Chapter 20

Sophie

My blood pounds through my veins and my heart beats an erratic rhythm. My head is being cleaved open, and I don't know whether to be mad or relieved as I hold my son. Something I wasn't sure I'd ever do again.

I'm gonna go with relieved and happy that he's okay. I'll be mad later when I can talk to James about pulling stunts like this.

Josh's mom, Elaine, tuts at James and then turns to me. "I'm so sorry. I thought he'd asked permission. I never would have brought him to the open training if I'd known. I can't imagine how worried you've been."

I climb to my feet, keeping James close. "It's not your fault. But I'm gonna take James home. His grandfather is also worried sick." His body stiffens in my hold.

"How mad is Grandad?" He peers up at me, his eyes filled with worry.

"We haven't had time to be mad because we've been too worried."

Elaine grabs James's backpack and holds it out to him. "I understand. I'm so sorry, Sophie." She drops her gaze to James. "Josh will see you at school tomorrow. Please apologize to your grandad for me. I feel terrible."

I reach forward and squeeze her forearm. "Please don't. You did nothing wrong. I'll talk to you later."

"Aww, Mom. Can't I stay?" James whines, dragging his feet.

"No, James. You can't stay," I snap as I tug him forward. Now that I know he's safe, my anger at his thoughtlessness is taking over.

Lincoln follows behind wordlessly as I wrap my arm around James's shoulders, guiding him to Lincoln's car. We all climb in and I text Dad to let him know we found my wayward son. The car ride home is done in silence and it seems to take forever to drive the five and a half miles. Dad's waiting out the front with a police officer when we arrive. James's eyes widen when he sees the officer, and he turns his attention back to me.

"We had no idea where you were, James. You need to understand that we thought you'd been abducted. The police have been looking for you. We've been worried sick," I tell him as we climb out of the car.

He drops his gaze to the ground but not before I see the shininess in his eyes and the quiver of his lips. "I'm sorry, Mom."

"You need to apologize to Grandad and the policemen. Then I want you to go straight to your room. We need to talk."

He kicks the ground with his shoe. "Yes, Mom." He hangs his head and slumps his shoulders, but makes his way toward Dad.

"I didn't know whether to be mad at him or relieved that he was okay when I saw him. Relief won out, but now I'm so pissed that he scared us like that," I mutter.

Linc wraps his arm around my shoulder and I melt against him, taking the comfort and support he's offering. "Hey, I never met the kid, and I was battling between relieved and pissed. I can't imagine how you're feeling." He says that, but I'm certain he can. He drops a kiss to the top of my head and my lids fall closed. "Are you gonna be okay?" he murmurs against my hair. "I can stay or I can leave. Whatever you need, Shortcake."

I wish I could ask him to stay. To help me deal with the fallout from today, but I glance across at Dad, finding him watching us with annoyance. "I think it's best you leave." I reluctantly pull away from the sanctuary of his arms. "James won't be the only one in trouble tonight," I murmur.

Lincoln studies my face closely with curious eyes. "Are you sure you're gonna be okay? Your dad seemed pissed at me … not sure why." He glances over my shoulder and then drops his gaze back to me. "I can stay if you need someone to have your back."

My heart flips at his generous offer, but I need to deal with Dad on my own. We have a lot to discuss, and I think it's going to be a long night. "I'll be fine. I'll see you tomorrow. Hopefully," I whisper the last word under my breath.

He leans down to kiss me, but I turn my face to give him my cheek since Dad's watching us like a hawk.

I'm freaking twenty-six.

I shouldn't let Dad dictate my life choices, but it's tough when I'm still living in his home, and I try—mostly—to be respectful of him and his expectations. Most of the time, he gives me the space to be an adult; however, I don't think I'll have that luxury tonight.

I watch Lincoln leave and apologize profusely to the police officers, then follow Dad and James inside. I lean against the closed door, watching James disappear down the hallway to his bedroom and I know he's genuinely sorry, but it's going to take me a while to recover from this afternoon. I drop my head against the wood, exhausted—emotionally and physically. My muscles are going to be sore tomorrow.

"Sophie Mae?" Shit, he's pulled out the middle name. I peel my eyes open to find his disapproving glare aimed my way while he waves his arm up and down at me. "I didn't recognize the girl who came home today." His eyes narrow. "I thought all of this was left behind long ago." Wheeling closer, he looks up at me. "And a tattoo shop?" The disappointment dripping from his voice makes me ache, and shame that I couldn't keep living the lie for him when he's done so much for me and James washes through me. "This isn't you."

"This is me, Dad," I murmur.

His brows drop over his eyes. Confusion has turned to anger. "No, it isn't. This isn't the daughter I raised on my own." He slams his hand on the arm of his chair. "The daughter I gave everything to."

"I'm sorry I've disappointed you again. I've tried." I hold my hands out from my sides. "Lord knows I've tried to be the daughter you want me to be, but I've been struggling to be that person. I need to be me." I swipe at my cheeks while my heart disintegrates in my chest as I utter my truth. "I was dying a little more every day, and I needed to live my life the way I want."

"Not while you're under my roof, you won't. This is the sort of behavior that got you into trouble in the first place,"—I suck in a sharp breath at his blatant accusation—"and I see that you're heading straight down the same road. A-a-and that man." He stabs his finger toward the front door, but he may as well have plunged a dagger into my heart. "With all those … those tattoos. He's clearly more than your boss, Sophie. I may be in a wheelchair with legs that don't work, but my eyes work just fine."

My heart pounds and my body heats. "You know nothing about Lincoln. Don't you dare judge him because of the art he wears on his body," I snap.

