“No, don’t do that.” I don’t know why I stop him. This is becoming a regular occurrence where Aiden or Treyton is having to go and save him. I should just let him spend the night in jail and sober up—face the consequences. “One of us will be there in a minute.”
“Fine. Ten minutes, then I’m calling.”
I hang up the phone and walk back to Aiden’s booth first. “Sorry to interrupt. Malcolm just called... Dawson is...”
“I can’t go. I have to finish this. Can you ask Trey?”
I nod and walk down the hall to Treyton’s booth. I lose hope when I walk in and Trey is in the middle of a big back piece. There’s no way he’ll be able to go. “Hey, Malcolm called and said someone needs to come get Dawson before they call the cops.”
Trey stops the buzzing tattoo gun and looks up at me. “How is it up front? You busy?”
I shake my head. “No, but...”
“He’s harmless, Emily. He’d never hurt you. He’s just hard on himself and doesn’t know how to deal with his shit.”
I purse my lips together. I’m not sure what all that means or why he’s telling me that.
“Can you go and get him? Take him home?”
Reluctantly, I nod my head. “Yeah, I’ll be back later.”
“Don’t worry about it. We’ll lock up.”
I nod and go back up front to grab my purse. I drive down the block and park right in the front of the Whiskey Whistler. The place is rundown on the outside, and if it was my first time here, I’d be surprised by what I find inside. Everything is fancy. It’s like a big city bar instead of the small-town dive that it appears to be on the outside.
As soon as I walk in, I spot Malcolm, and he points his head toward the back of the bar. I walk to the back, and Dawson has a chair raised over his head like he’s about to throw it. “Dawson!” I scream over the loud music and chaos.
His head turns toward me, and he drops the chair instantly. I stomp my way over to him, and I don’t know if it’s all these weeks of dealing with his bullshit and attitude but I don’t stop until I’m right in front of him. I grab his shirt and pull him down until we’re face to face. “What the hell are you doing?”
I never in a gazillion years would have been prepared for his response. “Emily,” he says huskily, right before he puts his lips on mine. Push him away. Knee him in the nuts. All these thoughts go through my mind, but I don’t do any of them. No, instead I pull him closer and let him deepen the kiss. Damn, what have I gotten myself into?
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Happily Ever After
Trey and Katie’s HEA
Three Years Later
“Lane, TJ, dinner’s ready!” I call out to the backyard.
I hear the boys’ feet as they run across the back porch just as Trey walks in the dining room. “It looks like we’re a little late for dinner.”
I follow his gaze from where I’m standing in the kitchen and watch as he goes straight to where Ellie is sitting in her highchair. She’s only one year old, but already she has all the men in the house at her beck and call. She didn’t want to wait for everyone else and is feeding herself tiny noodles.
Lane and TJ come barreling in the back door toward the dining room. “Stop. Wash your hands first.”
They both grumble, but they do as they’re asked. Soon we’re all sitting around the dinner table eating.
“So tell me about your day,” I tell the boys. They’re used to our nightly ritual. It seems as the kids get older we’re busier and busier. Lane, who is eight years old now, takes art classes downtown, and I’m pretty sure he’s going to follow in Trey’s footsteps. He loves spending time at Savage Ink and watching him work.
TJ is two and a half now and is already taking swim lessons and doing his best to keep up with his big brother.
Both boys grumble around big bites of spaghetti, talking about the fish they caught down at the pond today. I try to hide my disgust when TJ goes into graphic detail about putting the worm on the hook.
“Okay, son, that’s enough. Let’s talk about it after we’re done eating,” Trey interrupts with a laugh.
TJ laughs because he knew exactly what he was doing with his story. He knows I don’t have a stomach for it. There’s no doubt he’s his father son. I look between the two and watch them smile conspiratorially at each other. Once Trey Junior was born, I had the DNA test done to show Trey that he is indeed his. Not that I needed to. Trey never doubted me, it seems, and even seemed offended when I handed him the envelope. I get lost in thought thinking about it. We were sitting in the living room when I handed it to him.