Irrevocably Mine (Imagine Ink Book 3) (7 page)

Then one day, Sam disappeared and took his little sunshine munchkin with her. Macy would be fifteen now. He often wondered what she looked like and if she thought of him fondly. Sam wasn’t a vindictive person, the Sam he thought he knew anyway, but he couldn’t help but wonder what she told his daughter about Daddy and why they went away.

Dax damn near went broke looking for them over the years, but found nothing. Not a single crumb or trail. Not until Andy put Chuck on the case. They picked up Sam’s scent a few months back in Wyoming, of all places, but she was already in the wind and there was no sign Macy had been with her.

Maybe that played into his genealogy obsession. He wanted to be able to tell his daughter all about where they originated, that she was descended of the larger-than-life Vikings and that he couldn’t find any genetic anomalies for her to worry about when she grew up and wanted to start her own family. But mostly, he just wanted to sing her to sleep and get drunk on her laughter.
Will she even know who I am or let me to sing to her if I find her now?

“Fuck!” Dax cursed as he threw the covers off and rose from the bed. Scrubbing his hands down his face, he paced, talking things out the whole time. Getting involved, or potentially involved, with Stacy brought a whole boatload of doubts, memories, and questions to the fore. For one, what would a commitment-phobe do if he brought a teenage daughter home? Would she bolt? John knew every detail about Sam and Macy; most of his friends did, but not Stacy. He never hid it, but a mention in passing here or there by him or another of the Reid clan wouldn’t dare do the situation justice.

The only reason he hadn’t launched into that particular story in detail was selfishness. He was afraid to spook her before she gave him a shot as more than just a friend, but now that this might actually happen, he needed to give her all the sordid details.
What if she doesn’t think I’m worthy like Sam obviously did, what will I do then?

That self-posed query was the number one reason he had not highlighted the details. She knew he had a not-quite-ex and a kid, but she never asked for more and he never elaborated.
Would she find him as inadequate as a partner and a potential father as Sam had?

Well, it was a question he had no choice but to seek the answer to, but damned if he wasn’t quaking in his boots.

Stacy was never far from his thoughts as he showered and hopped on his bike. The bike wasn’t his everyday mode of transport; he much preferred his classic rebuild. But today was a wind in your face kind of day and he had yet to fix the convertible top motor on the Camaro, so, his Panhead was up. On the ride to the shop, his mind toggled between Stacy and Macy.

He laughed out loud at a light, and the mini-van family in the next lane looked at him like he was deranged. He turned to the passenger and shouted over the engine, “They rhyme. They freaking rhyme.” As he shook his head, they not-so-subtly closed the window and stared at the red circle above them, willing it green.

Dax didn’t give two shits what they thought. He’d just had the best night of his life, Chuck was making progress, and he believed with all his heart that Stacy wanted all the things he did, he just needed to show her that she did.

Pulling up to his shop, Imagine Ink Tattoo Parlor, was always a satisfying experience. He built it with his bare hands, not just the building, but the business. Even with all his fancy-schmancy degrees, he chose to tattoo. There was something deeply personal about inking people that just drew him to the craft.

He parked next to Walker’s bike and made his way inside. With a deep inhale, a sense of rightness washed over him, just like it did every single time. The dude Walker was inking looked up with a nervous gaze. Dax was used to it. His presence was imposing, at best, but it never bothered him; he knew that as soon as people spent a few minutes with him, they relaxed and realized he wasn’t going to eat them.

“Well, well,” Walker looked up from the forearm he was working on, “look what the cat dragged in. Hey, I’ve been meaning to ask you, can I have your liver?”

Dax was puzzled. “What are you about, Dubya?”

Walker returned needle to skin and concentration to the tattoo, and answered Dax with a smartass attitude and a smirk, but Dax knew there was genuine concern there. “Just that I did a lot of drinking back in the day, probably on borrowed time with that organ.” The client’s sharp intake and widening eyes brought Walker to halt. “No worries, man, I gave that shit up. You’re in good hands.” Walker reassured his client, dipped the gun and continued, both the tattoo and the conversation. “Like I said, lots of drinking, and since we are the same blood type, not to mention honorary family, I was hoping you’d hook me up. Let me call dibs on it.” When Dax failed to grasp the concept, Walker continued.

