One Night of Trouble

His throat burned. “I’m not angry with you.”


“Yes, you are.” Tom stood up with a shrug. “But that’s okay. We’re willing to work hard for your forgiveness.”

“And we’re dying to get to know our son,” Karen said firmly.

His dad nodded in agreement. “Starting now. If you’d do us the honor, we would love a tour of this nightclub of yours.”

AJ’s heart expanded like a balloon as he stared at their earnest faces. Christ. They meant every word. The sincerity was in their eyes, their voices, their postures. And for the first time in his life, he got the feeling his parents were looking at him—and actually seeing him.

But as incredibly thrilling as that was, he knew he was about to let them down again.

“I’d love to—but it’ll have to be another night. Right now I have to find someone and grovel for forgiveness.”

To his surprise, his parents smiled.

“Groveling can be very rewarding,” his father said helpfully, the corners of his mouth crinkling with amusement. “Just ask your mom. God knows she’s made me grovel hundreds of times over the years.”

“It’s true,” she confirmed. “And your father happens to grovel very well.” She paused in thought. “Maybe Reed and Darcy can give us the tour instead. Reed is around here somewhere, right? I haven’t seen that boy in years.”

Wonders never ceased—because it was the first time he’d ever heard his mother say Reed’s name without following it up with a disparaging remark.

Well…shit. Maybe they really were willing to make a change.

“Sure, let’s go track him down, and then I’ll head out.” He took a step to the door, then stopped to shoot his dad a mischievous smile. “Hey, Dad? Just a heads-up…I’ve never liked football all that much.”

The older man growled. “Oh, hell no, Adam. That’s just blasphemy.”

AJ shrugged and grinned.

“No matter. You’ll just have to pop by every Sunday come September and I’m sure we can twist your arm into liking it.”

He cocked a defiant brow. “And if I don’t?”

His father offered a shrug and grin of his own. “Then we’ll just watch baseball instead.”





Chapter Eighteen


She missed being AJ Walsh’s girlfriend.

She really, really, really missed it.

So much that Brett still couldn’t believe she was the one who’d ended it. But no matter how miserable she’d been these past four days, she wouldn’t allow herself to cave. She’d meant every word she’d said—she couldn’t be with him until he accepted who he was. No, until he embraced it.

Because if he didn’t, he’d just keep living his life as two people. The man he was with her, wild and free and wonderful, and the man who struggled to follow in a dead boy’s footsteps.

“Hey, princess, I’m taking off now.”

She lifted her head at the sound of her father’s voice. “Now?” she echoed, puzzled.

The grand opening of Conlon Ink North was three days away, and she and her dad had been slaving away to get the new studio ready for the public. Construction had finished, staff had been hired, ads had been booked, and word of mouth had spread. The shop was clean and sparkly and almost ready to open its doors, but Brett refused to let a single client walk into her tattoo parlor until every t had been crossed and every i had been dotted. Her brothers had teased her about being a perfectionist, but she couldn’t help it. She was in charge now, and she wouldn’t allow a single snag or hiccup.

“I thought we were supposed to go through the flash binders and take out all the outdated designs,” she said accusingly.

“We’ll do it tomorrow morning.” Shrugging, her father ran a hand through his unruly beard. “I’ll lock up when I leave so no one bothers you during the interview.”

“What interview?”

“Oh, didn’t I tell you? We’ve got one more applicant to see. He’s waiting in the lobby. I’ll send him in before I go.”

There was someone else in the shop with them? Jeez, she really was out of it. For the past hour she’d been in the back pouring over stacks and stacks of flash—premade custom designs—and she hadn’t even heard the front bell go off.

“Wait—what am I interviewing him for?” she exclaimed as her father made for the door.

“You’ll figure it out.”

The cryptic response only freaked her out more. So far, her father had sat in on every interview she’d conducted, and now he wanted her to do a solo one?

You’ll be fine.