Chapter 2
Chapter Two
LIAM
“ A lright man, you’re all done. Wanna go take a look in the mirror? And then Riley can take your payment up front when you’re ready.”
David beams at me as he checks himself out in the floor length mirror in front of my main station. The large movie-replica pirate ship with billowing sails was the final and focal piece of his full chest tattoo.
The whole thing is a realistic scene from one of his favorite movies and while I don’t set out to only do nautical work, my favorite pieces usually include them. Running a tattoo shop called High Tide Ink tends to draw the ocean-loving crowd, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.
“Incredible work as usual, thanks Liam!” David says as he aims a pleased smile my way. “I’ll email you later to get on the books for my back piece?”
I nod at my long-time client with a small smile. “Sure thing man. I’m booked out pretty far, but I’ll let you know if I’ve got any cancellations before then. ”
His grin is easy as we shake hands. “Sure thing, see ya later!”
A whoosh of air leaves my mouth when he finally exits the studio, and I slump into the nearest chair. Scrubbing my hands down my face, I groan. “Fuck me, these fourteen-hour days after traveling might finally kill me.”
Riley snickers from the front desk where I can see him stapling the day’s receipts together. I have everything accounted for digitally as well, but there’s an extra measure of security having physical copies of things, too.
Lifting my head so I can see the snarky little shit I call my favorite employee, I level him with a glare that would have most men averting their eyes.
His laughter intensifies at my attempt at intimidating him. Riley’s worked for my shop in Echo Cove since I opened it last year after leaving the California studio I was working at. After ten years I got sick of the glitz and glam that came with working in Hollywood and took a break to visit my best friend during one of his band’s tour breaks only to fall in love with Echo Cove.
I still serve most of my high-profile clients, but now they either come to me, or for an extra fee, I’ll go to them. It’s a bit more work this way, but fuck if I’m not leagues happier here than I ever was in California.
“Sorry, Bossman, but I warned you your schedule was too tight to take a last-minute international booking.”
Waving him off, I yawn and head to the Nespresso tucked safely away in my office. I have two other artists who rent space from me, but they’re smart and don’t schedule clients after four p.m. except on rare occasions. David was a last-minute cancellation and what he wanted was about two hours longer than the original spot was booked for, so it’s going on nine p.m. and I’m beat .
“What have I got on the books tomorrow, kid?”
He snorts. “I’m twenty, Gramps. Not twelve.”
I shrug. “Still eleven years younger than me.”
Riley rolls his eyes with a huff but starts clicking away at the tablet. “Looks like you have a free day, actually. Your only client had to reschedule because her kid is sick.”
Grimacing, I walk over to peek at the schedule. “Thank god she canceled and didn’t bring the germs into the studio with her like that client we had a few months ago.”
He nods with a grimace of his own, closing out of the scheduling app and putting everything away so it’s ready for tomorrow. Riley is our catch-all guy. He’s the receptionist, studio manager, scheduler, and makes sure I never run out of coffee. He may be young, but he’s been instrumental in helping me get things up and running this last year.
“You staying behind to practice?”
His face lights up, making him look more like the kid he is. “If you don’t mind.”
I shake my head with a real smile this time. “Of course not. Just clean and lock up when you’re done, yeah? And shoot me a text if you’ll be here after midnight so I can let the sheriff know you aren’t robbing the place.”
With an enthusiastic thumbs up, I take my coffee and head out to start the short walk home. The best part of Echo Cove is that it’s this tiny beach town, so pretty much everything is within a three-mile radius. My shop, High Tide Ink , is directly on the boardwalk and situated between a busy salon and a small coffee shop. I've never met the owner of the salon, but I'm on a first-name basis with everyone in the coffee shop.
The coffee shop, appropriately named Coastal Coffee , has saved my ass after more than one poorly timed business trip and not only is their coffee delicious, but they also make some amazing pastries.
The salon I don’t visit as often, but everyone there gives a great haircut, so I tend to go once a month to keep my cut fresh so it doesn’t get into my eyes and drive me crazy. My phone’s FaceTime tone brings me out of my head and I’m surprised to find I’ve walked past my house and am almost to the beach.
Deciding to just go with it even though I’m tired, I pull out my phone and see my best friend Keelan’s face smiling back at me. I answer without hesitation, wondering what kind of fuckery he’s been up to. We don’t talk as much when he’s on tour, but his band Nine Waves has been going hard the last seven years and it seems like they’re all ready to slow down. Keelan is the only single guy in the band now but even he’s starting to lose steam.
