Midnight Ink (Inked Hearts #1)

1. Ian

ONE

IAN

With a flick of my wrist, I snap my chair open and sink down.

I’m already tired.

Not of this, but . . . I guess kind of tired of this. It’s still early. Sometimes I come later in the day, but I prefer the mornings. It’s early enough that I’m usually alone. Grief scares me. I don’t know why.

Grief is intertwined in my DNA at this point, but watching someone else sob makes me uncomfortable.

I have no idea why. Maybe because I know there’s nothing I can do to help them.

There’s no cure. Believe me, if there was, I’d have overdosed on it years ago.

I like to fix things, ease people’s stress and worry.

I know after seven years of this there’s no relief, though.

It’s not a cut that will heal. It’s not a sickness that will be cured.

It’s just there. Rotting you from the inside out.

Right now it’s still cool out. I brought my zip-up hoodie—his zip-up. The one he wore when we first met. It’s dark blue with black trim. It’s worn now, the sleeves fraying slightly. For the first few months after it even still smelled like him.

I stare at the headstone for a minute. It’s nothing fancy. I know his mom did what she could, and I didn’t have much money to help. Not that she would have accepted any money from me anyway.

I wonder if she comes as often as I do.

Anger sparks in my chest and I have no idea where it comes from. It’s a tiny flicker. I shouldn’t be here on the eighth of every fucking month talking to a fucking rock.

I drag in a breath. It’s fine. Nothing new, right?

It’s the same routine I’ve had every month for the last seven years, since the love of my life was violently ripped from me.

“The bakery was out of those dairy-free tarts you like, so I had to grab those éclairs you always insisted on eating though your lactose intolerant ass shouldn’t have eaten them.” Maddox used to say it was worth it, but no. Not in my opinion. Not one damn bit.

It doesn’t matter now, though, does it?

Not like he’s going to eat them.

I set them down on his grave and grab one, because while I do this every month, I always leave a couple here for him.

I have no idea why I do it. But they’re always gone when I come back.

I’m not sure who takes them or what. Probably an animal.

Images of a really fat squirrel or raccoon make me laugh.

Maddox would have loved that shit.

If he’d heard me say it, he’d probably have drawn it.

I take a bigger than normal bite and chew, tilting my head back to look at the murky clouds.

I can see the sun trying it’s best to peek through them.

It’s supposed to be hot later today. The two temperatures in upstate New York during the summer are hotter than hell and hotter than hell with a side of humidity.

Maddox loved the heat, but humid weather just does shit to me. I hate it. When it got like that, the air thick and heavy, he knew to stay away from me. Madd liked to push my buttons and try to hold me while I was fighting for my life during those humid days. It used to piss me off.

Now I’d give anything for a sweaty hug.

Exhaustion is weighing me down, but I don’t know why I’m so frustrated today. It’s itchy. Sometimes this happens. I go through waves of it. Happy, sad, angry, depressed.

Happy never stays too long.

The anger . . . well, yeah, that lingers the most.

It’s when I start to feel nothing that worries me. Like nothing matters, there’s no purpose to any of it. Not without him. It’s been nearly seven fucking years in this dark reality, and it still really hasn’t sunk in that he’s gone. Not completely.

To this day I see him so clearly. His wide easy smile, which usually meant we were going to get into trouble.

Not too much, though. Maddox could talk his way out of anything.

Or in my case, into anything. My best friend in this entire world.

My boyfriend. The person I was supposed to have beside me for life.

I close my eyes and picture him. Curly black hair.

It was so soft. He bleached the strands in the front before he died, and I called him “Cruella” even though that man would never have hurt an animal.

I miss his amber eyes that sometimes turned brownish green in the light.

His soft brown skin. His wicked lips that said and did the filthiest things.

Strong arms and hands with a steady grip that could pull the anxiety from my lungs.

Maddox was my anchor for years.

Now he’s nothing. A ghost I talk to when I don’t want to feel alone. I’ve been without him now for twice as long as I was with him. It’s a grief so thick and heavy I don’t think I’ll ever stop feeling it.

