Page 45 of Fractured Frets

He flattened his hands against my shoulder blades, then pressed them against my arms, and slid them onto my waist. “Mads, you okay? You’ve lost weight.”

“I’m fine. Just a bit stressed.” More like overly. I leaned back, meeting his worry-filled gaze. “And you?”

“I’m tired and aching. I didn’t sleep well on the plane, worrying about you and the shit Harper’s caused. I’m looking forward to a few days of rest and time together.” He snaked his fingers around the back of my neck and thread them into my hair. “Can I kiss you now? I’m in agony being here with you and not doing that.”

I slid my hands up and down his sides, his T-shirt sliding with my touch. “Yeah.”

I didn’t want to doubt him or be suspicious about every photo printed of him with another woman—even Harper. I didn’t know how to dial down the niggle that lived in the pit of my gut. But when he kissed me, stole my breath, and weakened my knees, my world realigned. When we were together, everything was alright.

“Where are Tia and Lewis?” I’d been so preoccupied with getting to the bottom of the gossip, I’d missed them not being with Slip.

“They’re staying at Cole’s place tonight. They’re babysitting the kids while Cole and Ava catch up.”

“Oh . . . so we have the house to ourselves?”

“Yes . . . yes, we do.”

That night, we went out to dinner with everyone to a new, funky rooftop restaurant and bar in Downtown that Sutton had raved about. I loved catching up with her, Ava, Tia, and the guys. Our stories always ended in fits of laughter. Just after ten, Duke—a friend of the guys—and his band joined us. The night turned into one of celebration as they’d signed with Everhide’s label and were about to record their first album in New York. Totally. Freaking. Awesome! With Everhide behind them, I was sure they’d top the charts.

But on the way home, Slip told our driver to take an unexpected turn. Down some backstreet in West Hollywood, we pulled up outside a strip of shops. Slip took my hand and helped me out of the car. Beckett was his constant shadow as I glanced around the quiet street with an old bar still open, a twenty-four-hour gym, and an accountant’s office on the opposite side of the road.

“What are we doing here?” I asked Slip.

A big, bright grin lit his face. “Come with me.”

He led me toward the last shop on the strip. My mouth fell open at the graphic sign on the window. Holy shit. A tattoo parlor!

Slip drew me to a halt outside the entrance and hooked his hands around my hips. “Mads, I wish I could stop the gossip, but most of it is out of my control. But know this...I will always tell you the truth behind each story. If I have to spend every day showing you how much I love you, how faithful and serious I am, I will. So today, I want to do that by getting your name inked on my skin. I want you to pick the design and where I should have it.”

“Oh, shit. Are you serious?”

“Yep.”

My heart thundered up toward my throat. He wanted me in ink? That was a whole new level of love I’d never expected. I didn’t think there was anything else he could do to erase my doubts, but he continually swept me off my feet. “You don’t have to do that. What if we don’t work out?”

“I’m not walking away from us.” He sliced his fingers into my hair and clutched the back of my head. “If we end, it will be your call, not mine. I’ll never regret your name on my skin. You changed my life, Mads, and gave me something more than music to love. I want to do this regardless of our future.”

Oh wow. I sucked in a huge breath, my chest swelling to capacity. I wriggled and curled my toes. “Nothing like more pressure.”

“There’s no pressure. It’s how I feel about you. Now come. Get me inked.”

My palms sweated as we entered the shop lined with framed photos of people covered in tattoos. There was a wall of designs to choose from, glass cabinets full of skin-care products, and two large chairs and a table surrounded by equipment at the back. The shop could be mistaken for a torture chamber instead of a tattoo parlor.

A tall, burly man stood from his laptop behind the counter. Covered from head to toe in colorful ink on every inch of visible skin, and with body piercings in his ears, nose, and eyebrow, he towered over Slip and me. As his gaze fell on Slip, a friendly smile spread across his face.

“Yo, Slip. Good to see you, man.” He walked over, clutched Slip’s hand, and bumped their shoulders together.

“Hey, Sol. Thanks for staying open late. I need some fresh ink.”

I’d loved exploring and listening to the tales behind each one of Slip’s tattoos. His love for the ocean was in the form of a mermaid on his left bicep. His friends were depicted by stars and arrows on one forearm—just like Flint’s ink. Black bands and intricate designs circled his other wrist. A flock of birds crossed his sore hip, lyrics covered the other side of his waist, and guitars wrapped in vines graced his legs. I was overwhelmed that he wanted to add something that represented me to his collection.

He placed his hand on the small of my back. “But first, Sol, this is my wife, Maddy.”

Heat touched my cheeks. It was still hard some days to comprehend I was married.

“Madison Reed.” Sol took my hand and bowed like a gracious gentleman. “Nice to meet you. I’ve seen you on TV. Slip’s one lucky dude. You two are going to make gorgeous babies.”

I giggled and shook my head. “Uh...no. Not on our agenda.”

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