Chasing a Legend

by Sarah Robinson

  It wasn’t just sensual and passionate—even though there was so much of that—it was light and airy and happy and easy. Like it had always been meant to be, and they easily slid into the mold already created for them. If he hadn’t already wanted her before, tonight’s dinner and conversation and…dessert…sealed the deal for him.

  He was in love with Kiera Finley. He always had been, and he was never letting go of her again.

  “Hey, Quinn?” She tipped her head up to look at him, her chin on his chest.

  He smoothed a stray tendril from her face. “Yeah?”

  She kissed his chest and smiled at him, before laying her head back down. “I’m going to sleep here tonight.”

  Quinn laughed. “I would hope so, Keeks.”

  “Probably tomorrow night, too,” she added, her voice completely serious.

  He smiled, his heart feeling very literally like it was swelling in his chest. “And the next night?”

  “Yeah, probably that night, too.” She kissed his chest one more time before yawning and drifting off to sleep.

  His cheeks almost hurt from smiling so hard, and he kissed the top of her head gently, making sure not to rouse her as he carefully moved out from under her and reached for his cane. After a few minutes in the bathroom, he crawled back into bed next to her, which took a little maneuvering since she’d already starfished across most of the bed.

  As he pulled her back against his chest, she sighed in her sleep and curled into him. Quinn kissed her again and closed his eyes. He couldn’t wait for tomorrow night, or the next.

  And every night after.

  Chapter 11

  “I’m not sure this is a good idea,” Kiera said to him, nerves clearly displayed on her face. The neon sign proclaiming TATTOO above them cast a strange hue over her face that almost made her look ghostly.

  “Don’t tell me you’re afraid of needles, Dr. Finley,” Quinn teased, opening the door to the tattoo parlor and ushering her inside.

  She huffed lightly but obliged. “It’s not needles that bother me. It’s the…sterilization—or lack thereof—in a dingy place like this.”

  “Um, I’m standing right here,” A blond woman with more ink than skin stared at them over the desk right by the front door. “And my shop is not dingy.”

  “Oh, I didn’t mean…I, um…” Kiera faltered, her cheeks darkening with each second.

  Quinn just laughed. “Hey, Trudy.”

  The young blonde smiled at him. “Hey, Kavanagh. Been a while.”

  “Too long,” Quinn agreed, draping an arm around Kiera’s shoulders and lifting his cane. “Had a minor accident that fucked up some of your art. Think you can fix it?”

  She shrugged. “I’ll give it a try, but it’ll cost you double because of that dingy comment.”

  Kiera grimaced, glancing up at her. “That’s my bad.”

  “Relax,” Trudy said with a laugh. “I’m just kidding. I like the dingy look.”

  “Oh.” Kiera didn’t look any less nervous.

  Trudy led them to one of the back rooms where Quinn had been dozens of times before. Trudy was one of the best tattoo artists in Woodlawn and responsible for the majority of the ink on his body. She lived above the shop with her longtime girlfriend, Mandy, and their daughter, Steph. They’d become like family to Quinn over the hours and hours of work he’d had done here, so he found himself feeling guilty about leaving them in the dark for so long.

  “You can sit here, hon.” Trudy pulled a chair next to the table for her. “Give you a nice, close look.”

  “I could sit farther back,” Kiera offered, but Quinn nudged her toward the chair.

  Quinn pulled his shirt over his head once she sat. He stretched his body over the table, lying on his stomach, propped up on his elbows.

  “Fuck balls, what the hell did you do to my work?” Trudy bellowed, apparently getting her first look at his scarred back.

  “Left a good bit of it on Katonah Avenue,” Quinn replied, a slight chuckle covering his nerves. Not many people had seen his scars, and he was still self-conscious about them, which was part of the reason why he was there. Hopefully Trudy could work her magic and cover up some of the mangled damage. “Is there anything we can do to cover the scarring?”

  “I told him he should wait until the scars have fully healed, but he’s restless,” Kiera added.

  “The doc might be right.” Trudy leaned over him, tugging and pushing his skin this way and that. “Damn, Q. You should have called us. Mandy and I would have been there immediately.”

