Page 86 of A Sinner's Saint

“Where?”

“Right here.” I point to my left arm. I want the numbers on my inner wrist, right near the base of my palm.

“Okay,” Santo says before turning to Marcus. “Do it.”

“Seriously? Vin won’t like it.” Marcus folds his arms over his chest.

“Vin won’t like what?” Vin’s voice comes from behind me.

I spin around and smile at him. “Did you follow me?”

“Yes,” he says, his eyes flicking from me to his friend. “What won’t I like, Marcus?”

“Your girl here is trying to get me to ink her. Your brother ordered me to do it when I refused.”

Vin is quiet for a long moment. No one talks. Not a single sound can be heard. “No.”

“What?”

“No, it’s not happening. And you should know fucking better,” he tells Santo.

“Her body, her choice, bro.” Santo shrugs.

The words connect with Vin, because he is obsessed with getting my consent. “What do you want?” I explain my idea, the location, and why. Vin nods. “I’ll do it,” he says. “Come sit down. Marcus, draw up the template.”

“Sure thing. Just take over the whole shop while you’re at it.” Marcus shakes his head.

“I’ll come back. I can see you’re busy,” Santo says to Marcus. Then he returns his attention to me. “Cammi, call me if these idiots give you any more trouble.”

“Thank you.” When he walks out, I look up at Vin. “I think I like him the most out of all your brothers.”

“That’s because he has a weird soft spot for you. Trust me, he’s not nice like that to literally anyone else.” Vin laughs before yelling out, “Marcus, draw two templates. We’re both doing it.”

“You’re getting the same numbers?” I ask him.

“Yep.”

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Atattoo. She was coming to my best friend’s shop to get a fucking tattoo. And my brother was in here encouraging her. I’m not against tattoos. Obviously. I’m fucking covered in them.

What I am against is anything hurting Cammi or putting her under any kind of stress she doesn’t need. I know the doctor said she could go on with her day-to-day life. She’s got a heapof follow-up appointments and more testing to do over the next couple of weeks. But I’m not convinced she’s fine. People’s hearts don’t just stop for no reason.

I read about the condition the doc thinks she has. Broken heart syndrome. It fits, and it fucking guts me that I did that to her. Which is why, when she told me about the tattoo she wanted and the meaning behind it, I caved and decided to tattoo her myself.

It’s three numbers. It’s not a difficult design or anything. At least if I do it myself, I can watch her reaction and stop if I think the pain is getting to her. Personally, I don’t think tattoos hurt, but I’ve seen grown-ass men cry in Marcus’s chair.

Marcus hands me the transfer sheet, and I look down at Cammi’s wrist. I can do this. I can reach out and touch her. She wants this. I tell myself that she’s already given me permission to touch her.

I gently wrap my hand around her wrist. Both of us are quiet, our eyes connecting as my thumb traces small circles over her perfectly untouched skin. And then she smiles at me, that blindingly bright smile. The one I’ve been waiting for. I used to love seeing her smile. She smiled yesterday but it wasn’t real. It was nothing like the one she’s giving me now.

“You really want this?” I ask her.

“I really do,” she says.

“Okay.” I turn her wrist over and stroke the area she pointed out. “Right here?”

“Yes,” Cammi confirms.

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