Exposed Ink

Chapter 1

ONE

Kinsley

The Present

“Girl, this looks amazing,” my cousin Natalia says as she stands in front of the floor-length mirror, admiring her new tattoo.

She’s twenty-eight, the same age as me, but unlike me, it’s her first time getting inked. She’s tried over the years to get me to ink her, but I have a rule—the tattoo must be meaningful. If it’s not, I’m not permanently putting it on your body.

I don’t give a shit if that means I lose business. If you want me to do the work, you’d better be prepared to explain why you want the design you’re getting, or you won’t be getting it from me.

Because Natalia’s a fashion designer, following in her mom’s and older sister’s footsteps, I designed a custom piece for her—a hanger that loops into a needle and thread and then morphs into a tape measure that connects to a pair of scissors. It’s chaotic and beautiful, just like my best friend, and it’s on her hip, where no one can see it unless she wants them to.

“Seriously, Kins, I love it.”

She turns around, her shiny black hair whooshing around her heart-shaped face, and cuts across the room with her mile-long legs that many are envious of.

“Thank you!” She dramatically throws her arms around my neck while I stand in my spot, not wanting to touch anything with my gloves since I still need to do her aftercare.

When she hugs me tighter, I can’t help but stiffen under her touch. It’s not often I allow people to get this close to me, so when they do, it hits me hard. Years of avoiding affection will do that to a person.

“You’re welcome,” I choke out, stepping out of her embrace. “Make sure you take care of it, so it stays looking good.”

She gives me a duh look while she quickly snaps a picture, no doubt to post on her social media, which is fine with me since she has, like, a gazillion followers, and she’ll tag me, which will ultimately lead to new business—something every business can use.

I grab the ointment, apply a thin layer over the tattoo, then cover it with a bandage.

“Here are your aftercare instructions,” I say, handing her the printout we provide at Exposed Ink, not needing to go into detail since her dad—my uncle Jase—is a retired tattoo artist, who co-owns Forbidden Ink, one of the biggest tattoo shops in New York City.

“How’d it go?” Scott, the front-end manager, asks when we walk up to the desk.

When he’s not answering the phones or handling the schedule, he’s apprenticing with my dad, who works here part-time.

My dad retired from tattooing several years ago when our family moved to Brookside, a small town just outside of New York City. But a couple of years ago, when I was struggling, he decided to open a new tattoo shop in town, insisting that we do it together.

“So good.” Natalia thrusts her phone into his face. “Kinsley is the best.”

“Damn right she is,” Dad says, walking to the front. “She learned from her old man.”

While my dad has red hair and green eyes, looking every bit like the Irish heritage he comes from—the same hair and eye color my younger sister and brother inherited—I have brown hair and blue eyes. We look nothing alike, which makes sense since Lachlan Bryson isn’t my biological dad, but he’s the only man I’d ever consider calling Dad, genetics be damned.

“Looks great,” Dad says when he leans over Scott and looks at the picture Natalia is holding up.

“Thanks.” She grins, putting her phone away and taking her card out to pay.

“You’re not paying me,” I scoff.

“Of course I am,” she insists, handing the card to Scott. “If you keep doing everyone’s ink for free, you’ll never make a profit.”

My dad nods in agreement even though he knows damn well that we don’t need the money. Exposed Ink brings in plenty of revenue, and on top of that, I own it free and clear, thanks to my dad, who covered all the expenses to get it up and running and refused to let me pay him back. He claims we’re partners, yet he never takes a dime the shop brings in.

“So, what are you girls up to tonight?” Dad asks, snapping me from my thoughts.

“We’re meeting my sisters at Neptune’s,” Natalia answers. “They’re in town.”

“Who’s we ?” I ask, glaring her way.

“You agreed!” Natalia huffs. “It’s Galentine’s Day, a day to celebrate friendship, and as my best friend, I’m insisting that you come out and celebrate with me. And before you even try to come up with an excuse, Scott has already confirmed I was your last appointment tonight and you’re free to leave.”

