date tonight, you should probably stop smiling every time you make eye contact with that guy.” Kane was proud he kept a grin off his face when his father’s expression went from thoughtful to confused. “You’re an attractive guy. And the smiling isn’t helping.”
“You’re insane, son. I’ve got to be at least twenty-five years older than that boy.”
“Yeah, Da, that’s a thing.” Kane patted his father’s broad back. “And it’s probably not helping that you’re calling me son. Flash your wedding ring at him. That’ll either help or seal the deal.”
“Yer more like yer mother every day.” Donal gave him a light push toward the stall at the far end of the shop. “Let’s see what yer brother is up to. And keep your mouth shut to yer mum about the young man. She gives me enough of a hard time about the women at the PTA meetings.”
It was interesting to see the different kinds of tattoo examples each artist had hanging on the walls of their stall. It seemed like most people in the shop specialized in American Traditional, with a few spots of Japanese here and there. Connor’s tattoo artist was different. His stall was decorated in a variety of styles; although the classic eagle, anchor, and hula girl were present, there were also whimsical drawings of teddy bears and unicorns.
His portfolio included the first police patch Connor had shown them as an example, as well as a couple of others, each with its own flare and take on the force’s beloved emblem. The artist definitely had his name passed around through the department, because Kane found more than a few St. Michael’s in the mix. A sketchbook was open on the table in the stall, and they’d interrupted the artist when they came in, pulling him away from a screaming eagle with its talons clenched into a torn-up banner.
Kane had to admit when Connor introduced them to Bear Jackson, he had his doubts. The man was Connor’s age or a couple of years older and nearly the same size, if not bigger. Bear had a warm smile and a quiet peace about him, a short scruff of beard accentuating his strong features, and his dark blue eyes sparkled as he spoke about the sketch he’d created for Connor. The artist and cop bonded for a few moments about being frost giants, chuckling over having younger and smaller siblings, then focused on the artwork Bear had done for Connor’s tattoo.
If Kane ever got a tattoo, it would be the one Connor was going to get in a few minutes.
There was an Irish feel to the lines, a subtle Celtic flair to their curves. The shield’s emblematic phoenix could have been lifted from the book of Kells, the fire of its feathers knotted and turned, and the lettering on its banners was a fine balance between delicate calligraphy and masculine strength.
He coveted the tattoo as much as he’d wanted the fully loaded metal fire truck with flashing lights and working sirens Connor got for Christmas when he was seven, a fire truck Kane eventually inherited and still held a place of honor in his bedroom.
“Oh, son”—Donal dropped his voice to a hushed whisper—“that is a beautiful piece of art.”
“You know, Da, the three of us can wear this together,” Connor said quietly. “It’s something that connects us. Not that I love the rest of them any less; it’s just that none of the others understand what it means to go through a door or to hear the crackle of a call come across the radio. It defines who we are in a lot of ways.”
“It’ll go nice with the Saint Michael I have on my shoulder,” their father mused. “What do ye say, Kane?”
It was a singular, beautiful piece of art done with such passion Kane could feel the love of the artist in every line. But his star was new, untarnished and clean, a silver seven-point symbol of who he’d always dreamed could be. His father and brother deserved to wear the phoenix and to have Oro en paz. Fierro en guerra emblazoned on their skin. He hadn’t earned it yet. He needed to have more cop in him first.
“I’d like to one day, but I haven’t bruised my star yet,” he confessed. Tapping at the original art, Kane asked Bear, “In case I can’t find you when I’m ready, can I have a copy of the art? But if you’re around, I’d like you to put it