Page 102 of Chasing The Goal
Jaymie
It was supposed tobe a coffee run. That’s what we told our wives, our girlfriends, the various hungover HellBlades sprawled across hotel suites and lobby couches. “Just grabbing caffeine before the flight,” Logan said with his signature smirk and zero conviction.
Mallory barely blinked. She was busy wrangling Lola into a fresh diaper and half-listening to Ava explain why she’d packed three pairs of sunglasses for a single 24-hour trip.
“Be back in an hour or so,” I called, kissing her forehead.
She waved me off. “Don’t forget my cold brew.”
Then we were in the back of a black SUV, windows down, sun already cooking the Vegas pavement. The city was starting to sweat out the night before—early joggers, neon signs fading under the daylight, street sweepers humming past the glitter-soaked sidewalks.
Logan grinned at me from the front seat. “So. You still sure about this?”
“About the tattoo?” I asked.
“No, about the marriage,” Connor chimed in from the back, draped across the third row like he hadn’t slept in a decade. “Because that would be one hell of a reversal.”
Darren, ever the quiet sniper, sipped from his iced coffee and shrugged. “I’m still shocked you're pulling the trigger already, but you’ve been gone for her since day one.”
I looked down at my right knee, fingers twitching.
“Yeah,” I said. “I’m doing it.”
The shop was tucked between a vape store and a bail bonds office—real Vegas energy. It smelled like antiseptic and fading regret. A big guy with sleeve tattoos and the kind of mustache that screamed “no nonsense” waved us in. We wanted to go somewhere we wouldn't be instantly recognized…especially as the guys that just stole the cup away from their cities team.
“What are we doing?” he asked, all read to pull on gloves.
“I want ‘Mallory’ right here,” I said, tapping the top of my knee.
He paused. “Like… your kneecap?”
“Just above it. Centered with a bold but clean font”
Connor blinked. “Dude. That’s commitment. You didn't tell us this!”
Logan leaned back against the wall. “That’s unhinged. But I respect it.”
“It’s not a wedding until someone gets inked,” I said, grinning.
“Pretty sure that’s a Vegas proverb,” Darren muttered.
The artist pulled out a font book and showed me a few options until I found the one that fit, which didn't take long. It looked exactly how her name sounded in my head: permanent, quiet, striking.
“You’re really doing this?” Connor asked again as I settled into the chair, rolling up my shorts.
“Wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t,” I said, jaw already clenched as the machine buzzed to life.
Pain bloomed instantly—sharp, deep, clean. Like the rush after a winning goal. Like something real was happening.
“She’s gonna cry,” Logan said.
“She’s gonna kill you,” Connor added.
“She’s gonna kiss me like she means it,” I said, smiling.
An hour later, we were back in the SUV, my leg wrapped tight, instructions in a crumpled paper bag. I tugged on a pair of loose joggers and adjusted the hem so nothing showed. The spot throbbed with every movement.
But damn if I didn’t feel like I’d just done something right.
