“You’re silly,” I said, but when the tattoo machine began to hum my entire body tensed.

“What’s that noise?” America said, steaming.

“We’re at the tattoo parlor.”

“Is Travis getting branded with your real name this time?”

“Not exactly . . .”

Travis was sweating. “Baby . . .” he said, frowning.

“I can do this,” I said, focusing on spots on the ceiling. I jumped when Griffin’s fingertip’s touched my skin, but I tried not to tense.

“Pigeon,” Travis said, his voice tinged with desperation.

“All right,” I said, shaking my head dismissively. “I’m ready.” I held the phone away from my ear, wincing from both the pain, and the inevitable lecture.

“I’m going to kill you, Abby Abernathy!” America cried. “Kill you!”

“Technically, it’s Abby Maddox, now,” I said, smiling at Travis.

“It’s not fair!” she whined. “I was supposed to be your maid of honor! I was supposed to go dress shopping with you and throw a bachelorette party and hold your bouquet!”

“I know,” I said, watching Travis’s smile fade as I winced again.

“You don’t have to do this, you know,” he said, his eyebrow pulling together.

I squeezed his fingers. “I know.”

“You said that already!” America snapped.

“I wasn’t talking to you.”

“Oh, you’re talking to me,” she fumed. “You are soooo talking to me. You are never going to hear the end of this, do you hear me? I will never, ever forgive you!”

“Yes you will.”

“You! You’re a . . . ! You’re just plain mean, Abby! You’re a horrible best friend!”

I laughed, causing Griffin to pull back. He breathed through his nose.

“I’m sorry,” I said.

“Who was that?” America snapped.

“That was Griffin,” I answered matter-of-factly.

“Is she done?” he asked Travis, annoyed.

Travis nodded once. “Keep it up.”

Griffin just smiled, and continued. My whole body tensed again.

“Who the hell is Griffin? Let me guess: you invited a total stranger to your wedding and not your best friend?”

I cringed, from both her shrill voice and the needle stabbing into my skin. “No. He didn’t go to the wedding,” I said, sucking in a breath of air.

Travis sighed and shifted nervously in his chair, squeezing my hand. He looked miserable. I couldn’t help but smile.

“I’m supposed to be squeezing your hand, remember?”

“Sorry,” he said, his voice thick with distress. “I don’t think I can take this.” He opened his hand a bit and looked to Griffin.

“Hurry up, would ya?”

Griffin shook his head. “Covered in tats and can’t take your girlfriend getting a simple script. I’ll be finished in a minute, mate.”

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.”