  “Who’s Mandy?” Kiera asked, leaning against the table and placing her hand on Quinn’s arm. He chuckled at the hint of jealousy in her tone and possessiveness of her touch.

  Trudy winked at her. “Nothing to worry about with us, doll. Mandy’s my wife.”

  “Wife?” Quinn asked, raising one brow. He hadn’t heard of any wedding, and he’d known them both for a while. “Since when?”

  “Made it official at the courthouse a few months ago,” she replied. “Been waiting to make it legal for a long time. We even started the paperwork for me to adopt Steph.”

  “Congratulations,” Kiera volunteered, though Quinn didn’t miss the blush on her cheeks from her earlier assumption. “That’s wonderful.”

  “Seriously, that’s fantastic, Trudy.” Quinn really was elated for her. The duo was one of the steadiest couples he’d ever seen. “Tell Mandy I said congratulations.”

  “Will do, but first, you’re going to be mad,” Trudy told him, looking at his back again. “I can’t do much here, Q. The scars need to heal a lot longer, otherwise my work will get all jacked up as the skin continues to change.”

  Quinn sighed, dropping his head to the table where he was lying. “Nothing?”

  Kiera squeezed his arm, her mouth in a firm line. She’d told him earlier that morning it was a bad idea, that his scars needed more time to heal before he tattooed over them. He loved that she wasn’t rubbing it in, only being supportive instead.

  “I mean, I could do some work around it, or somewhere else on your body, but that’s about it.” Trudy pulled off her latex gloves and sat on the stool across from both of them. “But honestly, Q, rock your stripes. They’re bad-fucking-ass. You definitely don’t look like someone I’d mess with.”

  “I didn’t think I was your type anyway,” Quinn said, humor his usual go-to. Both Trudy and Kiera laughed. “I guess I’ll just wait,” he conceded.

  “Good call.” Trudy handed him his cane as he sat up and stood from the table.

  Quinn pulled his shirt back on, covering himself as he sighed. He loved tattoos, and each one on his body meant something to him; whether it reminded him of a person or a moment or even a quality he wanted to emulate, each one had a purpose. Now, half his back had been wiped away in streaks by pavement, along with a good portion of his legs and random patches on his arms and shoulders. It was jarring and different from what he’d come to associate as a big part of his identity.

  They said their goodbyes to Trudy, exiting onto the sidewalk as they left her shop. Woodlawn was chilly and bleak; a slight fall breeze passed through the streets around them. He wasn’t in a rush to get to her car parked around the corner, so he moved slowly, listening to the bottom of his cane hit the sidewalk with each step.

  Kiera slid her arm around his, linking their elbows. “Are you okay, Quinn?”

  “I’m fine,” he answered, almost automatically at this point. He’d been asked that question so many times over the last few months, it had become second nature to brush it off. The moment the words left his lips, he wished he could take them back. They felt like a lie…they felt rehearsed…and that wasn’t who he had ever been with Kiera.

  “Is that the truth?” she asked, her voice quieter and gentle. It wasn’t accusing, but rather welcoming.

  “Sometimes I forget how well you know me,” Quinn replied, his voice smaller now, too. “I’m disappointed, but I know this can’t be rushed. I’ll heal eventua
lly and get them covered.”

  Kiera chuckled. “If it helps, I think Trudy is right. I think your scars are…I don’t even know how to describe it without sounding like I have a weird fetish or something.”

  Quinn cast her a sidelong look. “What? You think scars are sexy?”

  “I mean, not usually, but on you?” Kiera lifted a hand to her face as if to hide her smile, but he didn’t miss it. “They’re tough and fierce and very…intriguing.”

  Quinn burst out laughing at the dark red her cheeks had dissolved into as she fumbled over her words. “Jesus, Keeks. You never told me about this fetish of yours.”

  “It’s not a fetish! I’m just saying…you make it look good.” She shrugged before dropping her head to his shoulder.

  Quinn quieted down, kissing her on top of her head. “Well, thank you, you weirdo. That actually means a lot.”

