Page 4 of Exposed Ink

I’d suggest we go to the shop to get my EpiPen, but the raw fruit must’ve been potent because my symptoms are hitting me quickly.

By the time the paramedics arrive, I’m so scared that I can barely make out what they’re saying. Realistically, I know I’m going to be okay, but there’s always a chance an allergic reaction can be deadly.

There are two guys. One is checking my vitals, and the other is asking Natalia questions. They help me onto a gurney and wheel me outside, and that’s when I see the ambulance.

“No!” I choke out. “Please don’t put me in there. Just … just help me here. I just need an EpiPen.”

“Ma’am,” one of the paramedics says patiently, “you’re having an allergic reaction, and we need to?—”

“No, please!” I cut him off, shaking my head and begging him not to put me in the ambulance. “I can’t go there.”

“Go where?” he asks, his warm brown eyes filled with confusion because only a crazy person would beg not to be brought to the place that would help heal them.

My gaze locks with his. “To the hospital.”

TWO

Kinsley

The Past

“Hell yeah, babe. This looks perfect.”Brandon steps away from the mirror and leans down to give me a kiss. “I can’t wait to finish this sleeve when we get back from our baby trip.”

“Babymoon,” I say with a laugh. “And I’m so jealous. As much as I love carrying this little one, I miss getting tatted.”

“Soon,” he says, rubbing my very pregnant belly. “She’s only got a few more months in there. And the first tattoo you get will be something to symbolize her arrival into this world.”

I grin up at him. “I already know what I want.”

I pull out the drawing I sketched when I couldn’t sleep the other night and hand it to him. “I think I want it on my left shoulder blade or maybe along my rib cage. I’m not sure yet.”

It’s a drawing of her heartbeat—the first one we heard at the doctor’s office, which I recorded using a special app—that morphs into her name, Brenna.

The moment I saw it in a baby name book, I knew it was perfect for her. It reminds me of Brandon and sounds sweet.

“That’s awesome,” Brandon says. “And it’s going to look beautiful on you. Does this mean you’ll finally let me tattoo something on you?” he asks with a smirk.

“Maybe,” I say with a grin.

When Brandon first started working at Forbidden Ink eight years ago, he wasn’t licensed, and I refused to let him ink me. Unlike most tattooists I know, I’m not inked all over, and I’m very particular about what I do get inked. That shit’s permanent—unless you want to go through the immense pain and expense of getting it removed—so whatever I get needs to be meaningful and something I want on my body forever.

Because of how picky I am, I’ve only let a few people ink me. My dad, of course, since he’s the person who taught me everything I know. My uncle Jase and uncle Jax, who opened the tattoo shop I work at. And my aunt Willow because she’s the most badass female tattoo artist I know.

At first, I wouldn’t let Brandon tattoo me because he was new and inexperienced, but even after he proved to be a good tattoo artist and us dating for two years and being married for another two, he has yet to ink me. I guess it’s turned into a running joke between us, one that will come to an end once our little girl is born.

“There’s no one I would want inking this on me but you,” I tell him, tugging on his shirt to pull him toward me. I give him a kiss that starts to get heated but is quickly tamped down when the sound of my dad’s voice is heard.

“Coming!” I yell, confused as to why my dad is here when he retired last year after my brother, Barrett, graduated and they moved to Brookside, a small town outside of the city.

I finish applying the ointment and bandage to Brandon’s tattoo, and then we walk up to the front to see what my dad is doing here. Since it’s still early and the shop is open, I’m expecting to see people getting inked in the rooms, so I’m thrown off by every room being empty until we get to the front and everyone is standing there, smiling at us.

“Surprise!” my mom says, coming over and giving us a hug. “Welcome to your baby shower.”

“What?” I glance around at our family and friends.

There are pink and green balloons everywhere, along with a pink cake and what smells like Antonio’s, my favorite Italian restaurant that’s located right down the street.

“This is amazing. Thank you!”

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