Sam and Pete are walking behind us with their heads pushed together, talking softly. When they do that, there’s usually trouble brewing. “What are you two up to?” Paul barks. Their heads snap apart, and they try not to look guilty. They’re terrible at it, though.

“Nothing,” they say in unison.

Paul narrows his eyes at them. “I don’t believe you.”

They look at him sheepishly.

“I don’t believe you either,” I say.

“I think I liked you better when you didn’t speak,” Pete says. Then he grins.

I flip him the bird and he flies at me, jumping on my back. He bounces up and down, and leans over my shoulder so I can see his lips. “My feet are cold,” he says, batting his golden lashes at me. “You should carry me the rest of the way.”

He’s latched onto me like a koala. And he’s f**king heavy. It’s like carrying a load of bricks. But I hitch him up higher and start walking.

Sam turns his back to Kit and bends down. “You look tired, Kit,” he says. “Want a ride?” He waggles his brows at her. She laughs, and jumps onto his back.

“I’m not sure I got the good end of this deal,” I croak, as we all walk along together.

I can’t help but wish Matt were here. I miss the gentle giant already.

***

I’ve been working on this tat for weeks. It’s a huge bald eagle that goes from shoulder blade to shoulder blade. Not to mention that it’s on a really big guy. I drew the outline, and then I started shading it last week. I need to finish it today. It’s a five hundred dollar tat, and we could use the money. Particularly now.

I settle down to work on it, and Kit watches over my shoulder for a few minutes. But then she goes to the front of the store to sit down with Friday and Paul. Paul is updating Friday on Matt’s condition. Friday adores Matt; if there’s one of us she hangs with the most, it’s him. She wipes a tear from her eye.

I can read her lips from there. “What are the odds that he gets accepted in that trial? It’s so strange,” she says. I can’t see what Paul says in response.

Kit ambles up to the front of the store and says something to Paul. He looks shocked for a minute and then he pulls her forearm down to look at it. She’s not hurt, is she? I move to set my gun to the side, but she looks over her shoulder and smiles at me. She’s fine. Paul motions for her to follow him and he takes her behind a curtain. I see his lips when he says, “Keep him out of there,” to Friday. Keep who out of where? Then he pulls a curtain around the two of them to separate them from us and I have to put the gun down. I start in that direction. Friday gets between me and them. “She’s just getting a tat,” she says, turning me around.

“What kind of tat?”

“A tiny little butterfly or something equally as cute. Maybe a Disney princess. She hadn’t decided yet.” She rolls her eyes. Friday has skulls and crossbones, and turtles, and all sorts of weird shit all over her body.

“I want to help her pick something,” I say, trying to push past Friday.

“Stop,” she says. “She wants to surprise you.”

I run a frustrated hand through my hair.

“Tats mean different things to different people,” Friday says. “This means a lot to her and she should be the one to decide what she gets.”

I already know this, but I want to be involved. Damn it.

“You don’t trust Paul to take care of her?” Friday asks, her brows crashing together.

Of course I trust him. “But this is my girl,” I say. I know I sound like a baby. But there it is.

She pats me on the arm. “Suck it up, buttercup,” she says. Then she narrows her eyes at me. “Wait a minute! When did you start talking?”

My face flushes with heat. “Don’t get used to it,” I grumble. “I may never talk to you again.”

“I could only be so lucky,” Friday says, rolling her eyes. But she jumps up onto her tiptoes and hugs me tightly. “I’m so happy for you,” she says.

I can’t figure out what she’s talking about. Kit? Me? Our relationship? My talking? I brush her off when the guy I was working on starts waving his arms from the back of the shop. I have a lot of work to do. So, I had better get busy.

An hour later, Kit comes out from behind the curtain with Paul. She’s smiling, and her forearm is covered with a large bandage. She walks over to me. I finished my tat ten minutes ago and have just been waiting for her. “You’re going to wear a hole in the carpet,” Kit teases.

