Page 37 of Please, Sir

My heart is racing a million miles a minute as I get to my feet, trying my damndest to stay calm. “I’m not using it against you. You let that coach do more for you than you let me! Now get your laptop and phone. Stand here and argue with me a little longer and the list is gonna grow.”

She stomps off down the hall and into her room, making as much noise as she possibly can. When she returns, she hands me the computer and her phone, malice shining in her glare.

I take the items and she turns to hole up in her room, but before she can, I stop her with one last question. “How’d you get up there to Ink Time anyway? You walk there after school?” The tattoo and piercing shop is located right across from the diner downtown, and pretty damn far from Bluebell High. Walking there would’ve taken her… over an hour.

“I drove your car, right after I took your gun and robbed a bank, then kidnapped a baby,” she deadpans, spinning on her heel, nothing but a flash of dark hair and anger. A moment later, her door slams closed, and a minute after that, I’m backing out of the driveway, rage in my veins as I drive to Ink Time.

Someone’s got some fucking explaining to do.

I haven’t beenin Ink Time since the grand opening, and when I storm into the place, I almost don’t recognize it. I storm past the little blonde at the reception, even though she tries to stop me with a weak “excuse me, mister.”

Moving past the first two stations, I spot Trace and Ivy, huddled over a client, a huge circular light hovering above them. Aware that someone has stepped into their space, Trace lifts his head, turning off his tattoo machine as his eyes narrow.

“Jake, how ya doin’?”

“Not so good, Trace. Not so good, because you pierced my fourteen year old daughter’s belly button without her father’s consent.” The man strewn over the vinyl chair, his chest exposed for a huge Cookie Monster portrait, tips his head back to eye me. I don’t like making a scene, especially not in front of a man whose chest is covered in Sesame Streetcharacters because what the fuck is that about? But what Trace did is absolutely unacceptable.

Ivy’s machine turns off and she rolls back from her client, her eyes darting to Trace before coming to mine. “Your girlfriend signed for her,” Ivy says, with no emotion in her tone. In fact, the longer she stares at me, the more I think she’s annoyed I showed up here.

Trace’s brows rumple. “Your girlfriend? Jake Turner, who are you datin’?” Trace asks, getting to his feet with a wide smile. He clamps his hand on my shoulder and says, “I wouldn’t pierce or ink anyone without a consent form. Neither would my old lady.”

I look past him to Ivy, who is still glaring, her winged eyeliner intimidating me. “Who is my alleged girlfriend?”

She rolls back to her client and restarts her tattoo machine. “Riley Rivers.” She gets to work on Cookie Monster’s crumbs, not looking up at me when she adds, “And Trace didn’t do it. I pierced Jo Jo, and I pierced your girlfriend, too.”

I probably owe both of them an apology, but knowing that Jolene had every opportunity to tell me that it was Riley that brought her here and didn’t just adds another layer of pain to this mess.

She protected Riley while she thought nothing of me.

She cares profoundly about her if she’s doing that.

I get in my truck, angry, frustrated, a little proud, and full of all sorts of feelings I don’t know what to do with. My head aches as I grip the steering wheel, hitting the gas out onto the road. With my free hand, I call Dean, and thank god he answers right away.

“Jake, how you doin’?”

“Where does Riley Rivers live?” I ask, my boot sinking into the gas pedal, making my truck roar forward, tearing up the road.

“Why?” he asks.

“Give me her address, McAllister!” I shout, knowing full well he doesn’t deserve it but goddamn it, she took my daughter to get something pierced. She didn’t ask me if it was okay. She didn’t call to verify. She didn’t text to apologize.

“156 Poplar Street,” he answers quickly, but quietly. “You okay?”

“I’ll call you later.” I end the call, and turn my truck around without looking, earning me some angry honks and hollers.

All I can hear now is my heart racing in my chest as I speed to Riley’s house.

CHAPTER

FIFTEEN

There’snothing like a nice long run to end the day. And today I’m ending things right with six miles outside, and the weather is absolutely perfect for it. The leaves are changing color, it’s cool enough to give me light goosebumps but not so cold that my nipples can cut ice, and everything from boxwoods to rose bushes are absolutely beautiful. People say spring is the most gorgeous of seasons, but the first couple months of winter in California arebreathtaking.

Out of breath, damp tank top clinging to my chest, I topple to a hard stop when I round the corner to the end of my street.

When I spot a man with flowers on my front porch.

The hairs on the back of my neck rise, and my stomach cramps like I drank too much or had too many sweets. All of a sudden, I’m both hot and cold, and the warmth from the run paired with the slight bite in the air is making me woozy. Bending over, I grab my knees, never taking my eyes off ofhimas I struggle to catch my breath.

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