25. Chapter 25

Chapter 25

PISTON

My morning coffee sits like lead in the pit of my stomach on the drive to Ink Slingers. It was too damn cold this morning to take my Harley, and having to be cooped up inside my car just feels like adding insult to injury for my already fried nerves. I don't know how I'm going to work today with my eyes feeling like sandpaper after a sleepless night.

I drum my fingers against the steering wheel and Milo reaches over to put his hand on my thigh. I startle at his touch, so caught up in my own spiraling thoughts. I give him a twitch of a smile and he squeezes my leg.

"It's going to be fine," he says.

I grunt in response. Maybe he's right, maybe he's wrong. At this point the only option is to face the firing squad and see how everything shakes out. I swallow around the lump in my throat and squeeze the wheel a little tighter.

"Either way, I don't have any regrets," I say gruffly. I roll to a stop at a light and glance over at him. "And don't worry, this isn't going to affect shit between the two of you. He might be pissed at me, he might not want to see me again, but I promise that's where the blame is going to stay. If anything, he's convinced himself I took advantage of you."

Milo snorts a laugh. "That's true, you've completely corrupted me."

I take a leaf out of his book and roll my eyes.

"He doesn't get to pick and choose blame like that though," he says after another second as I pull into the parking lot. "That's how relationships work, right? We're a team, a package deal. He can't cut you out of his life and keep me."

My chest tightens and I shake my head. "Hell no, that's not how this is going down. You came here to find your dad and have a relationship with him. You're not giving that up."

"Chill, baby." He unbuckles his seat belt and leans over to kiss my cheek. My heart flutters and I automatically glance around, afraid one of the guys will see him kissing me right in front of the shop. Then I remember it doesn't matter. I still have to deal with the fallout, but Hero already knows. We don't have to hide anymore.

I turn my face and catch his lips. Milo grins against my mouth and the kiss lingers for just a few seconds before I turn off the car and he pulls back.

"No one is giving up anything. We're going to go in there and you two are going to sort your shit out. Got it?" he says firmly.

I arch an eyebrow. "Who's the daddy now?"

"Apparently I am, until you two grow up and act like adults."

I chuckle and then steady my nerves. Whatever happens, Milo is right—we're going to have to sort our shit out. We're family, after all. We've been family for fucking years. With Milo in the mix, it adds another layer, but it doesn't change what's always been true. We have each other's backs, we fight through the hard shit, and we always come out the other side together.

"Alright, let's do this."

I unlock the front door and flip the Closed sign to Open, even though we don't officially open for another half hour, but fuck knows none of us will remember to switch it if I don't do it now. Tex and Brick are already inside, sipping coffee and talking. There's no music on yet, which means Jag isn't here. Small mercies. Maybe I can get this conversation over with before he shows up to stir the pot.

There's a coffee cup at Hero's station, but no sign of him. Milo lingers beside me, chewing on his nails in spite of the confident pep talk he was giving me just a minute ago.

"He's probably in the back. Go do your thing and I'll find him," I say, giving him a little bump with my shoulder.

Milo gives me a skeptical look. "Maybe I should talk to him first."

I shake my head. "No, I'm the one who crossed a line, I need to be the one to face it."

He hesitates for a second, then sighs and heads for the front desk. Thankfully, Brick immediately distracts him by asking about the kittens and Milo lights up. He pulls out his phone and starts to show the two of them the dozens of pictures he took yesterday of Cy and the babies. Milo's cheerful chatter gives me the strength to push myself to move again.

I find Hero in the back, just like I expected to, rummaging through the supplies.

"Hey," I say, shoving my hands into my pockets and then awkwardly pulling them out again and crossing them over my chest. What do I usually do with my hands during a normal conversation? I can't even remember right now.

Hero looks up and grunts in greeting. Is it a good sign that he doesn't immediately go off on me for defiling his son or is he going the silent treatment route? Fuck, I hate the silent treatment.

I rub my hand along the back of my neck and force a smile that I'm sure looks more like a grimace.

"About what you saw last night…"

Hero huffs through his nose and drags his fingers through his beard. He seems just as unsure about what to do with his hands as I am, cracking his knuckles then stuffing them into his pockets.

"A heads-up would have been nice," he says gruffly.

"Yeah. Sorry."

We both stare at each other for a long minute. Usually, I'm better at this shit. I've always been the voice of reason, the peacemaker, the one who steps in to smooth shit out between everyone else. It's a hell of a lot harder to know the right thing to say when you're the one who stepped in shit.