  “Good.” Her hand slid down his arm until her fingers interlocked with his. “And good that I don’t have to watch you take a fiery, contaminated razor blade to your skin.”

  “That’s really the take-away message here,” Quinn agreed solemnly.

  “You joke, but who are you going to ask to clean your infected back when it all goes to heck?” She practically bounced as she walked, and he had to move faster to keep up with her.

  Quinn raised one brow, his lip twitching. “My mom was doing a pretty good job the last few months.”

  “Ah, a man who can replace me with his mother…every woman’s dream.” Kiera’s sarcasm was thick and teasing. She held up her car keys, and a clicking noise indicated the doors had unlocked as they approached. “I’m such a lucky girl.”

  Quinn laughed, walking around to the passenger side of the car as she climbed in the driver’s side. As he settled against the cool leather seats, he didn’t feel disappointed about not being able to redo his tattoos yet. He didn’t feel embarrassed about his scars. He didn’t feel less than because of his limp and cane. Instead, he felt like any other man joking around with his woman—loved and adored.

  Kiera was his doctor, and she’d seen the ugliest parts of him—both physically and every dark secret his family or past had ever harbored—yet when she looked at him, it was with overwhelming affection. When she reached out a hand to his, always touching him somehow, he felt important. He felt wanted. He felt like he was hers.

  And that was a new part of his identity he could get on board with.

  Chapter 12

  “It’s not in here! I’ve looked ten dang times,” Kiera called out, pushing aside cutlery and random culinary gadgets in search of a pizza cutter in Quinn’s kitchen.

  She could hear him laughing from the couch in the living room, which only made her look harder. “Babe, I swear to you, it’s in that drawer. That’s the only drawer it would be in.”

  “What is all this stuff anyway?” She pulled out a yellow item shaped like a banana with dividers throughout. “Please tell me you do not own a banana slicer, Quinn! How is that even a thing?”

  Laughter again. “Not just bananas, sometimes I cut hot dogs with it!”

  “I swear, this guy,” she mumbled under her breath, opening the next drawer to search there instead.

  Right on top of a dishcloth sat the small silver heart she’d first seen two weeks ago, one day before she and Quinn had started dating.

  She picked it up, pressing it into her palm as she wondered about its origins. He’d told her he had made it for a girl he’d once loved, and the girl hadn’t wanted it. At the time, her heart had ached for him the way someone might hurt for a friend who’d been wronged. She wanted to find that girl and give her a piece of her mind—rage at her for being so dumb as to not realize how amazing Quinn was.

  Now, after a whirlwind two weeks during which she’d spent almost every night with Quinn, and the majority of her free days between shifts as well, she realized she was just like that girl. She’d spent the last twenty-four years not looking at him as anything other than a friend. Even after she’d given him her virginity—an unbelievably passionate moment for just friends—she’d still never thought about pursuing more.

  She wanted to smack her eighteen-year-old self for being so stupid.

  If the last two weeks were any indication of what being in a relationship with Quinn Kavanagh was like, she definitely wished she’d come around sooner. With his health still improving, they didn’t go out much on dates, but it didn’t matter. A night on the couch with him was everything she could have ever wanted—they talked for hours, laughed at terrible television programs, and had more sex than her fitness level advised.

  It was perfect, but in all honesty, not much different from their friendship so long ago. The biggest change was physical. Despite his injuries, Quinn definitely knew what he was doing in that department, and she was more than willing to benefit from his expertise.

  They weren’t going at it like bunnies, of course. He was still her patient, after all.

  Plus, their days made it a little harder to be together, since she was a resident and was gone for long stretches of time on a shift. He spent that time working from home or being with his family, but she’d encouraged him to get back in his studio, as well. He’d started working on some new pieces, though he refused to show them to her yet.

  He also still came in for his physical therapy appointments and his leg was doing remarkably well. In a few weeks, it would be seven months since his accident, and he’d be strong enough to not need his cane anymore. Already he was sometimes forgetting to grab it for short stretches walking in his apartment.