I sigh, knowing there’s no way I’m getting out of this, at least not without Natalia throwing a fit, and since she’s only in town for the week—she lives in the city since that’s where Leblanc, her mom’s fashion company, is run—the least I can do is plaster on a smile and have a drink with my cousins. They’ve been here for me through every up and down, and I owe them more than I’ll ever be able to pay back. My family is the best, and I don’t deserve any of them.

“All right,” I agree. “One drink …”

“Two,” she counters.

“Fine. But I’m not changing.”

I’m dressed in my black Exposed Ink shirt and ripped jeans, paired with my black Chucks, and if she thinks I’m going to change …

“Fine,” she parrots. “Let’s go.”

She hooks her arm with mine and pulls me out the door, waving behind her to my dad and Scott.

“Have fun!” Dad yells as the door shuts behind us.

“Did you drive?” I ask once we’re outside, the cool breeze wrapping around me and sending a shiver up my spine.

“Nope. I knew you wouldn’t agree to that,” she says as we walk down the sidewalk toward Neptune’s, one of the more popular bars in town.

Since I was older when my parents moved here, I stayed in the city, not moving back until three years ago, when my entire life changed and staying in the city was no longer an option.

It’s been an adjustment, to say the least, going from the hustle and bustle of the city to the quiet of a small town. But it’s been less hard, having zero memories or reminders of the past everywhere I look, like I would if I still lived in the city.

I don’t have to drive anywhere since everything is pretty much in walking distance, and whatever isn’t is reachable with the town’s public transportation—i.e., the one bus that goes around town, picking up and dropping people off.

“I have to go to Milan for Fashion Week,” she says, glancing at me. “You know, if you wanted to join me …”

“As much as I appreciate the invite, I promise I’m doing okay. I’m working and keeping busy. I have the shop, and I recently joined the health club in town.”

“Oh! I heard it’s nice. My mom and Skyla said they’ve been doing yoga and Pilates there.”

Skyla is her older sister, but since she’s twenty years older, married with kids, and busy running Leblanc with their mom, they’re not as close as Natalia is with her other two sisters, who are only two years older than her.

“I haven’t checked out the classes yet,” I tell her, “but I’ve been making use of their treadmill and steam room. And … I’ve started thinking about moving out of my parents’ place. This year will be easier. I’ll be okay.”

“All right,” Natalia concedes. “But if you aren’t …”

Her eyes meet mine briefly, and despite her being over-the-top zealous, I’m thankful for my best friend. We might be opposites, but I love her with every fiber in my being, and I can’t imagine I’d have gotten through everything without her—and the rest of my family.

“You’ll be the first person I call,” I promise.

Before she can argue, we arrive at Neptune’s, the bass from the music drowning everything else out. The second we step foot into the bar, our names are called, followed by Natalia’s twin sisters, Melanie and Melina, waving us over.

“Hey, you!” I give Melanie a quick hug. “I can’t believe you’re out.”

Melanie is married with two kids—one of who is only a couple of months old—and lives in Brookside, where she owns a cute clothing boutique that sells Leblanc as well as other high-end brands.

“Hector practically pushed me out the door after Nat told him she wanted to do a Galentine’s Day girls’ night out,” Melanie says with a laugh.

“As he should,” Natalia says. “You’ve been stuck in that house for months.”

“I haven’t been stuck.” Melanie rolls her eyes. “I’ve been recuperating after giving birth.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Natalia waves her off.

“And look at you,” I say to Melina, changing the subject. “You look amazing!”

Melina has been gone for months, traveling for Leblanc. The last time I saw her, she was a mess over her breakup from her fiancé, who she’d caught cheating. She left with black hair and a broken heart, but the woman in front of me looks refreshed and happy. With beautiful blonde hair and a smile, it’s clear she’s past her breakup—or doing a damn good job of hiding it.

“Life’s too short to dwell on the past,” she says, making me flinch. I hope she didn’t catch it, but it’s clear she did when she smiles sadly. “I didn’t mean?—”

“Hey, stop.” I wave her off. “You know I hate when you guys filter your thoughts around me. I know what you meant, and I’m glad you’ve moved forward.”

