Page 70 of Ringer's Freedom

Do I regret getting smashed and marrying the club princess? Regret is a big word. I decide I don’t regret the act of marrying her. I regret the way it happened.

Lilah is the kind of girl that deserves the world. She deserves the white dress, the flowers, the party, and all of the attention that comes with it. She deserves more than some tacky Elvis on the second floor of a flashy casino.

My chest tightens at the thought that she deserves more than me. Better than me. What the fuck can I offer her?

I have no job, no house, nothing to fucking show for myself but a shitty record.

Fuck.

We may have made a mistake.

If I were a respectable man, I’d go over to Lilah’s right now and offer her an out. Offer her an annulment if that’s what she really wanted.

Good thing I’m not fucking respectable. Because if there’s one thing about me, I’m fucking selfish.

twelve

Lilah

“What the hell is that!”I cackle as Ringer shows me a picture of an ugly werewolf thing on his phone.

“Seriously, babe. You really think I’d get that tattooed on me?” He throws his arm around my shoulder as we walk from the bakery to Flame’s tattoo shop. “I’m just fucking with you.”

“What are you getting? For real?” I whine. I hate surprises. When he said his tattoo was a surprise, I had a strange feeling it would be something that had to do with me. And that makes me fucking nervous.

“I’ll tell you. As long as you don’t say shit.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“You’re not allowed to try to talk me out of it. Or bitch about it.”

My eyebrows pinch in confusion.

Ringer sighs, stopping in his tracks and pulling his phone back out. He turns the screen to me.

I gasp.

“How did you get a picture of that?” I ask, seeing the picture of the small scrap of notebook paper taped to my mirror.

“When you asked me to run back upstairs to grab your jacket the other day, I saw it and took a picture.”

“Why would you want a tattoo of this?”

Ringer shrugs, shoving his phone back in his pocket.

“I want it too.”

“You do?”

I nod. The saying is something I say to myself in his voice every single day. It’s silly, really, but it’s always helped whenever Renee’s negativity slinks into my head.

“Does this count as a date, then? Matching tattoos?” Ringer jokes. I roll my eyes and push him to keep walking down the sidewalk.

The last few weeks have passed in a blur as Ringer and I have gone on date after date, if you can even call them that.We’ve been on no less than fifteen motorcycle rides into the city to do nothing other than just be together. We usually stop for dinner or ice cream before heading back home, where Ringer respectfully drops me off in the driveway, waiting for me to go inside.

The first day we went out for a ride, Ringer sent me an SOS text that he was nervous about seeing my dad in person.

For as long as I live, I will never forget the look of terror on his face as he walked up the driveway. You could see the sweat dripping off of him from down the block.

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