3. CHAPTER 3
The guy on my table is stomach down in his own world. His earbuds are turned up so high I can hear them over the buzz of the tattoo gun, but I’m thankful for it.
I don’t want to talk.
I don’t want to have to make excuses for why the shop is nothing at all like our reputation describes.
The guy drove all the way up from Portland to have me work on him. He’s Korean, too, and heard about my Dancheong art. He's booked in for two calf cuffs that will take at least three sessions.
He doesn’t know what the shop sounds like with four people, with banter and Eden’s asshole laugh echoing off the tiles.
I know he doesn’t care that half the place is empty. I know he didn’t make the drive for the atmosphere. Even so, my body feels so heavy with guilt that I’m not sure if I could form a sentence if he did decide to talk.
This isn’t the hardest work I’ve done but the placement means I have to put more of my body into it. It’s the angle, really—leaning over, holding his skin tight, inking long woven streaks of black from his knee to half-way down his Achilles.
He doesn’t flinch. Not even when I near his ankles.
I wish all men would sit like this. They’re usually the worst. Give me a woman to work on any day of the week.
I wipe down the back of his calf and switch magnums. The outline is done, but there’s still time left in the session so I might as well get a head start on some of the band shading.
The base of the cuff is wide, like temple eaves but in reverse.
Two cranes; one wading, the other mid-flight, are the centerpiece of his right calf, a dragon and tiger star on his left amongst intricate geometric designs.
I wipe away the excess ink and stretch out my neck.
As I roll my shoulders I catch a glimpse of myself in the heavily tinted front window. My hair is due for another bleach, and even in the weak reflection I can see the bags under my eyes. The shop looks worse than I remembered, as well.
Two days ago I put every reminder of Eden and Reeze in the back room, and I don’t think I’ve had the time to take a proper look around since I left that night.
The paper towels are almost out. I left a box by the autoclave intending to refill the cupboard out here, but there’s still a half-drunk coffee from yesterday I haven’t thrown out by the computer and my trash bin is about to overflow, so it’s no surprise I’ve not moved it yet.
The phone rings, and I let it ring. My client stirs for the first time in ages, and takes out one of his earbuds.
“You good?” I ask in a flat voice.
He blinks. “Yeah. You can get that if you want.”
“Nah.” I shake my head. “I’ll be done here in five minutes. If they want me bad enough, they can call back.”
The guy gives a dry chuckle and takes his phone out of his pocket for the remaining time.
I finish the section I’m shading; black and perfect.
I catch movement in the corner of my eye and see a figure in a black bomber jacket paused just beyond the door. They don't come in, but I watch them for a second before setting down my gun and cleaning the whole back of my client's calf with a green soap soaked cloth.
I ask him to take a look in the mirror and he climbs down from the table.
He looks at the flying crane on the front of his leg then turns to look at the back.
“They’re so sick, man,” he says, and there’s real gratitude in his words.
I nod and thank him. “I haven’t had the chance to work on pieces this big in a while.”
He sits back down for me to dress it, then puts his shoes on.
We make another appointment for the following month. Then he pays, and leaves—the doorbell ringing so much louder than I ever remember it doing before.
As soon as he’s gone I drop into the stool behind the desk and rest my head in my hands.
I breathe out slowly. I look at my forearms and the brightly colored patterns of my own tattoos, like if I keep staring at them the ache in my chest and stomach that’s been there since Eden kicked over Reeze’s bike will fade away. But it doesn’t.
I look around the shop again. The flash art on the walls looks stupid now.
I stand up before finding more shit I hate.
I wipe down my station and head to the back room. I open my laptop and go straight to my emails. There’s bills for the shop, sales reps trying to offload their latest products, and one from the town council about the next election.
Ignoring them all, for now, I open up the week's schedule and look at the following day’s appointments.
I might not want to see Reeze’s face or hear his fucking voice, but at least I can trust that he’s handling his own clients. How he’ll be doing that, I couldn’t possibly care less, but I know it'll get done.
And then there’s Eden.
Fucking Eden.
I still have week's worth of his appointments to cancel.
I click on the client info for next Monday’s first booking and the dread in my chest blooms into anxiety.
He should be doing this.
I want to call him just so I can yell at him again, but I know the argument that’ll follow will only be made worse by hearing his voice again and knowing he's not coming back.