  Kiera loved being the one to help him regain his strength and confidence, because the change was evident in a lot more than just his body. When she’d first seen him again after so long, he’d been exhausted, overwhelmed; he’d even been crying. Now, everything about Quinn screamed determination and power, and she was more than okay with that.

  Her body had never been so exhausted, but her heart was light, her energy electric.

  “Babe? Did you find it yet?” Quinn called out again.

  “Not yet!” Tucking the heart back into the drawer, Kiera decided she wasn’t taking this man for granted anymore.

  She was putting her all in this, just like he was. No looking back.

  “I’m going to rip into this pizza with my bare hands, then,” he told her, his tone amused. “I am Tarzan, me eat delicious pizza.”

  She laughed at his terrible vocal impression while grabbing a plain knife, forgoing the pizza cutter. Walking back into the living room, she dropped down onto the couch next to him and handed it to him. “I’m telling you, Quinn, you don’t own a pizza cutter.”

  “It’s a good thing you’re beautiful,” he said, winking at her as he cut their slices.

  Kiera smacked his arm. “I’m a doctor, Quinn.”

  “And a damn good one,” he replied, leaning in to kiss her as he handed her a slice of hot pizza and a cold bottle of beer. “Even if you can’t see what’s right in front of you.”

  Something about his last words nettled her. She accepted his peck on the lips anyway, but narrowed her eyes. “Seriously, I looked in every damn drawer, Quinn.”

  He raised his brows, a big smile spreading across his face. “Kiera Finley, did you just curse?”

  Kiera shoved the pizza into her mouth, taking a big bite so she couldn’t talk, shaking her head furiously instead. She had surprised herself and wasn’t about to admit that to Quinn.

  “You did!” He laughed. “You cursed! I’ve known you twenty-four fucking years, and I’ve never heard you curse before. Welcome to adulthood, Keeks. We have pizza and beer.”

  “I just sound so weird cursing—like a bunny holding a knife. It feels out of place. So you’re lucky because it was a onetime thing. Special circumstances,” she said, one hand covering her mouth full of pizza.

  “Pizza has certainly been known to qualify as special circumstances before.”

  She couldn’t hold back her laughter at the classic Quinn sarcas
m, covering her mouth again as she coughed and tried not to choke on cheesy goodness. A defiant piece of sausage lodged in her throat and she began coughing harder.

  “Babe, take a drink before you kill yourself,” he said, joining in her laughter. “Can’t have a dead bunny on my hands.”

  She tipped the beer to her lips, swallowing several gulps, which cleared her throat. “New rule: no telling jokes when I’m eating.”

  “Vetoed,” he said, taking a bite of his own slice of pizza before putting it down on the coffee table in front of them and turning his body to face her. “Next?”

  “You can’t veto my rules, Quinn.”

  He shrugged. “Just did. Plus, I liked hearing you curse. You should do it more often.”

  Her cheeks flamed, and she wrinkled her nose. “Quinn…”

  He lifted the pizza and beer from her hands and placed them on the table next to his, then pulled her onto his lap in one swift move. “Tell me you didn’t like it. Even a little?”

  “I didn’t like it,” she said quickly, even though that wasn’t entirely the truth. There was no real reason why she didn’t curse. It just sounded harsh on her tongue, and she never felt the need. She had no problem with those who did—in fact, when Quinn did in the bedroom she was…a fan. “Well, I guess I didn’t hate it, either.”

  “Really?” His voice dipped into a husky tenor, as he trailed his hands down her arms in long, slow strokes. “Maybe I can help you practice more.”

  “I don’t know. It would take a lot of practice,” she teased, brushing her lips over his as she wrapped her arms around the back of his neck.

  He nipped at her top lip, then the bottom. “I’m willing to put in the time.”

  Kiera giggled and pressed her lips fully to his, their tongues meeting amid their slight moans. He pushed his hips up against her core, no disguising how turned on he was when she felt the large bulge in his pants. A thrill ran through her at the very concept that she could do that to him so easily, that he wanted her that badly. She began rocking against him, their lips still locked together as his hands slid through her hair, holding the back of her head.