“I mean,” Walker indicated towards Dax’s head, “no helmet, must be you’ve decided to be a fucking organ donor sooner rather than later. Just thought I could get one.” Walker stopped with his client and made hard eye contact with Dax. “What the fuck are you thinking, man? I know you can ride without one, legally speaking, but why the fuck would you? You are one of the smartest motherfuckers I know, and that’s saying something since I’m a fucking genius, but damn you’re fuc…holy shit, you got laid. And by the looks of it, it was…”

“Don’t,” Dax growled, looking toward the client, then back to Walker. “A little decorum and professionalism would go a long way right now.” Dax wasn’t usually one to shut down touchy-feely-bro-time, but he couldn’t let Walker finish that statement. Not only did they have a client, he was speaking about Stacy like she was a piece of ass and Dax couldn’t allow that.

Walker looked properly cowed. He wasn’t one to be unprofessional as a rule, so Dax knew he would rein it in. “Sorry, man,” he directed at Dax. He then apologized to his client and continued to ink until he was done. Dax had no delusions that the conversation was over; he’d just bought himself a few minutes. And he was on the money, the door hadn’t even settled into place before Walker was on him.

“Okay, man, spill. I can tell it wasn’t just a pump and dump. And if I’m not mistaken, that can only mean one person, am I right?” Dax gave a slight nod and continued to set up his station.

“Fuck,” Walker said with an air of amazement. “Does she know how you feel? I mean, she has never struck me as the settle-down type, so you must be something in the sack if you changed her mind so quickly.” Dax wanted to wipe that smug look off Walker’s face. This kind of talk was nothing new between them, they always teased and joked, but it felt different when it concerned Stacy.

Dax turned back to his station when a hand landed on his shoulder, paused his preparations. He let out a slow, deep breath, and addressed what he assumed was on Walker’s mind. “I know it’s not ideal, especially for you, man. You gotta live with the fallout from Erika, b…”

“Whoa, man, you just landed your dream girl, the last thing you should care about is me, besides, she told me Francis handed her and Tori their asses at the barbecue about that. Erika admitted she was wrong, which is historical, by the way. So, you can stop worrying about everyone else and focus on Stacy.” Walker moved back to stage his area and continued. “So, when’s the wedding?”

Turning his attention toward his brother from another, Dax leaned against the counter and crossed his arms over his chest. He really needed to work through it with someone, and since Walker was here and a damn good friend, Dax just let it all out. “Real funny, you know that’s not going to happen, especially not anytime soon. Besides, I don’t need a piece of paper or a white dress ceremony to make her mine. She cares for me, I can feel it deep down. I might even go as far as to say she does or can love me, but she pulls back on purpose. She’s terrified of losing herself to me and I know it has something to do with the asshole ex, but I don’t know what. How can I fight when I don’t know the enemy, so to speak? I can’t combat against the unknown.”

Dax was lost in thought, trying to work it out in his head, when he felt a slight slap against his chest. Looking down, he saw a sealed manila envelope and Walker holding it against him. Throwing a shocked look at Walker earned him an eye roll.

“Seriously, dude, did you think I didn’t know about this? I figured it out two seconds after you filed it away in that drawer of yours. As soon as you told me Chuck was on it but you never mentioned it again, I knew.” Dax accepted the folder but made his way back to its original location.

“Let me guess, you’re afraid of invading her privacy? Well, I can tell you from experience, not knowing, especially when the answers are right there, will kill you. I had the opportunity for months, and by the time I fucking grew a pair and just read the goddamned folder, I had already missed so much.”

Dax whirled around after re-filing the envelope. “That’s apples to oranges, my friend, and you know it. That information was provided for you willingly, this was not. You know Stacy, how do you think she would feel if I knew all the details? I can tell you for sure, it will not endear me to her.”