I check the time.
Fifteen minutes till my next appointment.
Five more hours till I get to go home because I took on a couple of Eden’s smaller bookings.
The doorbell pounds against my skull.
I swallow down the momentary nausea and slide open the backdoor.
“The fuck are you doing here?” I ask when I see Austin standing in the middle of the shop floor with his arms crossed.
“Eden burned through my work Tuesday afternoon, so I thought I’d come and see for myself if the rumors are true.”
“You’re such an asshole.” I walk towards him and shake his hand. We’ve known each other since high school. He was one of the few guys Eden and I didn’t totally hate spending time with.
“I'm just bringing Eden’s attitude back home.”
“So you copped it too?”
He nods, his shaggy brown hair swinging. “There’s a clear path of destruction from here the whole way to that fucking cabin.”
I take a few steps back and lean against the front of the reception desk. “You’ve got five minutes. After that I’m closing questions for good.”
“Was it really Reeze?”
“Yeah.”
“Did he actually catch them mid…?”
“Yeah. Red eyes and spit everywhere.”
“Fuck.”
“I know.” I’ve put in my best effort not to think about it because sympathy isn’t something Eden deserves from me right now. But it must have been like a knife to the chest. “He’s an ass for bailing, though.”
“Are you so certain you wouldn’t have done the same?”
My brows push together and I stare at Austin like he’s got some ulterior motive. “I’m not the bad guy.”
He raises both hands. “I never said you were. But none of us know how we’d react to seeing another guy balls deep in our girl’s face. Especially if it was one of your friends.”
“Thanks for the visual.”
Austin shrugs. “Guess that’s one of the upsides to being single.”
“You’re not wrong.”
“Gets lonely though.”
“Does it?” I say blankly.
“Not everyone has sex on tap like you do.”
I huff out my nose. “Your hit rate would be higher if you weren’t so fucking desperate.”
“And how is that fair? You don’t want a relationship and you get all the girls. Meanwhile I’m—”
“Sporting a crooked cock?”
“Fuck off.”
“You know it doesn’t matter if you’re in the right position.”
“I don’t know why I’m friends with you.”
“Cause you’d get no chicks if you weren’t?”
Austin opens his mouth but ends up smiling as he scratches his jaw. “We should get a drink tonight.”
I chuckle. “See. You’re too desperate.”
“Fine. I won’t talk to anyone but you.”
“So when your prospects are low you’ll hit on guys, too?”
“For the love of god. Why do I fucking bother,” he mumbles.
I laugh, “You’re too easy. Banter is meant to have more give and take.”
“Are you gonna come out, or not?”
“Can’t.”
“Or won’t?”
“I’ve been pulling twelve-hour days.”
“Not even for one beer?”
“My van’s out the back. So, no. You know I don’t drink if my keys are anywhere near me.”
“It’s one beer.”
“And that’s too fucking many!”
Austin’s eyes widen, then he nods. “I know, man. I just miss you guys. And I’m sorry it took this to happen for me to haul my ass in here.”
I scratch my scalp with both hands. “I’m sorry, too… There’s still so much shit flying all around me. Just wait till it settles. Maybe after Thanksgiving.”
Austin holds out his hand. “You can call me whenever you want.”
I shake it again. “I won’t.”
“I know.” With a warm smile he steps backwards towards the door, but as he reaches out for the handle, it pushes itself open. “Well, fuck me.”
“Hi, Austin.” The voice is low, and sarcastic.
“Is that any way to greet me?”
“I didn’t come here to see you.” Barely five foot tall, Anaise—another local who never managed to leave Broadrock for long—cocks her hip to the side and looks up at Austin.
“But now that you have, is there anything you’d like to say?”
“No.” Her response is blunt, and I laugh as Austin claps his hands over his heart like she just shot an arrow straight through him.
“You know rejecting me only makes me want you more?”
Still holding the door, Anaise opens it further. “Your loneliness is not my problem.”
“You know I don’t believe in that manosphere bullshit.”
“Good. Cause I wouldn’t talk to you at all if you did.”
Austin drops the act and takes the door from Anaise. “Any chance you feel like going for a drink tonight?”
“No,” she rejects him again and steps towards me. “I came here to see Tek, then I’m out in Daintree with my grandparents until after Thanksgiving.”