“If it isn’t the world famous Keelan Loveless finally calling his lowly, peasant friend. Party too hard after the last show and break your phone?”
Keelan flips me off, but his expression isn’t half as fiery as it would normally be. “Fuck off with the stage name, you dick. And the ‘woe is me’ bullshit too. I don’t have the energy to think of a sarcastic comeback.”
I learned Keelan’s real name five years ago when he booked with me for one of his many tattoos, and in spite of my “surly personality” (his words, not mine), we became fast friends. Our schedules haven’t allowed for much face-to-face interaction the last couple of years, but I try to make it out to his shows whenever I can.
Normally I’d razz him for sounding so much like me, but his next words kill the urge to attempt any humor.
“I’m exhausted, man. I swear the last few shows I can barely keep my eyes open by the end. A couple more weeks and we’re done with this leg of the tour and get a little time off.”
I look my friend over with a little more scrutiny now as I drop my ass into the sand, noting the dark purple rings under his eyes. “You do look pretty run down. Is there anything I can do to help?”
He shakes his head. “Nah, just something I gotta get through. We have our last show in Seattle in two weeks though, think you could make it? I’m not really doing the whole party scene anymore so it would be nice to grab dinner and catch up or something.”
I’m already nodding before he finishes his sentence. It sounds like he needs a friend right now, and I’ll do whatever I need to, to be there. “It’s a plan, Drac.”
Keelan visibly relaxes when I agree, and it makes me wonder if there’s something else going on. But I won’t pry when he already seems so dejected. “Talked to your parents or sister lately?”
I’ve never met his twin sister, but I know she’s three years younger than me and moved to New York only a couple of weeks before I relocated to Washington.
Keelan’s parents, however, are a different story. Momma Monroe harassed me until I started coming to Sunday supper at their beachfront cottage, and now I go every week so she can mother hen me to death as her husband looks on in amusement. I think it’s hard on her not having her kids close by, but it’s obvious she’s proud as hell to have raised such smart, successful adults.
As for their dad, John, well I think he’s just happy Kristy has someone else to focus her attention on every week. She’s a nurturer through and through and I know it drives him crazy sometimes. John owns the only auto shop in Echo Cove and refuses to retire even though he’s got a perfectly good successor chomping at the bit to take over.
Keelan’s sigh brings me back to reality. “Yeah, I actually just got off the phone with Lark. I’m worried about her. Normally I can’t get her to shut up during our weekly calls, but she was super fucking cagey this time and held the phone so close to her face I didn’t have a hope of seeing where she was.”
This causes me to raise an eyebrow. From everything Keelan and his parents have said about Lark, she’s a bit of a grump, but fiercely loyal and open once she warms up to someone. “Didn’t you say she had a boyfriend? Maybe she was with him or something?”
A shadow passes over his face, and he shakes his head. “I hope not. I don’t trust the guy. He’s the complete opposite of my sister and even more of a workaholic, which I didn’t know was possible. She spends so much time at her salons you would think she was allergic to the outside world.”
Something about his words niggle at my brain, and then it clicks. “Wait, salon s ? Plural?”
His brow furrows. “Yeah, Wild Waves is her flagship location, and she moved to New York to open a second location she called Wilder Waves . You didn’t know?”
I shake my head in surprise. I knew she did hair and was damn good, but for some reason it didn’t register that she might already own multiple salons at only twenty-eight years old. The names hit me then, and I laugh. “Wow, y’all really have a thing for waves, huh?”
He snorts, flipping me off. “It’s a great name! And anyway, I started Nine Waves first, so if anything, Lark copied me like she always does.”
A small chuckle leaves my throat at finally getting a rise out of him. Keelan has always been defensive about his band name. Most people love it, but there’s always that one asshole who complains about it being cliché, given where he grew up.
It’s me. I’m the asshole.
“I guess I assumed when you said she moved to New York, she was moving to rent a space in an already established salon.”
Keelan’s grin lights up the screen, pride for his sister taking over his entire face. “Nope. My baby sister is a successful business owner, and majorly talented. She’s done hair for some of the biggest names in the world, and she’s so humble about it you’d never know if her social media wasn’t blowing up.”
“I didn’t even realize she was on social media. You haven’t talked about her much since we became friends, and I’ve never had the chance to meet her.”
