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“Somehow, this doesn’t help.”
I look at her tattoo, seeing that it’s a woman with dark, curly hair with a baby in a wrap in front of an easel. The colors are vibrant, and I’m in awe at the details. “Did Arran do this?” I ask.
“He did. I was all twisted out of joint after my date with Draven. It was a really good night, and I wasn’t expecting that.”
“Do you have any idea how alike you two are?” I ask, hiding a smile. “He’s the quieter one between the three of us, but also the one who is constantly observing. He also has a hard fucking time sitting still. Dear god.”
“Yeah?”
“Yep. His fingers are always twitching, his brain is always going a mile a minute. I think he's got ADD and no one ever caught it. Anyway, please continue.”
“The parallels between us made me unsettled,” she says. “Pain evens me out, but I obviously wasn’t going to cut. I asked Arran for a tattoo.”
“He did it while you were spiraling out? I have this odd feeling the daddy in him wouldn’t let that happen.”
“What?” she asks, her brows tightening.
“Oh yeah. Arran is very much a caring, dominant type. Am I wrong?”
“No, you’re not,” she sighs. “He didn’t do the tattoo that day, but the day after. We… figured something else out.”
“Uh-huh. Care to elaborate?” I have this very distinct feeling that he spanked her until she stopped feeling out of control. The more I talk to her, the more it makes sense.
Ciaran, Draven, and I don’t fit into her perfectly crafted, fake world. Her life is going to continue to feel uncomfortable until she comes to terms with that. However, that’s not up to me to tell her.
“Nope. That’s all you get.”
“Alright. I want to skate some more, and then I want to feed you. We have a three date agreement, can I amend that?”
“How?” Noor asks suspiciously.
“You said that you don’t know if Zayn is safe with us. I understand that, but dating us doesn’t necessarily tell you much. Did Draven tell you we all regularly volunteer with kids?”
Noor bobs her head, her lips pursed as she watches me. I want to kick my own ass so fucking badly.
“Can we teach him how to skate? We’re professional hockey players. Is he interested at all in hockey?” I ask.
“He loves art,” she says almost apologetically. “He loves to be outside and run around, but he’s six. I haven’t gotten him out on the ice yet though. Ignacio taught him how to ride a bike over the summer. Running is a no go for me, and it’s something I’ve really wanted to do but couldn’t. Swimming is something I struggle with, so I put him in swimming classes. Athletic shit is kind of beyond me.”
Ugh. I missed that. There’s a lot of things I’ve missed, but I can’t dwell on it or I’ll crash out.
“He’s definitely yours,” I murmur. “I don’t have an artistic bone in my body. We have art on our walls because it’s pretty and it reminds us of you. Outside of that… We’re kind of a lost cause.”
“You have art?” she asks. Noor bites her lips and I nod. Is that weird?
“They’re gorgeous pieces. Anyway, skating? Could we work out six months of classes?”
“How would that even work? Six months is too much. Let’s start with six weeks,” she replies.
“We’ll figure it out,” I say, helping her hop down. “You can draw up a contract, and we’ll adhere to it. We’ll show you we can care for precious things. Put everything in it that you want, no matter how silly anyone else might think. We’ll follow it. If you want us to sing when he falls, or clap, whatever.”
“That’s ridiculous,” she mumbles.
“And that’s why I want you to do it. Now,” I say, taking her hand, “pretend we’re on a first date.”
“Another first?” she asks.
“Yeah, baby. I’m still collecting.”