“Thank you … because I met someone. His name is James, and I brought him home to meet my parents. I’m hoping we can do a barbecue with everyone.”

“That sounds like fun,” I tell her, as we walk up to the bar.

I glance at the rows of liquor bottles, trying to decide what I’m going to order. I rarely drink, but if I’m going to get through this girls’ night, I’m going to need some liquid courage.

“What can I get for you?” the bartender asks with a grin.

His name is Patrick, and he’s asked me out no less than a dozen times over the past three years despite me telling him I have no desire to date.

“White Russian,” I tell him with a smile I hope conveys friendly, but doesn’t lead him on since he apparently can’t seem to take a hint. “Bryson Black Label.”

If I’m going to drink, it’ll always be my family’s liquor.

“I’ll have an old-fashioned,” Melanie says.

“Old-fashioned for me too,” Melina adds.

“I’ll take a lychee sour,” Natalia tells him.

“You got it,” Patrick says.

While he makes our drinks, we catch up on what everyone has been up to.

My uncle Jase and aunt Celeste are flying out to Paris the week after next for Fashion Week, and my mom will be going to LA for a photo shoot.

She didn’t travel often when we were growing up, but once my brother and sister left for college and I was living on my own, she started traveling more. After I returned home, she took some time off work to be with me—despite me telling her she didn’t need to—but she’s slowly been traveling again, and since I know how much she enjoys it, I’m happy she’s doing it again.

Now, I just need to convince my dad that I can run the shop without him, so he can join her—or more so that I’m emotionally stable enough for him to leave me.

“To family, who make the best friends,” Natalia says, raising her drink.

“To family,” Melina, Melanie, and I all agree.

We take a sip of our drinks, and then Natalia drags me onto the dance floor. With the music pumping, I get lost in the moment, letting the alcohol take over temporarily.

As one song rolls into another and then another, for the first time in a long time, I feel almost happy. It feels good to let go for a little while—to set aside the anger and resentment and raw emotions.

With the liquor flowing through my veins, I’m so buzzed that I’m not paying attention when Patrick sets the wrong drink in front of me, and I down it in one go.

At first, it hits me that it’s not my drink, that it has a fruity note to it, but it’s not until I’m back on the dance floor and having trouble breathing that I realize the drink must’ve contained raw fruit. And since I’m allergic to raw fruit, I’m about to have a big problem.

“What’s wrong?” Natalia asks, immediately noticing the change in my demeanor.

“I drank the wrong drink!” I yell over the music, reaching over my shoulder to grab my … “Oh shit! I left my purse at the shop.”

My purse … which holds my EpiPen … which means?—

“I’m calling 911!” Natalia shouts, already knowing what to do.

This isn’t the first time I’ve mistakenly consumed something I’m allergic to, but it’s been years since I’ve had an allergic reaction and not had an EpiPen on me.

She pulls me off the dance floor and finds a manager, explaining that I’m having an allergic reaction. He takes us into his office while we wait for the ambulance to come—during which time, my symptoms increase by the second.

My hands itch, my skin burns, and every breath I take becomes more labored than the last. I can’t see my face, but based on the way my arms are swelling in various places, I’d bet it’s swelling up as well.

I’d suggest we go to the shop to get my EpiPen, but the raw fruit must’ve been potent because my symptoms are hitting me quickly.

By the time the paramedics arrive, I’m so scared that I can barely make out what they’re saying. Realistically, I know I’m going to be okay, but there’s always a chance an allergic reaction can be deadly.

There are two guys. One is checking my vitals, and the other is asking Natalia questions. They help me onto a gurney and wheel me outside, and that’s when I see the ambulance.

“No!” I choke out. “Please don’t put me in there. Just … just help me here. I just need an EpiPen.”

“Ma’am,” one of the paramedics says patiently, “you’re having an allergic reaction, and we need to?—”

“No, please!” I cut him off, shaking my head and begging him not to put me in the ambulance. “I can’t go there.”

“Go where?” he asks, his warm brown eyes filled with confusion because only a crazy person would beg not to be brought to the place that would help heal them.

My gaze locks with his. “To the hospital.”