Paul walks out behind her. He’s smiling, but he won’t meet my eyes.

“What did you put on her?” I ask.

He scowls at me and says, “Shut up.” He points to a sign on the wall that says, “Tattoos are as individual as the people who get them” Then he points to another that says, “One man’s ink is another man’s purpose in life.” Then he points to a third. “We do not tattoo drunk clients.” Then he points to a roll of duct tape below a sign that says, “Keep whining and I’ll use it.”

“You are not amusing,” I say.

Kit falls into my side and wraps her arms around me.

“What did you get?” I ask.

She looks into my eyes. “Something that will keep me from ever forgetting you and what you mean to me.”

“It’s about me?” My heart lurches and my breath catches and I suddenly can’t think.

She smiles and she nods. “It’s about you.”

“Can I see it?” I’m dying here.

She shakes her head. “Not today.”

“When?” Still f**king dying here.

She shrugs and she suddenly looks sad.

“What’s wrong?” I ask, tipping her face up to mine.

She reaches into her pocket and pulls out a folded piece of paper. She hands it to me. Her face flushes with heat.

“Is this the tattoo?” I ask.

She shakes her head. “No.”

I open it slowly.

MY NAME IS EMILY.

Emily

My heart is pounding so loudly that I can hear it. Logan opens the piece of paper and he freezes. He looks down at it for a long time, longer than I expected. I try to take it back from him. He jerks it away. Then he takes my hand and pulls me from the shop. I don’t get a chance to say goodbye to Paul or Friday. I don’t even get my feet under me before he’s tugging me down the street.

“Wait,” I call. But he can’t hear me. His gaze is fixed on his route to wherever he’s taking me. I tap his shoulder. He doesn’t stop. He just pulls me through the crowd. I dig my heels in and stop. He turns to me and reaches for my hand again. I’m afraid he’s going to toss me over his shoulder one last time. But I want this to be my choice. I want this to be our choice, together. “Wait,” I say, framing his face with my hands. He looks down at me. “Why the rush?”

“Because I want you so f**king bad that I hurt, you silly woman.” He makes me smile. He’ll probably never call me a dummy again, but I do realize that it’s a term of endearment with him, and not a set-down.

“I want you too,” I admit.

He looks down at the piece of paper that’s in his hand. “You trust me,” he says.

I nod.

“Can we go to the apartment and talk?” he asks. “I promise not to molest you the minute we walk in the door. We have some things that need to be said.”

Yes, we do. I nod.

He takes my hand in his and raises it to his lips to kiss my knuckles. He walks a little slower this time. He points to my arm. “What did you get?”

I smile. I’m not telling him. It’s for me. It’s for me to take with me when I go. It’s a piece of him. Of all of them really. It’s mine. And I’m not sharing it. Not right now.

“Come on,” he cajoles.

I shake my head. “Not happening.”

He looks crestfallen for a moment. But then we reach his apartment complex and we run up the stairs side by side. He’s barely winded.

We step into the empty apartment. No one is there.

“Can you believe that they admitted Matt into the trial program?” he asks as he walks toward the bedroom.

“Amazing, isn’t it?”

“So f**king amazing,” he says. He’s giddy about it and I love the way he wears his heart on his sleeve.

I don’t want to talk about Matt because I’m afraid I’ll break down crying and tell him what I did. Tell him what I committed to in order to give Matt a chance, in order to be sure Logan’s world stays complete and full with all his brothers. “I’m so glad he’s going to get a chance,” I say. My voice clogs in my throat and I’m glad Logan can’t hear it.

He picks up on my feelings, though, because he walks across the room and brackets my face with his fingers. “I’m sorry you were the one here when he got sick.”

I’m not. Not at all. I’m so glad I was here. I’m glad I could help. In more ways than one. “I am glad I was here. Wouldn’t trade the time I spent with his head on my lap for anything.” I can’t bite back my grin.

