Chapter 2
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.”
“Baby moon ,” 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!”
They must’ve put it all together while I was tattooing Brandon.
“I can’t believe my little girl is going to have a baby girl of her own,” my mom says with tears in her eyes. “I’m so proud of the woman you’ve become, and I know you’ll be an amazing mom.”
“Thank you,” I whisper, hugging my mom again.
The next couple of hours are filled with delicious food, conversation, and lots of laughter. Everyone insists we open the gifts, and once the baby shower is over, we pile everything into Brandon’s car since he insists on owning one despite living in the city. I guess it now makes sense why he pushed to drive us here this morning—he was in on the baby shower.
“What time do you guys leave?” Dad asks once all the gifts are loaded into Brandon’s trunk.
“Six a.m. I’ll text you guys before the flight takes off.”
We’re heading to Florida to enjoy the warm weather and beaches since it’s March and in the high eighties there, unlike New York, which is a chilly forty degrees.
Because I’m pregnant, we can’t really enjoy the theme parks, so we’re going to Miami Beach to lounge at a resort that looks to have a beautiful pool and is located right on the water.
“Sounds good.” Dad gives me a hug and kiss on my forehead. “I love you, Kins.”
“I love you too, Dad.”
After I give my mom a hug, Brandon and I take off to our townhouse in Brooklyn Heights. It was once my uncle Jax’s, passed down to my mom, who gifted it to Brandon and me when my parents made the decision to move out of the city.
“Should we bring everything in tonight or in the morning?” I ask when we arrive at home.
“Tonight, but you’re not lifting a finger,” Brandon says. “Go take a shower, and I’ll meet you in bed once I unload everything.”
“You’re too good to me,” I say, leaning over and giving him a kiss.
“No, I’m the right amount of good to you,” he argues. “I love you. You’re my family, Kinsley, and I meant what I said when we got married—I will do everything in my power to show you every day how much you mean to me.”
Brandon’s parents were addicts who lost their rights to their son. He grew up in foster care, and once he turned eighteen and aged out, he took off on his own. He apprenticed with some shady shops, and when he came to us, my dad got him on the right path. Now, eight years later, he’s a damn good, licensed tattoo artist.
“You do show me,” I tell him, palming his cheek. “Every single day.”
* * *
“Can we stay here forever?” I ask, glancing over at my husband, who smiles softly at me, knowing I’m full of shit.
As much as I’m loving lounging by the pool, swimming in the ocean, and checking out the different restaurants on the strip, I could never live anywhere but in New York.
“You would miss your family too much,” he says, pulling me in for a kiss. “But I promise we’ll come back.”
“Between this little one being born and us taking over the shop, it’s going to get crazy soon,” I say with a sigh.
“Yeah,” Brandon agrees, “it will, but in a good way. It’s supposed to be a surprise, but your dad and uncles are turning a portion of the back office into a nursery while we’re gone.”
“What?” I gasp. “Really?”
I’ve been so nervous about having a baby and running Forbidden Ink, but I haven’t mentioned it to my dad or uncles, not wanting to let them down. I agreed to run the shop before I found out I was pregnant, and it’s always been a dream of mine. They’ve even agreed to make me a small partner, so I’ll be earning a percentage of what the shop makes. My uncles are having the contract drawn up, and we’ll be signing it when I get back.
Brandon and I have talked about opening our own shop one day, but until we’re ready to do that, running my family’s tattoo shop is the next best thing.
“Yeah, we’ve got this, babe.” Brandon threads his fingers through mine and brings them up to his lips for a kiss. “You and me, with the support of your family.”
“They’re your family too,” I point out. “You know my dad considers you another son.”
“I know,” he says with a shy smile. “And he’s damn near the closest thing to a dad I’ve ever had.” He heaves a sigh. “I never imagined being this happy, this content. Thank you.”
The alarm goes off on my phone, the one I set to remind us when we need to head up to our room to get ready for dinner. Brandon made us reservations at an Italian restaurant I read is one of the best around. I love Italian, and I can’t imagine anywhere being as good as the places in New York, but I’m excited to find out.
“It looks like rain,” Brandon says as we gather our belongings.
“Yeah.” I glance up at the darkening sky. “I hope it passes before our trip to the zoo tomorrow.” I’ve been looking forward to going all week, and it will suck if it’s ruined by rain.
* * *
Once we’re ready, since the restaurant isn’t on the strip, we call for the valet to bring around our rental car.
The restaurant is beautiful and authentic with the menu in English and Italian, and the waiters have lovely Italian accents. We learn that it’s family-owned and -operated—from the cook to the hostess to the waiter.
I order shrimp Parmesan—my favorite—and Brandon orders chicken marsala since he hates seafood.
