My hands were clammy.

I’d tried wiping them off on my pant legs multiple times, but every time I went back to gripping the steering wheel, it was nasty, sweaty hands all over again.

For a while after the accident, this had been my normal. Driving terrified me. Having Owen in the car made it worse. The therapist I’d seen for a while told me this was normal. It didn’t feel normal. Normal was getting into a car like millions of people did every day without thinking twice about it.

In time, I’d gotten closer to that true normalcy. I didn’t panic at being in a car anymore, even if it did set me on edge a bit.

Right then, it wasn’t the vehicle getting me all jumped up and nervous. It was where I was going.

Sailor’s Grave Tattoo Parlor.

It was something I’d wanted to do for a long time, since I was a teenager even. It was always something I’d just put on hold. At first, Joel and I were barely getting by. Scraping from paycheck to paycheck didn’t mean shelling out cash on tattoos. The only reason he had any when we were first living on our own was because I’d use any money saved for his birthdays, anniversaries, and Christmas to get him that. There just always seemed to be something else that took my attention.

I’d learned the lesson now that there was no sense in putting things off.

Still, it was impossible to shake the nerves.

After I parked, I sat there for a minute. I tried deep breaths, and counting, and focusing on the positive things. I pulled out every coping mechanism I’d learned, and still, the jittery feeling persisted. I couldn’t even explain why. I wasn’t afraid of getting a tattoo. I’d survived a hell of a lot worse than a needle, or even several high powered needles. I wasn’t afraid of regretting the decision. And aside from all of that, this was just the consultation. I was told there might be a chance to start it, or I might be walking out with only an appointment to get the thing done.

I was just anxious, and there was nothing more infuriating in the world than feeling that way for no reason at all.

“This is your fault,” I muttered.

Joel didn’t respond. Obviously.

“I could handle anything until you started taking everything on for me. Now I’m weak without you.”

That wasn’t fair. Joel had only ever loved me and tried to give me the world. But a lot was unfair.

Too much.

The shitty things I said to my dead husband that couldn’t hear me didn’t really matter by comparison.

It took another few minutes to get myself out of the car and inside. I’d never been to Sailor’s Grave. It was owned by one of Daz’s club brothers, Sketch. Of the Disciples, I knew Sketch quite well since he and his wife, Ash, had two kids of their own. I watched Emmy and Eva a lot, and they took Owen for me now and then. I really should have just talked to him about getting this done, rather than calling and making an appointment.

Jess, who looked as fabulous as she always did, got to her feet as soon as I walked in, coming around the desk to give me a hug.

“Hey, hun. I’m so excited you’re here doing this.”

Her enthusiasm helped me push down the hesitation.

I watched as she strutted—because she always did in the heels she wore—back around the desk to grab something, then came back to my side with a large tablet in hand.

“So, since you wanted American Traditional, we’ve got more than one expert around here. I went to Sketch first, but he insisted on having each of the guys that typically do that style to draw something up.”

Of course he did. I should probably apologize or insist I didn’t mean to be a bother, but I knew it would fall on deaf ears. The only thing Sketch took as seriously as family—which I was, in my own way—was tattooing.

With a couple taps, Jess had a drawing of a gypsy accented with roses filling the screen. It was a classic tattoo, and it looked fantastic.

“Wow.”

“They’re all sickeningly talented, aren’t they?” she muttered before swiping over.

The moment the second image filled the screen, my breath escaped me. That was it. Absolutely, beyond any doubt. Her features, the pose, the intricacy of the scarves around her head, even the colors were right. It was like the image had been taken from my mind and brought to life.

I was so caught up in looking at it that I nearly jumped when Jess swiped again.

“And, the last one,” she said as she did.

Again, what I was looking at was fantastic, but there was no doubt in my mind.

“The second one,” I told her immediately.

She brought the image back up, and seeing it again only solidified my resolve. This was it. It was this design or nothing.

“He really nailed it, didn’t he?” Jess muttered to herself.

“It’s perfect.”

I couldn’t even look away. The nerves I’d been feeling were long gone. This was exactly what I wanted. I’d get it right that second if I could.

“Thanks, gorgeous.” I heard, and my lungs seized for the second time since I’d been in there.

Liam.

He was right there, leaning casually against the desk. He had a sucker in his mouth, the stick coming from the corner. It should have looked ridiculous, but it made his lips and the dimple stand out. Both tattooed arms were on full display with the t-shirt he was wearing, and his long hair was pulled back. I’d never seen it that way. He must just do it when he was working.

I took in all of this, but only passingly. Most of my focus was on the fact that he’d just thanked me for…

“Looks like yours is the winner,” Jess told him.

“Pretty sure I heard ‘perfect,’” Liam shot back on a grin.

Locking the tablet screen with a huff, Jess reached over, grasping a clear wrapper from the top of the desk.

“First, you aren’t perfect, you cocky ass. Second, those are for the customers. Third, don’t leave your garbage on my desk.”

Liam kept right on grinning. “She loves me, really.”

Wait. Were they together?

I’d never seen them that type of close. Not that I saw them a lot. Or paid attention.

Lies.

No, go away, Joel.

They’d be quite the couple though. All those tattoos, her accentuated femininity playing off his rough masculinity. Though, Jess would look fantastic paired off with anyone—not that Liam wouldn’t. It was hard not to wonder why she wasn’t gracing car magazine covers instead of working here.

My gaze dropped to my yoga pants on its own accord. There was a stain on one leg. I hadn’t noticed that when I got dressed, but it wasn’t surprising when Owen had been causing a stink about wanting pancakes for breakfast when we had to leave in fifteen minutes. Then, it had been that the socks were too tight on his feet. Not to mention the battle to get his teeth brushed.

Oh yeah, I was a mom all right.

Joel would have liked it. He always did when I wore yoga pants.

“I fucking love this ass.”

I shook my head a bit, focusing back on everything around me to find Liam’s eyes on me. I looked to Jess and found she was bent over, reaching across the desk for something. It was quite a view, and I didn’t swing that way. How I had his attention over that, I couldn’t begin to understand.

After a long moment of me avoiding his gaze—but not staring at Jess’s ass, because that would be weird—I saw from the corner of my vision as Liam moved. He grabbed the tablet from Jess, unlocking onto the tattoo he’d drawn up for me.

“Is there anything on it you want to adjust?” he asked, coming to stand close enough to me to feel the warmth of him. He didn’t touch me, but somehow it felt more intense than if he had.

Focusing in on the image was easy. Avoidance was my middle name these days. Ignoring the emotion seeing the tattoo I’d been thinking of for years brought to life, that was much harder.

“No,” I responded. “No, it’s perfect like that.”

I expected him to jump on me using the word “perfect” again, but he didn’t. There was an actual weight to his focus on me as he responded, “Good.”

It wasn’t flippant or dismissive, a response showing he didn’t want to make adjustments. It wasn’t even the gracious response I’d give at the bakery. It was sincere. Like he was truly glad he’d nailed the design for me on the first go.

“If you don’t have anywhere to be, we can start on it now.”

And that was the first moment I realized that this didn’t just mean Liam had been the one to design my perfect tattoo—he’d also have to be the one to give it to me.