Page 224 of The Trouble With Bad Boys

He spins around to face me. “You what!”

I fold my arms across my chest. “I have tattoos.” I don’t know why I’m poking the bear when he’s already so angry, but maybe it’s time I stopped hiding. “I guess that makes me a terrible person in your eyes, since that’s how you judge anyone with a tattoo. That they’re somehow less of a person. A troublemaker.” I push forward. “And we both know I’m a troublemaker, right? Since I ended up pregnant at seventeen.”

I spin on my heel and storm out of the kitchen, not giving him a chance to answer. I don’t think my heart can take any more of his disapproval today. When I reach my bedroom, I slam my door like an angry teen. Maybe it’s time James and I moved out. I can’t live my life to keep him happy while slowly withering away to nothing.

I’ve felt more like myself since I started working with Lincoln and Ken than I have in a long time and I don’t want to give that up but I may have to. I have some savings, but it won’t last long and my wage won’t be enough to support us if we have to pay rent too. I flop back on my bed and let my angry tears fall. I know I need to speak with James about what he did today, but I need to think and regroup first.

* * *

I brush my wet hair over my shoulder and knock on James’s door.

“Come in.”

I step inside and close the door behind me, finding James sitting on the window seat with his legs pulled up beneath his chin.

Without lifting his head, he looks up at me. “I’m sorry, Mom. Josh told me his mom could take me to the special training session with them today. I was gonna tell Grandad, but then he wasn’t waiting at the bus stop and I had to walk home … and then he was asleep and I … I couldn’t. And then I was gonna write a note to tell you guys where I was, but Josh’s mom turned up and I didn’t have time … and then I left … and I shouldn’t have done that. I’m so sorry. Please don’t stop me from playing soccer. And it wasn’t Josh’s mom’s fault. I shoulda written the note.” Tears track down his freckle-covered cheeks. “And now you and Granddad are fighting and it’s all my fault.”

I take the few steps I need to get to him. “We weren’t fighting about you.” I sit next to him and brush his hair out of his face. “He’s mad at me.”

He looks up at me with shimmering eyes. “Are we gonna have to move out? I heard Grandad say not while you’re under my roof and it sounded like he doesn’t want us here anymore.”

Wrapping my arm around him, I pull him in close. “Sometimes adults say things they don’t mean when they’re angry but he never said he wanted us to leave. He just doesn’t want me to work in a tattoo studio. I was disrespectful, James. I knew he wouldn’t like me working there, but I did it anyway and then I hid it from him.”

I’m a terrible mother and an awful role model—sneaking behind Dad’s back. What sort of message does that send James?

“Why did you do it?” He presses against me further and I lean down to kiss his head.

I exhale a long breath and shrug. “It’s something I’ve always wanted to do. I love tattoos and the idea of decorating someone’s skin with my art … well … to me … it’s the perfect way to use my talent. I don’t want my drawings and designs to be stuck on someone’s wall, I want them to mean something. I know Grandad doesn’t like tattoos and he thinks they’re bad?—”

Creases appear between his eyebrows. “Then why are you doing it if you know Grandad doesn’t like them?”

“When I was a kid, I always tried to do everything”—well, mostly everything—“Grandad wanted but as an adult, I can’t always do that.” Lord knows I’ve tried. “Anyway, enough about me. I came in here to talk to you about today. You know what you did wasn’t okay, right?”

His chin drops, stealing his eyes from me. “I know.” He snaps his head back up. “Maybe you should get me a pho?—”

“Don’t finish that sentence. I’ve discussed this with you. You’re not getting a phone.”

“But if I had a phone, I could have called you at work and told you where I was. Then none of this would have happened.” He huffs, folding his arms across his slender frame.

That was one of my thoughts when I was panicking about where he was, but another phone isn’t in the budget and definitely won’t be a possibility if we move out. “Josh’s mom has a phone. You could have asked her to call me. I don’t think the phone is the issue here. The issue is you making arrangements without discussing it with me first.”

“You weren’t home. How can I discuss”—he widens his eyes as if to punctuate his sassy attitude—“it with you?”

“Watch your tone with me, James. You were in the wrong today and you know it as well as I do.” He opens his mouth, but I shake my head. “New rule. Any plans must be approved by me at least twenty-four hours in advance. No more making last-minute arrangements.”

He jumps up from the window seat. “Aw, Mom. That’s not fair. Sometimes my friends do stuff after school that we talked about at lunch.” His little fists slam into his hips. “Like today.”

“Twenty-four hours!” I snap.

Turning his back to me, his shoulders slump. “That’s not fair. I’m not gonna be able to do anything anymore. None of my friends will want to be my friend because I can’t join in. I’ll get left out of everything.” He pouts, and guilt that I’m being too hard on him threatens to swallow me whole, but I refuse to go through what we went through this afternoon ever again.

Standing, I wrap my arms around him from behind and kiss the top of his head. “I’m sorry, James. This is how it has to be.”

“What if I promise to always leave a note?”

I shake my head. I’ll give him points for trying. “Not happening. Now get started on your homework while I cook dinner. I’ll see you in the kitchen in thirty minutes.”

Twenty-One

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