Chapter 11

“I’m not sure this is a good idea,” Kiera said to him, nerves clearly displayed on her face. The neon sign proclaiming TATTOO above them cast a strange hue over her face that almost made her look ghostly.

“Don’t tell me you’re afraid of needles, Dr. Finley,” Quinn teased, opening the door to the tattoo parlor and ushering her inside.

She huffed lightly but obliged. “It’s not needles that bother me. It’s the…sterilization—or lack thereof—in a dingy place like this.”

“Um, I’m standing right here,” A blond woman with more ink than skin stared at them over the desk right by the front door. “And my shop is not dingy.”

“Oh, I didn’t mean…I, um…” Kiera faltered, her cheeks darkening with each second.

Quinn just laughed. “Hey, Trudy.”

The young blonde smiled at him. “Hey, Kavanagh. Been a while.”

“Too long,” Quinn agreed, draping an arm around Kiera’s shoulders and lifting his cane. “Had a minor accident that fucked up some of your art. Think you can fix it?”

She shrugged. “I’ll give it a try, but it’ll cost you double because of that dingy comment.”

Kiera grimaced, glancing up at her. “That’s my bad.”

“Relax,” Trudy said with a laugh. “I’m just kidding. I like the dingy look.”

“Oh.” Kiera didn’t look any less nervous.

Trudy led them to one of the back rooms where Quinn had been dozens of times before. Trudy was one of the best tattoo artists in Woodlawn and responsible for the majority of the ink on his body. She lived above the shop with her longtime girlfriend, Mandy, and their daughter, Steph. They’d become like family to Quinn over the hours and hours of work he’d had done here, so he found himself feeling guilty about leaving them in the dark for so long.

“You can sit here, hon.” Trudy pulled a chair next to the table for her. “Give you a nice, close look.”

“I could sit farther back,” Kiera offered, but Quinn nudged her toward the chair.

Quinn pulled his shirt over his head once she sat. He stretched his body over the table, lying on his stomach, propped up on his elbows.

“Fuck balls, what the hell did you do to my work?” Trudy bellowed, apparently getting her first look at his scarred back.

“Left a good bit of it on Katonah Avenue,” Quinn replied, a slight chuckle covering his nerves. Not many people had seen his scars, and he was still self-conscious about them, which was part of the reason why he was there. Hopefully Trudy could work her magic and cover up some of the mangled damage. “Is there anything we can do to cover the scarring?”

“I told him he should wait until the scars have fully healed, but he’s restless,” Kiera added.

“The doc might be right.” Trudy leaned over him, tugging and pushing his skin this way and that. “Damn, Q. You should have called us. Mandy and I would have been there immediately.”

“Who’s Mandy?” Kiera asked, leaning against the table and placing her hand on Quinn’s arm. He chuckled at the hint of jealousy in her tone and possessiveness of her touch.

Trudy winked at her. “Nothing to worry about with us, doll. Mandy’s my wife.”

“Wife?” Quinn asked, raising one brow. He hadn’t heard of any wedding, and he’d known them both for a while. “Since when?”

“Made it official at the courthouse a few months ago,” she replied. “Been waiting to make it legal for a long time. We even started the paperwork for me to adopt Steph.”

“Congratulations,” Kiera volunteered, though Quinn didn’t miss the blush on her cheeks from her earlier assumption. “That’s wonderful.”

“Seriously, that’s fantastic, Trudy.” Quinn really was elated for her. The duo was one of the steadiest couples he’d ever seen. “Tell Mandy I said congratulations.”

“Will do, but first, you’re going to be mad,” Trudy told him, looking at his back again. “I can’t do much here, Q. The scars need to heal a lot longer, otherwise my work will get all jacked up as the skin continues to change.”

Quinn sighed, dropping his head to the table where he was lying. “Nothing?”

Kiera squeezed his arm, her mouth in a firm line. She’d told him earlier that morning it was a bad idea, that his scars needed more time to heal before he tattooed over them. He loved that she wasn’t rubbing it in, only being supportive instead.