“So, what do you think?” he asks after I’ve taken my first bite.
“So good,” I moan. “I think it just might give Antonio’s a run for its money. Thank you for bringing me here.”
Brandon takes a sip of the beer that he ordered and smiles. “Anything to see you happy.”
After we’re done eating, we step outside and find that it’s pouring down rain and everyone is scrambling to quickly get in and out of their vehicles to avoid getting soaked.
“This weather is horrible,” I say with a grimace.
I’m going to be so bummed if it’s like this tomorrow. I’ve been looking forward to going to the zoo on our last day, and it will ruin it if it’s raining the entire time.
“Look, a piano bar,” Brandon says, giving me a pleading look.
“Let’s go.”
I hook my arm through his and walk toward the little hole-in-the-wall bar, making Brandon grin. He loves music, especially jazz, and drags me to various bars and clubs all over New York and Jersey to check them out.
The next few hours are spent with us listening to the live music, Brandon having a few drinks, and us dancing until my feet and back hurt, and he insists we go back to our hotel so I can get some rest.
“Shit, it’s still raining,” he says when we step outside. “And I’ve been drinking.” He blanches. “I’m so used to New York that I didn’t even think about having to drive.”
“It’s all good,” I tell him. “We’re on vacation. You should be enjoying yourself. But should we take an Uber?”
“Yeah.” He nods. “We can come back tomorrow and get the car.”
He pulls out his phone, types away, and then frowns. “It’s saying it’s going to be an hour.”
“What? That’s crazy.”
“Welcome to Miami,” the valet says. “This time of night, you could be waiting an hour or more, easily.”
“I can drive,” I tell Brandon.
“You sure?” he asks.
“Yeah, I do have my license,” I say with a laugh. Because I’ve lived in the city my entire life, I don’t drive often, but I do know how, and I haven’t been drinking. “And the rain has slowed down a lot,” I add.
I shift on my feet, regretting my decision to wear heels. “Besides, I don’t think my feet can handle standing for an hour to wait for an Uber.”
Because of how late it is, the bar and restaurant are closing, which leaves us with nowhere to wait.
“I’m sorry,” Brandon says. “I shouldn’t have drunk so much.”
“Stop.” I palm his cheek. “The point of this trip is to relax. I’m perfectly capable of driving us to the hotel.”
The valet brings our rental car around and opens the door for me. Since my bump isn’t small, I lift the steering wheel a bit higher so I can adjust my seat since I’m shorter than Brandon while he inputs the hotel address into the GPS.
“Did you have a good time?” Brandon asks while I drive us back to the hotel.
“The best. And I can’t wait to go to the zoo tomorrow. I was thinking we could do Brenna’s room with a zoo theme.”
“Yeah, that would be cool. What if we?—”
Brandon’s words are cut off when the car hits something—a puddle? I’m not sure—and starts to hydroplane. I’ve driven in the snow many times, but as I try to hit my brakes to slow down, it feels like nothing I do works, and within seconds, the car is spinning out of control. Between the rain and the speed, everything becomes a blur.
And then we hit something hard.
There’s a scream, followed by a cry, and then an immense amount of pain spreads throughout my body before everything goes black.
* * *
The Present
The beeping of the monitors and the smell of antiseptic shake me from my thoughts. I’m in a hospital, getting treated for OAS—oral allergy syndrome.
The last time I was in a hospital, I lost everything—my husband, my baby, and my entire purpose in life. But tonight, thanks to the paramedics who quickly got it under control, and the doctor and nurses who made sure I was stable once I arrived at the hospital, I’ll be okay.
My throat hurts, and I’m a bit itchy, but I’ll survive—unlike my baby girl and husband, who died that night because of me.
“Well, at least your face is less swollen,” a gentleman says, leaning against the doorframe with his feet crossed at the ankles and his arms crossed over his chest.
I can make out the town fire department logo peeking out on his left pec, and when my eyes meet his, I recognize him as the paramedic who reassured me it would all be okay. The entire drive, while I begged him not to take me here, he worked on me while also calming my racing heart and saving me from adding a panic attack to my laundry list of issues.
“Thanks,” I say with an awkward laugh. “I’m usually more careful about what I drink and eat. If the fruit is cooked, I’m good. It’s the raw stuff I have to stay away from.”
He nods, pushes off the doorframe with his shoulder, and steps inside. “I’m Shane Evans.”
“I’d tell you my name, but I’m sure you already know it, thanks to the pile of paperwork I’ve probably caused you.”
He chuckles, and if I wasn’t immune to the opposite sex, the soft laugh, mixed with his warm smile, would affect me in a way that I haven’t been affected in a long time. Not since my husband died.
