“I didn’t. I didn’t know about it at all.” She winces. “I didn’t draw this, Wren.”
I’m confused. “Who did?”
“Ryan drew it for another client.”
“Wait,” I say. Surely, she wasn’t going to give me a tattoo meant for someone else. “What?”
“Ryan drew it based on things Mick told him.”
My knees go weak and I sink into a nearby chair. “Mick did this.” Of course, Mick did this. The lyric is wrong in the tattoo. He made it read the way I sing it. The wrong way. I place my finger on the design and trace the heart and the words. No one else knows me well enough to come up with something like this. I look up. “Can I talk to Ryan really quickly?”
With a gleam in her eye, she says, “I don’t see why not. Go shake the curtain and see if he lets you in.”
With one hand on each of my shoulders, she spins me around and gives me a little shove toward the curtain. That’s when I notice that all the Reed brothers are watching, with goofy grins on their faces. Emily gives me a huge smile and a “go ahead” motion with her hand.
And suddenly, I know who Ryan’s client is. I don’t shake the curtain. I jerk it back. That was a dick move, because Ryan startles. Mick does too. Mick is sitting in the chair, and Ryan stands behind him with his tattoo machine pressed against Mick’s shoulder. Ryan lifts the machine and signs, “You’re right on time. We just finished.”
Mick has his shirt off and he looks up at me, confusion clouding his face.
“Wren?” he asks. “What are you doing here?” He looks back to see what Ryan is doing.
“When did you do this?” I hold up the piece of paper with the tattoo on it.
He heaves a sigh. “As soon as you told me you wanted one. I asked Ryan to draw it up for you.” He looks over my shoulder at Friday. “No offense, Friday.”
“None taken,” she calls back.
“I didn’t mean to run into you like this,” he says. “I wanted to…” He stops and shakes his head.
“You wanted to what?”
“I was going to get Ryan to give you the tattoo, so you wouldn’t have to see me.” He looks everywhere but at me, again.
“You think I don’t want to see you?” I ask.
“Do you want to see me?” he asks, his voice quiet.
“I sent you a message to tell you I miss you.”
He nods. It’s a quick, jerky movement.
“So, you got this tattooed on your shoulder?” I ask.
He nods. “I know the song is personal to you, but it’s personal to me now too. I’ll never look at another baby again without hearing you sing that song in my head. So, I figured, why not.”
“Well, it’s good someone is getting it,” I say.
“What?” he asks.
“I absolutely love it, but I can’t get it yet. Not until I find out.”
“Find out what?”
“Find out if I’m pregnant or not.”
Friday walks over and pulls Ryan from the room, and then closes the curtain behind him. He pretends to protest, but in the end, she threatens him with the heel of her shoe. He holds up his hands and walks backward out of the area.
“I didn’t take the pill,” I blurt out.