“I know, man, I just don’t want to see you lose her, especially now that you’ve made some headway. I can’t imagine you with someone else. Since the day I met her, I thought she’d be the one to fucking keep your big ass in check.”

Dax clapped him on the back. “Me too, brother, me too.”

T
alk
about a fucking day from Hell
, Stacy thought as she left the pizza joint with the boxes on the passenger seat, headed for Gus’ place. But then again, what did she expect after waking up on the wrong side of the bed. Well, not the wrong side, so much as the wrong fucking bed. She’d left Dax’s in the wee hours of the morning and headed home. The whole drive just felt wrong somehow. The few winks of shut eye she got at her own place only drove that point home. Why had she not stayed with Dax? Why not let him see her topless? Why not…just everything? If any man could be trusted with her heart, it was Dax.

Managing to get through her hearings, client meetings, and a paperwork marathon, was nothing short of a miracle. Her raging case of Mush Brain was at peak fever and she didn’t see a cure in the near future. This was the part that both thrilled her and terrified the pants off of her—getting lost in a man.
But is it really getting lost, if you know where you stand going in?
“Shut up,
Puppies
.” Her voice cut through the silence on the car.

While her mouth said shut up, every voice in her head spoke up at that time. They were deafening, arguing for and against a relationship with Dax. While intently listening in and nodding at points made and arguments deflected, she noted two things. One, she was in Gus’ drive, and two, she was a little fucked in the head apparently. Shutting down the engine, she grabbed the warm, white boxes. As she made her was to the door, she realized how bat crap crazy she truly was. “Who the fuck eavesdrops on the voices in her head as they have a heated debate? Crazy bitches, that’s who.”

“Excuse me?” Gus asked as she relieved Stacy of her burden. She hadn’t even realized she was on the porch or that Gus had opened the door until the pizza got lighter and Gus’ sweet voice cut off her own.

“Oh, nothing. Just talking to myself, you know how it is.” Gus turned and Stacy followed her in. The pregnant lady wasted no time shoving a slice in her face as soon as the boxes touched down on the marble. Catching an escaping piece of tofu with her hand, Gus’ face turned sheepish.

“Sorry, but I couldn’t wait,” Gus explained around a mouth full of pizza. Most people would look like asses with a mouth load of crust, but Gus wore the girl next door vibe well. You know the type, cute as fuck but friend zones every guy in the neighborhood, yet they all still want to hang out with her because she is cool as shit.

Gus stopped devouring pizza long enough to grab the paper towels and a couple of drinks—juice for her, beer for Stacy. She motioned to the couch and they moved their pizza party for two to the living room. Gus tucked one bare foot under her thigh and folded herself down onto the fabric with a groan, while sticking her other foot out onto the coffee table. Taking her cue from that, Stacy shed her suit jacket and shoes, tucking herself into the couch, too.

“Would you look at that?” Gus nodded to her foot on the table. “Barely preggers and my feet already look like cocktail weenies stitched to water balloons.”

Stacy choked on her pizza.

“Wow, you have a way with words.” Her unrelated descriptive combos rivaled Dax’s. At that thought, there was a moment of doubt that tried to worm its way into Stacy’s mind.
Maybe Gus is better suited for Dax.
But she shut it down, not just for her own designs, but for John’s.
Gus is perfect for John.
That is, if she proved she could love him with an intensity Stacy was sure her brother would the cute, little fairy lady by her side.

Gus shrugged her shoulders in a dismissive manner and spoke again as soon as she swallowed. “I call it like I see it, speaking of which…”

Here it comes
, Stacy thought, wondering if Gus would start off with John or Dax. Funny how Stacy was the one who initially wanted to talk to Gus about John and yet she clammed up as soon as she arrived. If the other person wants to talk, let ‘em. That’s her philosophy. You tend to get a more honest dialogue when you don’t make an effort to fill in the silence and let people just ramble on. If she wanted to know what Gus really thought of John, she would stuff pizza in her mouth during every lull and find out. Then, and only then, would she impart her wisdom on how to handle her brother if she thought Gus was sincere.