“It’s all good. I was just finishing up and wanted to come by and check on you.”
“Do you check on all the patients you bring in?” I ask curiously.
The way his cheeks tinge a light shade of pink tells me my answer.
Shit, he’s totally going to ask for my number.
“I appreciate you checking on me, but?—”
“Oh my God! Thank God you’re okay!” Natalia storms into the room like the hurricane she is, the door closing behind her. “I was so scared.”
She throws her arms around me, and while she hugs me, my eyes meet Shane’s. They’re golden brown, reminding me of a warm brownie—delicious, but if eaten in large quantities, bad for your health. His arms are corded with muscle, and his shirt stretches across his chest in a way that’s natural yet shows off the fact that he works out and keeps in shape.
I notice there’s not a single tattoo in sight, and I briefly wonder if he has any ink. That thought has me averting my gaze because I shouldn’t be thinking about him in any way, let alone considering what’s underneath his clothes.
When Natalia pulls back, she notices Shane standing there, and even though she’s not facing me, I can hear the smile in her voice when she says, “And who are you?”
“I’m Shane,” he says. “I was the paramedic working on Kinsley.”
“Ohh,” she coos. “So, you’re responsible for saving my cousin’s life.”
She saunters over to him, and I roll my eyes. I love my cousin, but she’s such a flirt.
“She wasn’t anywhere near her deathbed,” Shane says with a chuckle, “but, yes, I helped alleviate her symptoms.”
“Are you single?” she asks, getting straight to the point.
For some reason, even though Shane isn’t mine, nor do I want him to be, the thought of her going out with him causes an emotion I haven’t felt in a long time to stir within me—jealousy.
“Natalia, leave him alone,” I chide, trying to keep my voice nonchalant.
“I am,” Shane says, answering her question.
“Do you think my cousin is pretty?” she asks, making me gasp.
“Natalia!” I hiss, now wishing she were flirting with him instead of doing what I think she’s doing.
“I do.” Shane chuckles, his eyes, now filled with a mixture of mirth and lust, locking with mine.
“You should ask her out then.” Natalia shrugs, then looks at me. “And you should say yes because you owe him for saving your life.”
“Okay, Miss Matchmaker.” I glare. “I’m betting my family is out in the waiting room.”
“They are,” she says. “I insisted on coming back since I felt responsible. It was my drink you consumed by mistake.”
“It’s not your fault. Things happen. Now, stop harassing that poor paramedic and go let my family know I’m okay.”
“Fine.” She sighs.
I think she’s going to let it go, until she stops right next to Shane and says, “She works at Exposed Ink, in case you want to reach out,” before making her dramatic exit.
“Ugh, sorry about her,” I say once she’s gone, dropping my face into my hands since I can feel the warmth that’s crept up my neck and cheeks. With my semi-translucent skin, I’m positive my flesh is bright red.
“It’s all good,” Shane says, laughter in his voice. “I’m just glad you’re okay.”
I nod into my hands and then glance up, finding him smiling softly at me.
I open my mouth—to say what, I’m not sure—but before any words can come out, the door opens, and my entire family piles in.
“They couldn’t wait,” Natalia says with a huff. “I tried to tell them you were busy, but …”
She shrugs, and I glare. Then, I focus on my mom, who rushes to my side, ready to dote on me with her motherly love, and my dad follows, worry etched in his features.
My thoughts go back to the last time they showed up at the hospital, causing my insides to clench at the memory of having to tell them that Brandon and our baby were gone. They held me in their arms and told me everything would be okay even though we all knew it never would be.
Now, here they are again, visiting me in the hospital …
“I’m sorry,” I tell them, hating to worry them. “I should’ve remembered my EpiPen.”
“Stop it,” Mom chides. “You have nothing to be sorry about. All that matters is that you’re okay.”
By the time they’re done double- and triple-checking to make sure I am, in fact, okay, Shane has disappeared from the room, and I tell myself that it’s for the best. I have nothing to offer him or anyone else.
But as I recall his warm brown eyes and boyish grin, I can’t help but wonder what it would be like if I wasn’t broken.
Would I have given him my number? Would he have taken it? Where would he have taken me to dinner? Would it have been the start of something fun and exciting, or would the date have been awkward and ended early?
My train of thought causes a lump of emotion to settle in my throat, making it hard to breathe. I’m broken because of my actions. I killed my unborn baby and husband, and if I hadn’t, they’d be here. And instead of lying in a hospital bed, thinking about what it would be like for a man to ask me for my number and to take me out on a date, I’d be home with them, cuddled in bed.
I had my chance at a family.
At happiness.
At love.
And I single-handedly destroyed it.