The Game That Breaks Us (Us 3)

It doesn’t take Drew long to finish her tattoo.

“You’re not allowed to look at it until I get mine,” I tell her. “Then we’ll see them together.”

She nods. “That seems fair.”

“Does that mean you’ve decided what I’m getting?”

She grins like the cat that ate the damn canary and now I’m worried. “Yep.”

We switch places and she whispers to Drew what he’s supposed to give me. “Where do you want me to put it?” he asks her.

“I’d say his ass just because but that’s too mean for even me.” She winks at me. “How about the same spot you did mine?”

“I can do that,” Drew says, messing around at his station.

“Are you going to come hold my hand?” I pout and hold out my hand to her.

She laughs. “Aw, is the baby worried it’ll hurt?”

I look at my other tattoos. “Nah, I just want my girl to sit here with me.”

Her eyes flare at the my girl comment and she perches her cute ass on the chair I was sitting in a few minutes ago. She slides her hand into mine and her eyes linger on my face like she’s searching for answers there.

Drew sketches out my tattoo and gets her approval.

She grins at the drawing. “It’s perfect.”

“Now I’m scared.” I chuckle, rubbing my face nervously with my free hand before Drew starts.

“Don’t be,” she tells me. “You trust me, right?” she throws my words back at me.

“Yes,” I answer, and I do. I surprisingly do. I don’t trust many people—I’ve been screwed over a lot—but Grace is someone I know would never do me harm.

I can feel Drew outlining the tattoo but I still can’t figure out what it is. He shades it in and Grace smiles as she watches. I look away, even though I want to peek. Grace didn’t look at hers so I owe it to her to do the same until the big reveal.

Drew finishes and says, “Are you ready to see?”

“Fuck yes,” I blurt.

Grace laughs. “You and your dirty mouth.”

“Ready, Princess?” I ask her.

“You bet.”

“We’ll close our eyes while Drew uncovers yours,” I tell her, “and then when he says ready, we’ll look, okay?”

“Okay,” she agrees.

We close our eyes and Drew removes the bandage from Grace’s.

“One, two, three,” Drew counts. “You can look now.”

Grace and I both hold out our arms and look at the tattoos on our wrists.

I bust out laughing. “Good one, Princess.” A red Sour Patch Kid is tattooed on my wrist. It’s silly, but it’s me, and every time I look at it I’ll be reminded of Grace and that trip to Target. “This is perfect,” I tell her. Grace is quiet, though, and I worry that she’s mad about my choice. I bend, trying to see her face. She looks like she’s close to tears. “Grace?” I prompt. She says nothing. “Fuck,” I curse. “You hate it.” She shakes her head. “You don’t hate it, then?” A nod. “Fuck, sweetheart, talk to me,” I beg. Her silence worries me.

“I hate that stupid nickname but this is … it’s perfect.” She smiles wistfully at the small crown-shaped tattoo.