A Beautiful Wedding

Travis’s expression turned severe. “Wife. She’s my wife.”


America gasped, the sound as high-pitched as her tone. “You’re getting a tattoo? What is going on with you, Abby? Did you breathe toxic fumes in that fire?”

“Travis has my name on his wrist,” I said, looking down at the smeared, black mess on my stomach. Griffin pressed the tip of the needle against my skin, and I clenched my teeth together. “We’re married,” I said through my teeth. “I wanted something, too.”

Travis shook his head. “You didn’t have to.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Don’t start with me.”

The corners of his mouth turned up, and he gazed at me with the sweetest adoration I’d ever seen.

America laughed, sounding a bit insane. “You’ve gone crazy.” She should talk. “I’m committing you to the asylum when I get home.”

“It’s not that crazy. We love each other. We have been practically living together on and off all year.” Okay, not quite all year . . . not that it matters now. Not enough to mention it and give America more ammunition.

“Because you’re nineteen, you idiot! Because you ran off and didn’t tell anyone, and because I’m not there!” she cried.

For one second, guilt and second thoughts crept in. For one second, I let the tiniest bit of panic that I’d just made a huge mistake simmer to the surface, but the moment I looked up at Travis and saw the incredible amount of love in his eyes, it all went away.

“I’m sorry, Mare, I have to go. I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”

“I don’t know if I want to see you tomorrow! I don’t think I want to see Travis ever again!”

“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