“I mean, I could do some work around it, or somewhere else on your body, but that’s about it.” Trudy pulled off her latex gloves and sat on the stool across from both of them. “But honestly, Q, rock your stripes. They’re bad-fucking-ass. You definitely don’t look like someone I’d mess with.”

“I didn’t think I was your type anyway,” Quinn said, humor his usual go-to. Both Trudy and Kiera laughed. “I guess I’ll just wait,” he conceded.

“Good call.” Trudy handed him his cane as he sat up and stood from the table.

Quinn pulled his shirt back on, covering himself as he sighed. He loved tattoos, and each one on his body meant something to him; whether it reminded him of a person or a moment or even a quality he wanted to emulate, each one had a purpose. Now, half his back had been wiped away in streaks by pavement, along with a good portion of his legs and random patches on his arms and shoulders. It was jarring and different from what he’d come to associate as a big part of his identity.

They said their goodbyes to Trudy, exiting onto the sidewalk as they left her shop. Woodlawn was chilly and bleak; a slight fall breeze passed through the streets around them. He wasn’t in a rush to get to her car parked around the corner, so he moved slowly, listening to the bottom of his cane hit the sidewalk with each step.

Kiera slid her arm around his, linking their elbows. “Are you okay, Quinn?”

“I’m fine,” he answered, almost automatically at this point. He’d been asked that question so many times over the last few months, it had become second nature to brush it off. The moment the words left his lips, he wished he could take them back. They felt like a lie…they felt rehearsed…and that wasn’t who he had ever been with Kiera.

“Is that the truth?” she asked, her voice quieter and gentle. It wasn’t accusing, but rather welcoming.

“Sometimes I forget how well you know me,” Quinn replied, his voice smaller now, too. “I’m disappointed, but I know this can’t be rushed. I’ll heal eventually and get them covered.”

Kiera chuckled. “If it helps, I think Trudy is right. I think your scars are…I don’t even know how to describe it without sounding like I have a weird fetish or something.”

Quinn cast her a sidelong look. “What? You think scars are sexy?”

“I mean, not usually, but on you?” Kiera lifted a hand to her face as if to hide her smile, but he didn’t miss it. “They’re tough and fierce and very…intriguing.”

Quinn burst out laughing at the dark red her cheeks had dissolved into as she fumbled over her words. “Jesus, Keeks. You never told me about this fetish of yours.”

“It’s not a fetish! I’m just saying…you make it look good.” She shrugged before dropping her head to his shoulder.

Quinn quieted down, kissing her on top of her head. “Well, thank you, you weirdo. That actually means a lot.”

“Good.” Her hand slid down his arm until her fingers interlocked with his. “And good that I don’t have to watch you take a fiery, contaminated razor blade to your skin.”

“That’s really the take-away message here,” Quinn agreed solemnly.

“You joke, but who are you going to ask to clean your infected back when it all goes to heck?” She practically bounced as she walked, and he had to move faster to keep up with her.

Quinn raised one brow, his lip twitching. “My mom was doing a pretty good job the last few months.”

“Ah, a man who can replace me with his mother…every woman’s dream.” Kiera’s sarcasm was thick and teasing. She held up her car keys, and a clicking noise indicated the doors had unlocked as they approached. “I’m such a lucky girl.”

Quinn laughed, walking around to the passenger side of the car as she climbed in the driver’s side. As he settled against the cool leather seats, he didn’t feel disappointed about not being able to redo his tattoos yet. He didn’t feel embarrassed about his scars. He didn’t feel less than because of his limp and cane. Instead, he felt like any other man joking around with his woman—loved and adored.

Kiera was his doctor, and she’d seen the ugliest parts of him—both physically and every dark secret his family or past had ever harbored—yet when she looked at him, it was with overwhelming affection. When she reached out a hand to his, always touching him somehow, he felt important. He felt wanted. He felt like he was hers.

And that was a new part of his identity he could get on board with.