Page 16 of Exposed Ink

“And what are you planning to get today?”

“Umm …” He glances from Scott to me and then says, “I was thinking something small, like maybe …”

“Stop right there.” I hold up my hand to emphasize my words and then look at Scott. “Did you make this appointment?”

“Yeah, but …”

“No buts,” I hiss. “You know my rule. If it’s not meaningful, I don’t tattoo it. Did you even ask him what he was getting when you made the appointment?”

“He didn’t make it,” my dad says, stepping out from his station. “I did.”

“Seriously?” I glare.

“It’s not his fault,” Shane says, stepping toward me. “You said you wouldn’t talk to me unless I was getting inked or saving your life in an ambulance, so I made an appointment to get inked.”

“You what?” I choke out, shocked by his admission. “A tattoo is permanent,” I point out. “You were seriously going to let me put something permanent on your body just so you could talk to me for a few minutes?”

Shane shrugs, a small tilt of his lips quirking at the corners. “I figured it would be worth it, if I could use that time to convince you to go on a date with me.”

Oh my God. This guy.

“I already said I’m unavailable.”

“Which isn’t the truth,” my traitorous dad points out, raising a brow and daring me to argue.

“It’s not happening,” I say to Shane. “I appreciate the effort, but I’m not going out with you. And I’m definitely not tattooing something meaningless on your body. Come back when you have something worth tattooing … and don’t even think about getting it off Google or Pinterest.”

I glance at Scott. “Don’t make appointments without asking them what they’re getting!” I point to the wall where a sign hangs, saying,If you’d like to book an appointment with Kinsley, please make sure your piece is meaningful. She has the right to refuse to ink anyone.“You know my rule.”

And then I look at my dad. “And you … find something better to do than play matchmaker. I’m. Not. Available.”

Without waiting for any of them to respond, I stomp back down the hallway and straight to my room, where I slam the door and then lean against it, trying like hell to ignore the fact that Shane is getting under my skin. I can’t stop thinking about him. And I’d be lying if I said that him concocting this plan with my dad and being willing to get a tattoo, just to spend time with me, isn’t clenching the hell out of my broken and battered heart and reminding me that it still works.

* * *

I spendthe rest of the day in my station, working on client after client, and once my last one leaves, I clean up quickly so I can try to leave without facing my dad. I feel bad that I yelled at him earlier, but he shouldn’t have done what he did. And I’m not in the mood to discuss it.

But as I’m stepping out of my room, he steps out of his. Our eyes lock, and a small smile graces his features, and instead of being angry, tears fill my eyes.

“C’mere, Mini Q,” he says, using the nickname he dubbed me with when I was little because I reminded him so much of my mom—Quinn.

He opens his arms, and I fall into them, burying my head into his chest as I cry while he holds me close. He moves us into his station and sits us on his couch that he has positioned in the corner.

“Shh, it’s okay,” he murmurs, rubbing my back. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done what I did. I just …fuck, I hate to see you like this.”

“I know,” I mutter through my cries. “It’s just so hard.” A choked sob pushes past the lump of emotion clogging my throat, and I cry harder. “I’m so sick of feeling like this, Dad. My heart hurts so much.”

I cry in my dad’s arms for several minutes, until the tears feel like they can’t fall anymore, and then we sit in silence for a little while after that.

No words need to be spoken. There’s nothing anyone can do or say that will bring my husband and baby back. Death is permanent, and the only thing I can do is try to move forward without them.

“I wanted to say yes,” I whisper.

“What?” He pulls back slightly to meet my eyes.

“When he asked me out, I … I wanted to say yes.”

But I couldn’t.

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