“You didn’t see my mom lying there in that hospital bed, Booth. Knowing he did that to her made me snap. I almost did something I’d have never come back from. Something that would’ve made me no better than him. I’m not worthy of owning that word yet, not as long as I still feel that rage. I’ll move heaven and earth to protect Zoe, to bring her home, but I just can’t say it when it feels like I’m still fucking cursed with that bastard’s blood.”
Alyssa comes back on the tail end of my speech and says, “What word? Hope you don’t mean you’re backing out.” She holds up a sheet of transfer paper with the name exactly how I envisioned it.
“He means the F-word, and not the four-letter one,” Booth says.
Alyssa’s sharp gaze flicks to the transfer, then she nods as if she’s made the connection. “Ah, that F-word.” She positions my arm to press it where I’d indicated, then gives me an inquiring look. “That what you want?”
I nod, then lie flat on the cushioned table at her direction.
As she starts setting up her machine and ink cups, she says, “The best thing my dad ever did for me was just being there when I needed him. He was strict, but he always let me have the space I needed to become whatever I was meant to be. I don’t intend to have kids, but I might change my mind if I find a man I respect as much as him. Believe it or not, they’re hard to come by.”
She gets to work, and the first stinging bite of needles digs into my skin. Adrenaline floods me, and I close my eyes to enjoy the rush before it eases back. It’s been too long since I’ve done this. But it’s not a large tattoo, so in less than half an hour, I’m staring down at Zoe’s name on my arm.
I take a deep breath. I still can’t even say the word in my head. She was only ever supposed to know me as her Uncle Mason. That arrangement was ideal, because I knew Rafael and Emilia would make amazing parents, and I wouldn’t have to be more than the girl’s protector if she needed one. I could keep my distance, but still be part of her life.
But I will have to figure out how to be the man she needs, and this tattoo is the first step toward becoming him.
I tear my eyes away from the tattoo and look at Booth. “It’s a deal. When this is over. If I’m there—and I sure fucking hope I am—then it’s your turn. But that’s the end of that subject. We need to have a talk about this self-imposed celibacy of yours. Alyssa, you single?”
The curvy tattooist snorts and raises both eyebrows, looking between us as she reaches for a roll of plastic wrap to cover my tattoo. “You two are some impressive specimens, I’ll give you that, but I think I’ve heard way too much information to sign on. You guys sound complicated, and I don’t do complicated right now. I wish you all the best, though.”
She pats us both on the shoulders. I hand her the cash for payment, then we say goodbye and head back out into the cold.
“I can take care of my own sex life, you know,” Booth says, steering us across the street.
I shrug. “I figure we have time to kill. May as well enjoy ourselves.” Though I don’t think any woman would measure up to the doc.
“Are you sure this quest isn’t for your own benefit? It’s been a while for you too, hasn’t it?”
“This isn’t about me anymore, dude, remember? Just keep an open mind this week, okay?”
What he thinks he knows is that I haven’t had sex since the night Zoe was conceived. I’m not sure I want to disabuse him of that idea, either. The reminder sends me inward, though, where I’ve been far too often lately thanks to all the down-time on this trip.
It would have been enough to befriend Rafael as it was. We bonded over our love of classic cars and the restoration I offered to help him with. It took the better part of a year to fix up the old Mustang, during which I spent the bulk of my free time effectively working him to get closer, to gain trust. I’ve always been good at earning people’s trust. I’m a friendly guy; it comes easy.
It helped that I genuinely enjoyed his company, as well as his wife’s. He had the same level of loyalty as my brothers for the men he worked with. As Zavala’s head of security, he gave a shit about the men he commanded in a way Zavala never would. Rafael served as a bulwark between us and our brutal boss, and in our free time he confided hopes and dreams to me. One of which was to be a dad.
I knew he and Emilia had been trying for several months. Then one day Rafael was in a foul mood during our circuit of Zavala’s properties in Mexico City, snapping at the men and generally being more of a hard-ass than we were used to. Later that night I finally pressed him and got him to admit that he’d learned the day before that he was infertile.
It made him feel like less of a man, he said, that he couldn’t give his beautiful, artistic wife the baby she wanted. I remember handing him another beer and telling him fatherhood was overrated anyway, that too many kids grow up hating their dads, so why would he risk that?
He would have done anything for Emilia, though, which
