Page 89 of What About Now

This is our family.

I’m not sure if they chose us or we chose them, but we found each other, and I will be eternally grateful for having each and every one of them in our lives.

EPILOGUE MADDOX

Two weekslater

Maddox

It’s a rainy Sunday afternoon. Brogan and I have been lounging most of the day. We finished a series we’d been watching, and now we’re trying to figure out what to do next.

“I say we take a drive,” Brogan suggests.

“Babe, it’s nasty out there.”

“Come on, old man,” she teases. She stands and offers me her hand, and of course I take it. It doesn’t matter where she wants to go, I’m damn sure going to follow her.

“Do we need something?” I ask her. We did our grocery shopping yesterday.

“Nope, just take a drive with me, husband.”

“Let me grab my keys.”

She smiles and rushes to slip her feet into her flip-flops. She’s waiting for me by the door, and we walk out to my truck together. She darts off to her side of the truck and has the door open and slides inside before I even make it to my side. The rain has let up, so right now, it’s just a drizzle, but it’s still a drearyday. I’d much rather be snuggled up with my wife on our living room couch, but I can see whatever this little adventure is, it’s something she really wants to do, so that’s what we’re doing.

“Right or left?” I ask her, as I idle at the end of our driveway.

“Let’s go left.” I do as she says as she messes with the radio, turning it to a country station and keeping the volume low. She sings softly to each new song that comes on. When I reach the stop sign in the center of town, I glance over at her.

“Left, right, or straight?”

“Hmm.” She taps her index finger against her chin as if she’s not sure, but I know my wife. She has a destination in mind. “Let’s go right.”

“Do I get a hint as to where I’m taking you?”

“Just a Sunday stroll,” she says, but I can hear the smile in her voice. A quick glance over tells me that I’m right.

“What are you up to, Mrs. Lanigan?” I ask her.

“Why do I have to be up to something?” she asks.

“Because I know you.”

“Fine,” she relents. “I might have a destination in mind.”

“Are you going to tell me where? I am the one driving, after all.”

“Nah, you’re doing a fine job. Take a right at the next stop sign.”

“Are we going to the shop?” I ask her.

“We are,” she confesses.

“Why are we going to the shop?”

“I want another tattoo.”

“Really?” I ask, surprised. “You hadn’t said anything. Do you know what you want?” I’m not gonna lie, the idea of putting more of my work on her soft skin lights a fire inside me. This is me. Being a tattoo artist is all I’ve ever wanted to do, and to have my wife accept my career so openly, even going as far as wanting her own ink, means more to me than she will ever know.

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