“Oh, shit.” I lean forward, adjusting in the seat, and take another bite. For the first few years I used to sit on the grass, but tattooing and age made me require the chair. “Jamie’s engaged. I don’t think I’ve told you that yet.”

At least that’s some good news.

“I honestly couldn’t believe it when he told me.

You should meet his fiancé. He’s . . . something.

Think Anna, but like, almost worse. Which means you both would have been besties.

” That brings a smile to my lips. Noah’s funny and outrageous and maybe that’s exactly what our friend needs.

“I’m planning a back piece for him. It’s tricky with the scars, but I’m confident we can design something sick.

” It’s going to be hard, but I think he can handle the pain.

Jamie was one of Maddox’s best friends. He was in that car the night we lost the people most important to us.

He lost his sister and his girlfriend along with Maddox.

A mutual friend updated me on his progress, and he was in bad shape for a while.

Both of us struggled for years, and then he met Noah. I couldn’t be happier for him.

And maybe I’m a little jealous.

“We’re planning a phoenix. He’s got scars everywhere on his back and chest, but I think we can pull it off.

He’s going to paint a mural by your station in exchange.

He’s not worried about the pain, but you know Jamie.

He’ll push himself until he drops, and I don’t want that.

” His first session is next month, and I hope we can at least get the outline done and give him time to heal.

Noah texted me privately and told me to be careful with him or he’d remove my balls through my belly button, which I thought was adorable.

It’s a huge piece, and on top of painting for me I’m a little worried too.

He suffers with chronic pain as a result of the accident, and while he’s told me that lately it’s gotten a lot better, I still want to be careful.

One month I’ll tattoo. The next he’ll paint. He told me he could knock it out in a week but I just don’t want him overextending himself. I’m in no rush. We can work vice versa until we’re both finished.

I open my mouth then close it. I almost mention Julian, but there’s always something that stops me. I’m not sure why. It’s been years since Julian came to work for me and I’ve still never mentioned him by name. “Oh, Anna says hi, and she’s still pissed at you for dying.” Same.

Logically, we know it’s not his fault. It wasn’t anyone in that jeep’s fault. Still. I’m so fucking angry. There was no justice. No punishment or anything. The man responsible for this devastation also died that night.

Seven years ago, I was at a party with some friends. Jamie, his girlfriend at the time, Maddox, and Jamie’s sister Luci left in Maddox’s jeep.

Earlier that day we’d gotten into a fight over the shop.

I wanted this shop with him, I really did, but I just wanted to tattoo.

I never wanted the business side of it. It scared me.

I’m not good at math or marketing; I’m an artist. It’s the only skill I have.

I’m not outgoing either. Fuck social media.

I don’t talk much in general unless there’s a tattoo gun in my hand.

All the logistical crap makes my head hurt.

Maddox promised me that he would take care of all that.

He was brilliant, and I know he thought my fears were silly.

In his mind he was going to take care of us.

He never wanted any other artist in the shop, just the two of us and the occasional apprentice, and Anna of course.

They grew up together and she’s been with us from the start.

He promised me that day that I wouldn’t have to worry about a thing.

Then, twenty-four hours later my entire world was destroyed.

I still don’t remember anything that happened in the days after.

It was like my mind tried blocking out the intense breath-stealing pain. Not only did Maddox die, but so did Jamie’s girlfriend and his sister. Jamie was in a coma for days. Thankfully he survived the crash, but it broke his mind for years.

Then he met Noah.

Before I can stop it, I feel heat prick at my eyes.

“We were supposed to do this together, Madd. You and me.” So many scenarios go through my mind, all of them pointless.

I was in no state to drive that night. The only reason I’d been drinking was because I was still angry with him for not listening to me.

He blew off my concerns like he always did, because in Maddox’s mind he had this.

There wasn’t anything that could stop him.

If he had an idea or a dream, he was going to see it through.

During my darkest moments I wish I’d been in that jeep with them.

Maybe if I wasn’t acting like a brat that night, I could have driven. Maybe if I’d kept him with me, or if we’d talked a little longer. Maybe if I’d told Jamie to just keep Luci with us until she sobered up some.

Maybe. Maybe. Maybe.