“I love you so f**king much,” he says. Then he bends his head and kisses me. His lips are soft, but urgent.

Tears well in my eyes, because I know this is our last day together. “I need to take a shower,” I say, stalling. I need a moment to compose myself. Not to mention that we spent the night at the hospital. I need to get cleaned up.

He nods and points at my arm. Shoot. I have a new tattoo and a bandage. “You can get it wet if you take the bandage off,” he says.

I don’t want to take the bandage off. “Can we just wrap it up?”

“Why don’t you want me to see it?” He’s looking deep into my eyes. I can’t explain it to him.

He heaves a sigh and comes back with some plastic wrap and some waterproof tape. He wraps my arm and says, “There. That’ll keep it completely dry.”

I’m not worried about getting it wet. I’m worried about the bandage falling off. “Thank you,” I say. I kiss him quickly. “I’ll be out in a few minutes.”

I take off my clothes and step into the shower. Warm water sluices over me and I realize that the fear in my heart has been replaced by longing. I was afraid to love Logan. Now I long to love Logan. And I do. And always will. But I have to give him up to protect something precious to him. I know that. I don’t have a choice. The warm water steams over my back, and I lean both forearms against the wall, trying to compose myself. Tears track down my face, melding with the water. There’s a draft and I feel the curtain move behind me.

I jump when Logan steps into the bath with me. His body envelopes mine, completely na**d. “Logan!” I screech.

A warm chuckle makes his chest move against my back. “I don’t want to be away from you,” he says, pushing my wet hair to the side so he can press his lips to my na**d shoulder.

Logan takes my washcloth from my hands and gets it soapy. Then he drags it down my spine, slowly, ever so slowly. My breath catches in my throat when he abandons the washcloth and runs his soapy hands over my bottom, squeezing my butt cheeks in his gentle grip. He doesn’t leave a spot unwashed, his hands finding every crevice and dip, all the way down the backs of my legs, across the backs of my knees, which I had no idea were so ticklish, and over the heels of my feet. I stand there with my eyes closed, unable to look at him. He stands back up and lathers the soap in his palms again. This time, he doesn’t take the washcloth at all. He uses his fingers to skim my body. His fingers tickle all the way down my left arm, all the way to my fingertips. Strong fingers lace with mine and he gives me a squeeze before he turns me to face him.

I keep my eyes closed. I am overwhelmed by what he’s doing to me. If I look into his eyes, I don’t know what will happen right now. I might combust. I might shatter. I might break. I can feel his smile against my shoulder as he presses his lips there. I hear him chuckle. My eyes fly open.

His hair is wet and he’s dripping with water. I lean forward and lick his chest. He groans, freezing. “Logan.” He looks up at me and stills.

“Did you say something?” he asks.

“I don’t know,” I say. Laughter breaks from my throat. “I can’t even think. You want me to repeat myself?”

“I felt you say something,” he says. He grins. “I just wanted to be sure you’re all right.”

I lay my head back against the wall. I’ll never be all right again. He rubs his soapy hands over my belly, and then his fingers dip lower. I reach for his shoulders.

He picks up the wash cloth again, and gets it sudsy. He washes my most intimate places, until I’m squirming and flinching.

“I think I’m clean,” I say with a laugh. I can’t take much more.

Logan stands up and kisses me. “I want to be inside you so bad,” he says. He pushes me under the spray to get my hair wet, and then washes my hair, rinsing it gently. “Your hair is growing out,” he says. “Is it blond?”

I nod. “Not platinum. But a dark blond color.”

“I’d like to see you like that,” he says. “Maybe someday.” He smiles and kisses me. He moves me to the side and starts to wash his own body, his movements quick and efficient.

“Let me help you,” I say, reaching to take the soap from him.

“If you touch me right now, this will be over,” he warns with a chuckle.

My belly flips. “Oh.”

He chuckles. “Just stand there and watch,” he says.