Recovery

he’s currently working on—some middle age accountant-type going through a midlife crisis. “What’s wrong?”
He looks at his kid, snuggled up to her chest, and then to Quinn with a questioning glance. I just started working on a piece of my own, only my customer is cuter—a blond with big tits and totally my type, but admittedly, most women are.
Finn, my best friend since we were little kids, is working on a different customer, and James has a customer of his own as well. We’re usually pretty goddamn busy around here, and I’m not complaining, but still, all four of us have our eyes glued to Quinn.
We’ve made our own family here at Lyrics and Ink, Logan’s tattoo shop, and anyone of us would lay our lives down for each other, but especially Quinn.
“Mya,” she breathes, and now I’m even more intrigued. A chick’s in trouble.
“I can help,” I automatically volunteer.
Logan shoots me a sharp look that says no. “She’s a kid.”
“She’s twenty, Logan,” Quinn interjects, and I smile, going back to the tattoo on the blond's hip.
“Not a kid.” I wink at the chick in my chair, and she giggles.
“She’s a kid to me,” Logan growls. “She was like . . .” he thinks about it, looking at Quinn, “ten the last time I saw her?”
She gives a quick nod. “Yeah, about that, I think.”
I have no idea who the fuck they’re talking about, but they grew up together in Kansas City. Finn and I grew up in small-town Kansas, but we all moved down here. And I, for one, haven’t looked back since.
“What’s wrong?” Logan asks again.
Quinn looks sick and is quiet, pulling all our attention to her again as tears well up in her eyes. “Trey died.”
“What the fuck are you talking about?” Logan looks horrified, and I wonder who Trey is.
“Who’s that?” Finn asks.
Her breath is shaky. “Her little brother.”
“Jesus.” Logan sweeps his hand over his face in distress. “He was what? Eleven?”
She nods. What? Eleven? That’s so fucking young.
She seems to hold her baby a little closer, and you can’t blame her when we’re talking about this.
“What happened?” Logan asks, not touching his customer anymore.
She shakes her head. “I don’t know. Rhys didn’t ask.”
“Of course he didn’t,” Logan muses, his hand shaking with nerves or shock from the news.
“I can finish up if you need to go.” I nod at his hand, trying not to make it too obvious.
He shakes his hand out and inhales deeply before letting it go. “No.” He looks to Quinn. “Unless you need me to?”
She shakes her head at him quickly. “She’s coming here. Her flight will be in soon. I’ll pick her up.”
“She’s coming here?” Logan sounds surprised.
Quinn nods. “She had to get out of there.”
He accepts that. “Do you want me to pick her up?” He looks down at his client. “I can cancel the rest of my appointments.”
She waves him off. “I’m capable.” She turns to James. “That is, if your husband can handle the bar?”
James merely smirks. “I wouldn’t leave him in charge of shit.”
He sounds nonchalant, but I've never seen a couple more fiercely protective than James and Tommy. Then I look over at Quinn. Okay, maybe Quinn and Logan. But still.
She rolls her eyes. “Whatever. I’m going to go tell him.” She shoots me a look. “Hands-off.”
I hold my hands up in surrender, still holding onto my tattoo gun. “What?”
She doesn’t even bother with a further warning before leaving, and I turn to Logan. “Thanks for the backup, buddy. As if I would hurt your friend.”
He chuckles and shakes his hand again, calming his nerves and going back to work. “She’ll always be a ten-year-old kid to me. Don’t touch her.”
His middle-aged client smirks over at me, and I shake my head, choosing to look at my client instead. She has a better rack. “Can you believe this shit?”
She laughs at that, pushing her tits up in her tank top. “No. You seem perfectly innocent to me.”
I don’t tire of that accent. Sweetly southern. And although she’s only twenty-one—I checked her ID—sounds like she’s had a diet composed of only whiskey and cigarettes for half her life. “I’m an angel.”
I wink again, and Logan scoffs, “Stop hitting on the clients.”
“What? You think you’re my boss or something?” I shoot back. He just shakes his head.
“I like it,” the girl drawls, wetting her lips with her tongue. I could probably have a night with this chick, but I'm growing tired of that shit.
I should probably ask Logan more questions about this Mya chick, but I figure he’ll tell me what he wants me to know.
I’m not really one to pry.
And it sounds like I’ll be meeting her soon enough anyway.

It’s past ten when my plane touches down in Nashville. I discover Quinn waiting to pick me up at the airport. I’m worn and still numb, not allowing my mind to go to Trey the entire flight even if that’s where it relentlessly tried to go.
I just stayed frozen.
Quinn looks almost the same as the last time I saw her, which wasn’t that long ago. But it feels like a lifetime has passed. She still dresses the same, jeans and an oversized tee swallowing her frame, although now she has a glistening wedding ring on her finger and a baby strapped to her chest.
Holy. Shit.
It's insane how much can change in a few years.
“Hi, Mya.” Her voice is still sweet and raspy, her blue eyes filled with unshed tears.
“Hi, Quinn.”
We go out to her car, and after she secures her infant in the back, we drive the streets of Nashville. It’s all lit up, bright from neon as she navigates through the city, deep into the heart. I cringe at all the cars around us. It’s definitely a big city, and I crave desolate land, a whole lot of nothing. But at least it’s not Kansas City.
She doesn’t ask about Trey or what happened. It’s not really her style to pry. She parks her car in front