It does shit for me.

“I miss you.” Looking up at the clouds, I let the soft breezes calm me. Maddox was an atheist and I know he’d roll his fucking eyes at me right now.

I like to believe he’s still around, but knowing Maddox, he would have given that up within the first year after following my depressed ass around.

The talking is more for me. It’s something I can do to pretend.

“This isn’t how our eighths were supposed to go.

” This wasn’t how our life was supposed to go.

When I was nineteen, I met a boy on the eighth of August. Infinity day he called it. Fate.

That day changed my life forever.

We found out our birthdays were both on the eighth. Mine in January, his in November. The fucking chances. It was cute then, cruel now. I remember the day I met him like it happened yesterday. One mischievous grin at me and I was gone.

Then every month on the eighth we made time for each other. It didn’t matter what we did as long as it was together. It went on like that for years.

The eighths were always ours.

Until he died.

“I can’t think of anything else to say.” I feel helpless.

Not angry, just helpless. The one person in the world who swore they’d always be here with me, who swore we weren’t making a huge mistake opening our own shop on the eighth of August, fucking died a month to the day before our opening. “I love you so much.”

It’s sad to admit that I hoped this would fade, that at some point this grief would be manageable.

But it’s hard when I go to work every day in the shop we were supposed to run together.

When I go home to the apartment with memories around every corner.

When at night I slip into the same bed that used to hold so much warmth.

When I look in the mirror and see his art all over my skin.

He’s everywhere. In everything.

Everything reminds me of Maddox fucking Cruz.

Idly, I rub the infinity symbol on my wrist and think back to the day I got it.

“An infinity symbol?” I look at it, and while I’m confused why he chose it, it looks incredible. “It looks like ink.”

Maddox smiles. “It looks like it comes straight from a calligraphy pen.”

“It’s great.” I watch him. “Why an infinity symbol?”

He smiles wider. All white teeth and bright eyes. This man is trouble. “Because it’s us.” He looks at it. “Meeting on the eighth month. Our birthdays are on the eighth. That’s fate, Ian.”

“That’s coincidence.” I look at it again and notice his eyes drop to my lips when I drag my bottom lip between my teeth.

“That doesn’t sound very whimsical either.”

“You and whimsy.” He’s unbelievable.

“You know what would be whimsical as fuck?” He grins.

“What’s that?”

“If you kissed me.” A sharp laugh leaves my lips. “Peak whimsy.”

“You’re terrible.”

“I’m also a great kisser.”

“I have two pieces to do today.” It’s Saturday.

I had hoped for a day off tomorrow, but I have some things to do in the morning.

I think Jamie’s coming up too. Noah’s on vacation, so maybe I’ll go visit them tomorrow after work.

Since tattooing a tiny dick on his chest—long story—we got pretty close.

He’s even brought a couple of friends by.

Although if I visit, Noah will demand a game night.

He also calls me Tattoo Daddy now, and Anna thinks it’s the greatest fucking thing.

Those two are dangerous together.

I need to do something else. Something that doesn’t have to do with the shop or anyone who’d been in Maddox’s orbit.

Maybe Julian would want to hang out tonight?

Julian.

His name tugs a small smile from my lips with a side of guilt.

I’m not sure why it manifests when I think about him.

Our shop closed for months while I processed everything, and part of me never wanted to open it back up.

I had a full book of clients looking for tattoos once the shop opened and I had no clue how to do any of it.

Then I met Julian.

We instantly connected. I found out he was an incredible artist, and he apprenticed for me for a bit until I hired him full time. We just clicked. It was like this huge weight was lifted after Maddox’s death.

Julian is special.

Which is why after all this time I still haven’t mentioned his name when I come here. I don’t know why, it’s not like Maddox would ever know. I mean, if ghosts are real and he hasn’t made himself known this entire time . . . that’s fucked up.

If it were reversed, I would have haunted the shit out of him.

I’m not sure why I haven’t mentioned him, but I keep Julian for myself. I shared everything around me with Maddox while he was alive. Our shop. Our friends. Our apartment. The bed we slept in every night.

Julian . . . well, Julian is just for me.