingers. I know what I want, and I’m locking this one down.”

“She’s good for you, dude. I can’t remember ever seeing you so happy. You deserve it.”

“I don’t deserve shit, Bent. My soul’s stained with so many sins, that bitch is black by this point. But for some reason, she chose me. I don’t know why, and honestly, I’m not about to start questioning it. Last thing I need is her to come to her senses and drop my dumb ass.”

“True,” he laughs. “You probably should take the win and call it a day.”

“Shut up, bitch.” I playfully shove at his arm. “So,” I glance in the mirror toward the black F150 behind us, driven by T and Finn, “speaking of shit we deserve, you and T ready to stop being assholes and slap a label on that?”

His whole body tenses, his knuckles white from the sheer force with which he’s clutching the wheel.

You don’t get to be the boss by not being observant. I know Bent and Tristan have had something on the down low for well over a year now. I also know that Bent is the one holding back on them going public with their relationship, probably due to the fact that he’s never come out. Not even to me.

I used to be bothered by the fact that he felt like he couldn’t tell me. However, I eventually realized it had less to do with him not trusting me and more so his own insecurities regarding how he would be received. I figured he’d tell me when he was ready. However, if life with Jonsie has taught me anything, it’s that you can’t let the good stuff pass you by. You have to reach out and grab hold with both hands. It’s time Bent learned that lesson.

“How long have you known?” Bentley asks, refusing to take his eyes off the road.

“About you and T? Or that you’re gay?”

He winces slightly at my use of the word. “I don’t know. Both?”

“When we were in school, I went to go blaze one day at our spot behind the athletic shed. Normally I would have text you to see if you wanted to come, but I was just gonna hit it quick before class. I saw you back there with that fucker from the lacrosse team. What the fuck was his name?” I snap my fingers a couple times while my brain scans through typical fuckboy names.

“Landon,” Bent whispers.

“That’s it!” I slap my hand on the center console. “Landon. Jesus, he was a douche.”

“Yeah, he was,” Bent agrees. “But the thing about closeted jocks is they will go above and beyond to prevent that shit from getting out, so you never have to worry about people talking.” He lets out a sigh, scrubbing a hand over his face. “How come you never said anything?”

“Because I figured you would tell me when you were ready. And it’s not a big deal!” I toss my hands up. “How many times have you caught me with my dick in someone’s mouth? We don’t debrief every time. You’re my boy, Bent. Who you fuck has no bearing on that. I wish you and T would stop playing these games, though. You’re both becoming real miserable fucks over it. You don’t pull your head out of your ass, he’s gonna be done with you.”

“You can’t have your second-in-command fucking one of your soldiers. What would people think?”

“Why the fuck would I care?!” My face contorts into a shocked expression. “You know what I think? I think you’re worried about what people will think. Though I can’t understand why. Anyone dumb enough to say something to you would regret it when you break their skull, you crazy motherfucker.” I eye him in frustration. “Listen Bent, if you’re sidelining T because you don’t want a relationship with him, then that’s one thing, but don’t put that shit on me. That’s a cop-out. Let me tell you, though, life is too fucking short to go without your person. So, if he’s it, stop fucking around, take a page from my book, and lock that shit down.”

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