"How long?" he asks.

"We met the night before he came in here and introduced himself to you. I had no clue who he was, and he didn't know there was any connection. He was just a cute guy I met at the bar. Then he walked in here and I saw you two standing next to each other and I fucking knew ." I huff a laugh, remembering the way my stomach dropped when the pieces fell into place. "I tried to let it go. I swear I fucking tried."

Hero stares at me silently again. His expression is unreadable, and it makes me itchy, but I let him process. Or maybe he's thinking about the quickest way to kill me. It's hard to tell.

"Fuck." He sighs after an eternity. "You're both adults, so I can't really say shit. And I'm trying to work out in my head what I would have done differently if the tables were turned, and I honestly don't have a fucking clue. What the fuck is this though? Are you just messing around?"

His expression turns stern, but instead of tightening the knots in my stomach, it loosens them. I let out another laugh that eases the tension in my chest. If he's pivoting to the ‘what are your intentions' talk, that means he's accepting us, right?

"It's serious," I say without hesitation. What I almost said to Milo before Hero interrupted us last night rings loud and clear in my mind but I'm not about to admit it to Hero before I say it to Milo.

His eyes bore into me for a solid minute and then he nods.

"Break his heart and I'll have Jag hold you down while I cut your balls off."

I wince, then chuckle. "Deal."

His scowl twitches into a smile and he crosses the few steps between us to pull me into a brief hug, slapping my back for good measure before he lets me go.

Whatever he was looking for back here must not have been important. Either that or he was using it as an excuse to wait for me so we could have a private conversation. Regardless, he strides out of the storage room empty-handed and I follow a few steps behind him.

I pause just inside the main part of the shop and Milo looks up, his eyes finding mine instantly. I smile and give a single nod to let him know we sorted our shit out. His grin widens, the dimple on his cheek making a full appearance. And then the door swings open and the first customer for the day comes in. My earlier exhaustion is gone now, replaced with a weightless feeling. It's a new day, there aren't any more secrets hanging over my head, and I'm ready for whatever happens next.

MILO

The puppy tattoo won the customer vote by a mile. I have to admit, it's kind of grown on me over the last week. I untape all of the printed images from the counter and toss them in the trash. I still have them saved in the folder on the computer for when I'm ready to get them tattooed, so they're not really gone.

"That the one you're going with?"

I look up and grin at my dad standing in front of the counter.

"It won the vote, and I will honor the will of the people," I say. "Now we'll see what they come up with for kitten names." I pull out the new paper I'm planning to tape to the counter. It has pictures of the kittens and Cy on it and spaces for people to write down suggestions that I'll turn into a poll for voting later.

"Someone jot down ‘Pussy Galore' for me," Jag calls.

"Absolutely not." I scoff. "They're cats, not drag queens."

"She's a Bond girl," Jag says. "Although, now that you mention it, that's a fucking incredible drag name."

I grab a marker and add to the paper "Nothing vulgar, they're only babies, for fuck's sake," then tape it to the counter.

"So." Hero clears his throat. "Who's doing your first tattoo?"

"Oh…" I glance awkwardly over at Piston, then back at him. My face heats. I never thought about how seriously tattoo artists take this shit before, but working here over the past month I have learned .

Luckily, Hero just gives me a reassuring smile.

"It's cool, I get it. I hope you'll let me get some ink on you at some point though."

"Of course." I breathe a sigh of relief that he doesn't seem to be offended. "I just figured that Piston should be my… first."

Piston looks up from the tattoo he's working on to give me a smoldering look and a wink. Jag whips his head up from his own work.

"Hold up…" he says.

"Yes"—I jump in before he can get colorful about the whole thing—"Piston and I are together," I say, loud enough for everyone to hear.

All the tattoo needles stop buzzing at once and every eye turns to Piston.

"Dude, you're banging Hero's kid?" Arrow's eyebrows go up.

"That's as wrong as tits on a duck." Tex tsks.

"Wait." Hero frowns. "Did you know, Jag?"

"I didn't know ." He ducks his head back down to return to his work. "I suspected."

"How?"

"Dude, they've been eye fucking each other since the second Milo walked in here."

"Nobody is eye fucking anybody," Piston growls, "and Hero and I already talked it out, so everyone else just drop it, please."

"And I'm not a kid," I grumble.

"Sorry, I didn't mean you couldn't make your own decisions," Arrow says. "Just that it's out of character for Piston to do something so… unexpected."

Piston looks over at me again and my stomach flutters at the sweetness and intensity in his gaze.