Austin makes eye contact with me and mouths, “Lucky man,” before showing himself out.
I smile down at Anaise. “D’you think you’ll ever give in to him?”
She wraps her arms around my middle and I rub her back with my right hand.
“Please. We’d have nothing to talk about if I did. Him pretending to like me and me turning him down is the only kind of interaction we’ve had since high school.”
“Are you sure he’s pretending?”
“Stop delaying the inevitable,” Anaise says kindly, holding my face in her hands.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
She squishes my cheeks together. “I’m sorry I didn’t come sooner.”
“I’m fine.”
She pushes harder. “Have you heard from your brother?”
“He texted my parents last night… The police said there’s nothing they can do.”
“Seriously? I’m so sorry.”
I take her gently by the wrists and hold her hands. “I’m a big boy. I’ve gone through worse.”
“I know. It’s why I worry so much.”
Her big brown eyes look up at me with just as much pain hidden behind them as she knows I’m holding inside myself. Running a finger across her forehead I tell her, “You need to cut your bangs.”
She smiles, her round cheeks pushing out as she tucks the left side of her chestnut bob behind her ear. “You need to get your roots done.”
“I might grow it out.”
“I don’t think you will.”
We look at each other, saying nothing more but knowing exactly what the other is thinking.
Anaise wraps her arms around me again and I rest my cheek on the top of her head.
“I’m only at my grandparents. If you need me, just call.”
I run my hands up her arms then move her away from me. “I told you, I’ll be fine. And my next client is about to walk through the door, so there’s no more time for you to pry.”
She slaps my chest. “Caring isn’t prying, you big oaf.”
“Please don’t ever stop.”
“You’re stuck with me.”
“Go,” I tell Anaise, and turn away from her to walk behind the reception desk because her good intentions are stirring up too much.
The bell on the front door rings as she leaves, but it’s followed by a shuffle and a thud, and—
“I told your brother I didn’t want any help.”
Standing just inside the entry in a pair of baggy pants and a jacket that’s almost as big as he is, is Carey Novak, carrying everything but the damn kitchen sink.
“What makes you think I’m here to offer you anything?”
I shrug. “I’m not sure what you could offer in this state anyway.”
“Excuse me?”
“You look like you’re the one who needs the help.”
“You’re such a dick.”
“You’re in my shop.”
“It’s my brother’s shop, too.”
I press my palms into the counter and lean forward. “Is it? I don’t see him anywhere.”
“Yeah no shit. I only came in here because I thought you could give me some answers.”
“He’s your brother.”
Carey takes another step inside, his tone straining. “And I hardly know anything about him anymore."
“And that’s my fault?”
He lets his head fall back, and groans. “What is your problem?”
“I’m talking to you.”
He walks to the cabinets that run adjacent to the desk and puts his grocery bags, and… a fucking camping chair, right on top of the art folders. “What have I ever done to you?” he asks, turning back to me.
“You mean I can’t just dislike you for no reason?”
“We’ve hardly ever talked. I’ve not been back here for years.”
“And yet, you’re here now.”
“My god, is it a fucking crime to think that maybe you’d be someone I could complain about my brother to? Seeing as he screwed you over as well.”
“I don’t talk bad about people.”
“Please,” he laughs, and it’s like nails scratching my spinal cord. “You’re friends with Eden. You talk shit about everybody.”
I sigh, “What do you want, Carey?”
“God, I… I don’t know anymore. I didn’t come in before because you were working on someone, so I came back.
I was trying to be polite. I don’t want anything from you, but I arrived this morning from the other side of the world to find my brother has disappeared and now I’m on my own.
I just thought you might be able to—fuck.
I don’t know. At least he told you where he was going.
I showed up to his entire apartment on the lawn. Shawn took everything. I have nothing.”
“I’m struggling to see how that’s my problem.”
“I never said it was your problem. I’m saying that he fucked us both over.”
“No. Your carefree party Christmas time has been upended. I’m actually fucked. I’ve got to work enough hours for me and your brother to cover the debt he put us in.”
Carey opens his mouth, but after a second he closes it again. With his head down, he picks the bags and chair back up again and quietly says, “At least you have a reason to wake up every morning,” before letting himself out.
I know his brother told him to come but this isn’t a daycare center.
I’d rather do this all on my own than look at the blond haired version of Eden van der Hart every goddamn day.