The Game That Breaks Us (Us 3)

She surprises me by nodding and not arguing with me.

“What are you getting today?” Drew asks.

“This.” I hand him a piece of paper where I sketched my idea. “I’m not the best artist so you can take that and make it better, but that’s it.”

Drew unfolds the paper and chuckles.

Grace looks at him in horror. “Is it bad? You have to tell me—this is permanent,” she adds like he doesn’t know.

Drew shakes his head. “It’s not bad. You’ll be fine.”

Grace sighs and nibbles on her bottom lip. I take the seat beside her while Drew makes my drawing better. It’s a simple design but it needed some improvement. Drew finishes and hands the paper back to me.

I grin. “It’s perfect.”

“Excellent.”

He goes to work putting it on the transfer paper. “Where do you want it?” he asks Grace.

She looks to me. “You pick.”

I’m surprised she’s giving me so much control, but I’m not about to argue with her.

“There.” I point to her wrist. Drew begins transferring the design to her skin and I warn, “No peeking.”

She lifts her eyes to mine. “Then come sit over here and hold my other hand.”

I chuckle and pull the other chair in the room over to her side. She turns away from Drew and holds her hand out to me. “Is this going to hurt?” She looks worried.

“It’s not that bad.” She looks doubtful. “Scout’s honor.” I lift my fingers.

“I think you’d have to have been a Boy Scout for that to mean anything.” She jumps when Drew moves away to grab the ink and tattoo needle.

I gasp. “I can’t believe you don’t think I could’ve been a Boy Scout.”

“Well, were you?” she asks with a raised brow.

“For like three years,” I admit. “Then I discovered hockey and girls.”

She snorts. “Of course.”

“You’re going to have to hold still,” Drew warns.

Grace holds on tight to my hand. “It won’t take long,” I tell her, trying to comfort her. “It’s small.” She nods. “Have you figured out what I’m going to get?”

“No. I’m too nervous to think.”

“Well you better hurry up and decide, sweetheart,” I say just as the needle pierces her skin.

She winces. “I thought you said this wouldn’t hurt?” she accuses.

I chuckle. “It doesn’t hurt that bad.”

“I’d beg to differ.”

“Wimp,” I joke.

She sticks her tongue out at me.