"Some things are worth making an exception for," he says simply.

Hero huffs, but I swear there's an undertone of affection in the sound.

"I already warned Piston, but I'll tell you too, if he hurts you, I'll hurt him."

I roll my eyes. "You don't need to hurt anyone on my account."

"That's what dads do," he murmurs, almost sounding shy, before reaching over and ruffling my hair. "At least I think it is. I'm still figuring this shit out."

I laugh. "You're doing fine so far," I assure him, then I hesitate and tug my bottom lip between my teeth. "Seriously though, are you okay with this? I didn't come here to fuck things up between you and your friends."

"It's weird," he admits with a crooked grin. "But you're both adults and you can decide who you want to date." Hero looks over his shoulder at Piston, who's back to focusing on the customer in his chair. "Piston is a good guy."

"He is." I finally let out the breath I feel like I've been holding since last night. "Thanks, Dad."

Is it the first time I've called him that to his face? It might be, because his eyes widen a fraction and he looks a little dazed. He reaches over the counter to squeeze my shoulder, then he clears his throat. I don't need him to find any words to know it means a lot to him. It means a lot to me too.

I'm sure this won't be the last time everyone is going to weigh in on our relationship, but I can handle it. With Piston by my side and my dad at my back, I think I can handle just about anything.

The hours tick by and eventually all the appointments have come and gone, and the guys start cleaning up and taking off for the day. Hero tells me he wants to have dinner later this week and I agree, then he leaves and it's just Piston and me here all alone.

I grab the puppy drawing and prance up to his station.

"I have my first tattoo. When can you book me in?" I wave it at him.

He takes it and looks down at the image, a grin slowly spreading over his lips.

"Is this really the first ink you want? Jag was just trying to rile you up."

I shrug. "I know. It's cute though. I do have puppy energy, plus it might not be the most badass nickname, but having one makes me feel like I'm really part of the club."

"Alright. I can start tonight then, if you want."

I light up, my heart leaping.

"Tonight? Seriously? Oh my god, yes, let's do it." I flail my hands excitedly and bounce on my toes for just a second. "Wait, I have to decide where I want it, right? Maybe my bicep? Or is somewhere else better for a first tattoo? How big should I get it? Oh, hold on, should we check on the cats first? They've been alone all day." I gasp, remembering what I was supposed to remember yesterday . "Oh, shit, I'm supposed to make a vet appointment for Porter to make sure the kittens are healthy."

Piston laughs and braces his hands on my shoulders. The gesture immediately stills my racing thoughts.

"One thing at a time," he says calmly.

I take a deep breath and nod. "I don't know which thought needs to be first though," I admit with a chuckle.

His smile is soft as he pushes my hair off my forehead and leans in closer to bump his nose against mine. Unfortunately, that does add a few more thoughts to the chaotic mix, but there's one that rises to the top.

"Hey, Piston?"

"Yeah, baby?" His tone is dripping with indulgent amusement.

"What were you going to say to me last night before my dad barged in? I thought maybe…" I swallow hard, realizing maybe it's rude to put him on the spot like that. Should I say it first? I wanted to yesterday. The only thing that stopped me was that Hero didn't know about us yet and that seemed wrong. But now everything is out in the open.

I love him.

I love him.

I love him.

"I love you, Milo," he says with so much certainty and peace that a giddy sound bubbles up in my throat.

"I love you too… Hey, I don't know your real name. It's not ‘Piston,' right?" I laugh again. "Oh my god, that is so me to fall in love with a dude without even knowing his name."

He nudges his nose against mine again, then presses a soft peck to my lips.

"It's Ewan."

I wrap my arms around his neck, our foreheads resting against each other, our breath mingling and our noses still bumping.

"I love you, Ewan ," I say.

The foundation of my life so far has been made of uncertainty and impulse, but loving Ewan is something completely different. It feels real and right and stable in a way nothing else has. It's funny to think that falling in love with a tattooed biker is the safest, smartest choice I've ever made, but it's not even a close call.

"Okay, how about this plan," he says once we manage to stop kissing. "We schedule your tattoo for two weeks from now so you can obsess about placement and I can draw an original version for you. For now, we go home, and you can call Porter to schedule that appointment while I start dinner."

I nod and kiss him one more time because I simply cannot get enough of this man. I mean, come on, how am I supposed to resist someone who sorts out my spiraling thoughts for me so easily? No judgment, just acceptance.

Piston is it for me. I've never been more sure about anything.