“I’ll see you tomorrow, Mare. I know you want to see my ring.”
“And your tat,” she said, a smile in her voice.
I handed the phone to Travis. Griffin ran his thousand tiny knives of pain and anguish across my angry skin again. Travis shoved my phone in his pocket, gripping my hand with both of his, leaning down to touch his forehead to mine.
Not knowing what to expect helped, but the pain was a slow burn. As Griffin filled in the thicker parts of the letters I winced, and every time he pulled away to wipe the excess ink away with a cloth, I relaxed.
After a few more complaints from Travis, Griffin made us jump with a loud proclamation. “DONE!”
“Thank God!” I said, letting my head fall back against the chair.
“Thank God!” Travis cried, and then sighed in relief. He patted my hand, smiling.
I looked down, admiring the beautiful black lines hiding under the smeared black mess.
Mrs. Maddox
“Wow,” I said, rising up on my elbows.
Travis’s frown instantly turned into a triumphant smile. “It’s beautiful.”
Griffin shook his head. “If I had a dollar for every inked-up new husband who brought his wife in here and took it worse than she did—well, I wouldn’t have to tat anyone ever again.”
Travis’s smile disappeared. “Just give her the postcare instructions, smart-ass.”
“I’ll have a printout of instructions and some A and D ointment at the counter,” Griffin said, amused by Travis.
My stare kept returning to the elegant script on my skin. We were married. I was a Maddox, just like all of those wonderful men I had grown to love. I had a family, albeit full of angry, crazy, lovable men, but they were mine. I belonged to them, as they belonged to me.
Travis held out his hand, peering down at his ring finger. “We did it, baby. I still can’t believe you’re my wife.”
“Believe it.” I beamed.
I reached out to Travis, pointed to his pocket, and then turned my hand over, opening my palm. He handed me my phone, and I pulled up the camera to snap a picture of my fresh ink. Travis helped me from the chair, careful to avoid my right side. I was sensitive to every movement that caused my jeans to rub against my raw skin.
After a short stop at the front counter, Travis let go of me long enough to push the door open for me, and then we walked outside to a waiting cab. My cell phone rang again. America.
“She’s going to lay on the guilt trip thick, isn’t she?” Travis said, watching me silence my phone. I wasn’t in the mood to endure another tongue-lashing.
“She’ll pout for twenty-four hours after she sees the pictures—then she’ll get over it.”
“Are you sure about that, Mrs. Maddox?”
I chuckled. “Are you ever going to stop calling me that? You’ve said it a hundred times since we left the chapel.”
He shook his head as he held the cab door open for me. “I’ll quit calling you that when it sinks in that this is real.”
“Oh, it’s real all right. I have wedding night memories to prove it.” I slid to the middle and then watched as he slid in next to me.
He leaned against me, running his nose up the sensitive skin of my neck until he reached my ear. “We sure do.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
The Road Home
Travis
Abby watched Las Vegas pass by her window. Just the sight of her made me want to touch her, and now that she was my wife, that feeling was amplified. But I was trying very hard not to make her regret her decision. Playing it cool used to be my superpower. Now I was dangerously close to being Shepley.
Unable to stop myself, I slid my hand over and barely touched her pinky finger. “I saw pictures of my parents’ wedding. I thought Mom was the most beautiful bride I’d ever see. Then I saw you at the chapel, and I changed my mind.”
She looked down at our fingers touching, intertwined her fingers in mine, and then looked up at me. “When you say things like that, Travis, it makes me fall in love with you all over again.” She nuzzled up against me, and then kissed my cheek. “I wish I could have known her.”
“Me, too.” I paused, wondering if I should say the thought that was in my head. “What about your mom?”
Abby shook her head, leaning into my arms. “She wasn’t all that great before we moved to Wichita. After we got there, her depression got worse. She just checked out. If I hadn’t met America, I would have been alone.”
She was already in my arms, but I wanted to hug my wife’s sixteen-year-old self, too. And her childhood self, for that matter. There was so much that had happened to her that I couldn’t protect her from.
“I . . . I know it’s not true, but Mick told me so many times that I ruined him. Both of them. I have this irrational fear that I’ll do the same to you.”
“Pigeon,” I scolded, kissing her hair.
“It’s weird though, right? That when I started playing, his luck went south. He said I took his luck. Like I had that power over him. It made for some seriously conflicting emotions for a teenage girl.”
The hurt in her eyes caused a familiar fire to come over me, but I quickly doused the flames with a deep breath. I wasn’t sure if seeing Abby hurt would ever make me feel anything less than a little crazy, but she didn’t need a hotheaded boyfriend. She needed an understanding husband. “If he had any f**king sense, he would have made you his lucky charm instead of his enemy. It really is his loss, Pidge. You’re the most amazing woman I know.”