His eyes widen comically. “Holy shit, I didn’t even think about that. We’ve been friends for what, five years? And you’ve never met my twin.”
When he says it out loud, it makes me sound like a shitty friend. Should I have tried to meet Lark before now? I’ve been to so many Nine Waves shows, but they never coincided with the ones she was at.
“I guess that’s my fault,” he sighs, running a hand through his shaggy platinum-blond hair. “The label’s kept me so goddamn busy I haven’t even seen her in person in almost two years. It’s no wonder my sister and best friend don’t know each other.”
He pauses and then grins, a mischievous look in his dark eyes. “Maybe I can twin-guilt her into flying down for the Seattle show. Give you two a chance to meet and bond. I keep hoping she’ll move back home, but as long as her finance-loving frat-bro of a boyfriend is in the picture, I don’t see that happening.”
I chuckle absently, but my mind is still stuck on Lark. The only time I’ve seen her face has been in old family pictures at Sunday supper, and those are from ten years ago. Keelan does what he can to avoid posting pictures of his friends and family online, but he still recommends his sister’s salon to everyone he knows for their hair needs.
From the pictures I’ve seen, she was a cute girl, all small bright smiles and shiny blonde hair. Teenage me would have been a bumbling idiot praying to get a scrap of her attention, but I was such a shy loner back then I doubt she would have given me the time of day. Not to mention when I was eighteen, she would have barely been fifteen.
“Liam, man, you good?” Keelan’s voice startles me back to the present, and discomfort slithers up my spine at the direction my thoughts took.
“Sorry, just tired. I stepped off an international flight at midnight last night and then was up at four to start my fourteen-hour day.”
His brows rise. “Don’t let me keep you up then. Go get some sleep.”
Nodding, I scrub a hand through my hair, tugging in frustration. “Yeah, I probably should. Text me details for the Seattle show though. I’ll be there.”
After we say our goodbyes, I reluctantly haul myself up for the short trek home. I was lucky enough to move here during what the locals call “The Tourist Purge” when all the long term and summer renters head home for the winter season. All that to say I was able to purchase my home outright from a kind older couple who was using the purge to mark up their home and use the funds to retire in Arizona.
They definitely overcharged me, but they also stop by whenever they come back to visit and bring me cookies, so I’m calling it a win.
I’ve made a few changes to the house in the last year, but overall the previous owners had good taste, and it is completely the opposite of what I had been renting in LA. My apartment in California was the epitome of modern architecture: stainless steel, one-way-glass walls, and all black everything. It worked for what I needed at the time, but it always felt too clinical and I was never excited to go home.
When my realtor showed me this house, I didn’t make it further than the kitchen before putting in an all-cash offer. The outside is painted a light blue with white trim and has a unique triangular bay window on the master suite that faces the yard and street, giving the front facade an interesting shape you’d be more likely to find on Cape Cod than in a tiny West Coast town.
The interior is all light wood and screams beach house, which is what initially attracted me, but the open floor plan in the main living spaces is what really sold me. I wanted room to grow into whatever house I bought with a wife and dogs, even though it’s looking like I may not have that any time soon.
At thirty-one years old, I’ve only had one serious relationship, and that crashed and burned after two years when I came home early one time to find her in bed with her stepbrother. Needless to say three was not company that night and I’ve only seen her twice in the decade since.
When I finally make it home, my feet feel like they weigh a thousand pounds as I trudge up the few steps. The large outdoor sectional calls my name, but I know if I sit down right now I’ll fall asleep on my back porch, so I ignore the urge to sit and make my way inside.
The back door opens into a spacious mudroom that’s perfect for storing my beach gear and the few toys I keep around for my sister’s kids, but it’s the large area in the corner that drags my attention every time I come home.
The previous owners had dogs and built out a cute enclosure for them in the mudroom that’s similar to a playpen you’d use for small children. They crafted the area to look like a white picket fence, and there’s no bars or top to the enclosure so it’s more open and safe than a crate should something happen if the dog is here alone.
I’ve always wanted a dog, and I thought when I bought this house I’d be able to adopt one since I finally had the space, but between traveling and getting the shop up and running I haven’t been home enough to feel comfortable bringing another living thing into my life.
With a resigned sigh, I look away from the empty space and make my way upstairs. At this point I’m so tired I feel like I could fall asleep standing up, and I still need to shower the day off. Hopefully tomorrow is less eventful.