"Art," he scoffs. "You know tattoos are the devil's work. We've had this discussion before!" he shouts, wheeling closer. "I forbid you to see him."

My eyebrows shoot up and I push away from the door, leaning forward to close the distance between us. "He's my boss. You can't forbid me from seeing him. I work for him," I shout back, my blood boiling in my veins.

"You won't be going back there. Find another job!" His hand flies down to his wheel and he spins away from me, rolling down the hallway to the kitchen.

I stomp after him. "I refuse to find another job. I'm finally doing something I love. Something I'm good at." I suck in a sharp breath and dig deep for my bravery. "I love tattoos. I love that my art is going to be on someone's body forever. I love them so much that I … I have tattoos!"

He spins around to face me. "You what!"

I fold my arms across my chest. "I have tattoos." I don't know why I'm poking the bear when he's already so angry, but maybe it's time I stopped hiding. "I guess that makes me a terrible person in your eyes, since that's how you judge anyone with a tattoo. That they're somehow less of a person. A troublemaker." I push forward. "And we both know I'm a troublemaker, right? Since I ended up pregnant at seventeen."

I spin on my heel and storm out of the kitchen, not giving him a chance to answer. I don't think my heart can take any more of his disapproval today. When I reach my bedroom, I slam my door like an angry teen. Maybe it's time James and I moved out. I can't live my life to keep him happy while slowly withering away to nothing.

I've felt more like myself since I started working with Lincoln and Ken than I have in a long time and I don't want to give that up but I may have to. I have some savings, but it won't last long and my wage won't be enough to support us if we have to pay rent too. I flop back on my bed and let my angry tears fall. I know I need to speak with James about what he did today, but I need to think and regroup first.

* * *

I brush my wet hair over my shoulder and knock on James's door.

"Come in."

I step inside and close the door behind me, finding James sitting on the window seat with his legs pulled up beneath his chin.

Without lifting his head, he looks up at me. "I'm sorry, Mom. Josh told me his mom could take me to the special training session with them today. I was gonna tell Grandad, but then he wasn't waiting at the bus stop and I had to walk home … and then he was asleep and I … I couldn't. And then I was gonna write a note to tell you guys where I was, but Josh's mom turned up and I didn't have time … and then I left … and I shouldn't have done that. I'm so sorry. Please don't stop me from playing soccer. And it wasn't Josh's mom's fault. I shoulda written the note." Tears track down his freckle-covered cheeks. "And now you and Granddad are fighting and it's all my fault."

I take the few steps I need to get to him. "We weren't fighting about you." I sit next to him and brush his hair out of his face. "He's mad at me."

He looks up at me with shimmering eyes. "Are we gonna have to move out? I heard Grandad say not while you're under my roof and it sounded like he doesn't want us here anymore."

Wrapping my arm around him, I pull him in close. "Sometimes adults say things they don't mean when they're angry but he never said he wanted us to leave. He just doesn't want me to work in a tattoo studio. I was disrespectful, James. I knew he wouldn't like me working there, but I did it anyway and then I hid it from him."

I'm a terrible mother and an awful role model—sneaking behind Dad's back. What sort of message does that send James?

"Why did you do it?" He presses against me further and I lean down to kiss his head.

I exhale a long breath and shrug. "It's something I've always wanted to do. I love tattoos and the idea of decorating someone's skin with my art … well … to me … it's the perfect way to use my talent. I don't want my drawings and designs to be stuck on someone's wall, I want them to mean something. I know Grandad doesn't like tattoos and he thinks they're bad?—"

Creases appear between his eyebrows. "Then why are you doing it if you know Grandad doesn't like them?"

"When I was a kid, I always tried to do everything"—well, mostly everything—"Grandad wanted but as an adult, I can't always do that." Lord knows I've tried. "Anyway, enough about me. I came in here to talk to you about today. You know what you did wasn't okay, right?"

His chin drops, stealing his eyes from me. "I know." He snaps his head back up. "Maybe you should get me a pho?—"

"Don't finish that sentence. I've discussed this with you. You're not getting a phone."

"But if I had a phone, I could have called you at work and told you where I was. Then none of this would have happened." He huffs, folding his arms across his slender frame.

That was one of my thoughts when I was panicking about where he was, but another phone isn't in the budget and definitely won't be a possibility if we move out. "Josh's mom has a phone. You could have asked her to call me. I don't think the phone is the issue here. The issue is you making arrangements without discussing it with me first."

"You weren't home. How can I discuss"—he widens his eyes as if to punctuate his sassy attitude—"it with you?"

"Watch your tone with me, James. You were in the wrong today and you know it as well as I do." He opens his mouth, but I shake my head. "New rule. Any plans must be approved by me at least twenty-four hours in advance. No more making last-minute arrangements."

He jumps up from the window seat. "Aw, Mom. That's not fair. Sometimes my friends do stuff after school that we talked about at lunch." His little fists slam into his hips. "Like today."

"Twenty-four hours!" I snap.

Turning his back to me, his shoulders slump. "That's not fair. I'm not gonna be able to do anything anymore. None of my friends will want to be my friend because I can't join in. I'll get left out of everything." He pouts, and guilt that I'm being too hard on him threatens to swallow me whole, but I refuse to go through what we went through this afternoon ever again.

Standing, I wrap my arms around him from behind and kiss the top of his head. "I'm sorry, James. This is how it has to be."

"What if I promise to always leave a note?"

I shake my head. I'll give him points for trying. "Not happening. Now get started on your homework while I cook dinner. I'll see you in the kitchen in thirty minutes."