Page 125 of Renegade Rift
Mercer’s face pales.
Shit.
Abort mission.
I should have just stuck with being a pushy asshole. At least I know how to do that with confidence.
Mercer gives me a sidelong glance. “Dax told you?”
Told me what?
“He said you showed up at his shop. That’s it. Seemed worried about you and wanted you to know he’s got a standing appointment for you whenever you’re ready.”
“Oh.”
And because I can’t fucking help myself, I ask, “Is there more?”
“No,” Mercer snaps, confirming there’s definitely something more to whatever happened. “It was a dumb idea. I don’t need a tattoo to remind me who I am.”
“You sure?” I tease. “We could go get one tonight?”
Mercer lets a full belly laugh rip for the first time since he’s been back, and for a split second, it’s like old times. Me and Mercer. Giving each other shit. Holding each other up.
Damn, I missed this.
It takes a moment, but Mercer finally gets ahold of himself. “You faint when we have to get flu shots. There’s no way you’re getting a tattoo.”
I blow him a kiss and bat my eyelashes. “For you I’d try.”
And just like that, we’re back in safe waters.
“I appreciate the sentiment, but I think I’m good on tattoo shops for now.”
I don’t miss the way he said shops and not tattoos specifically, but don't point it out. He and Dax are hiding something for sure. But for now, I’ll let him keep his secrets. I want Mercer to stick around.
“Enough about me. Where’s this Juliet you haven’t shut up about the last few weeks?” He looks left and right like she’s going to pop up out of nowhere. “I half expected to show up and find you wife’d up with a baby on the way.”
Isn’t that the dream?
“She’s back at the?—”
“Ford,” Soph cuts in, her tone serious and void of any hint of the playful drunk I just left.
“Is everything okay?” I ask, even though I know by the fear filled look in her eyes whatever she says next is likely going to wreck my world.
But instead of saying anything, she thrusts her phone into my hand.
For a second, the only thing I’m sure of is I’m looking atThe Foul Linewebsite—aka the trashy sports blog we all hate. I’ve never put much stock into what they have to say, since they’ve usually got it wrong, or twist headlines to get clicks.
Then my eyes land on the main photo.
It’s not the best picture, but it’s clearly me in the clubhouse with my hands tangled in Juliet’s hair. The headline reads:
Ford McCoy’s New Girl?
Or Stepbrothers Leftovers?
Fuck.
