DAMAGED HEARTS
Ink Addicted, 1
Andi Bremner
Copyright © 2017
Chapter One
Gillian
I ran my fingers over the eagle, marveling at the color and detail in the impressive wingspan.
“This is good,” I murmured with genuine appreciation, “really good.”
Even though I was impressed by the beautiful art work, a part of me was slightly uneasy. I was good, I knew that. In fact, I was very good. I was so good people came from neighboring towns to get one of my signature artworks inked onto their skin. But I wasn’t vain enough to think I was the only one who could create beautiful works of art, or that I was the best in the industry. Sure, multiple awards lined the shelves of Ink Addicted’s foyer, but there was always someone better, someone more skilled, with a better eye for detail than me.
No, that wasn’t what made me uneasy.
I looked up at my boss, eyeing her speculatively. “And you say Joe did this?”
Miranda nodded and then covered the eagle, which traced over her left calf, beneath her jeans, rolling down the hem. Her hair was bright red this week, the kind of red that bordered on orange, and her face was made up with her trademark pale foundation, dark black lips and kohl-lined eyes. Massive false eyelashes, heavily adorned with diamantes, completed her look. I often wondered how long it took Miranda to get ready in the morning and if she ever allowed anyone to see her without her makeup. Surely any guy who stayed overnight saw her bare faced in the morning? Not that Miranda ever talked about any guys who spent the night with her.
Which brought me back to Joe.
“So,” I began, “this … Joe. You met him where?”
“Dana introduced us,” she explained, heading into the small kitchenette at the back of her infamous art studio, Ink Addicted. She poured us both a coffee and handed me one. “She knew I was looking for a new artist. I mean we’re getting busier and busier and Jacob can’t take on any more hours.”
I nodded. Jacob was a single dad with two young kids and a sick mother to look after, and while he did as many hours as he could at Ink Addicted, part-time was all he could manage. And there weren’t exactly a lot of tattoo artists hanging out in our tiny mid-west town. The fact that this guy, Joe, had shown up looking for a job felt like a godsend. We were rushed off our feet, since we were the only tattoo studio for several counties and desperately needed another artist to help ease the workload.
“And it means you can finally take some time off, Gillie,” she added, “you know, maybe go on a holiday.”
I frowned. “I don’t need any time off and I don’t need a holiday.”
“Aw, c’mon, everyone needs a holiday every now and again,” she crooned, “and you’ve never had one—I mean not a real one. You need a break, catch a plane to a beach somewhere and lie in the sun and just relax.”
I blinked at Miranda. I know that to her, and to many others, that sounded like bliss and there was a time, years ago, when I also thought a holiday by the beach would be heaven too. But that was before. Now, when I thought about it, all I saw were endless days of endless thinking. I didn’t want to think. I knew firsthand that too much thinking only bought back the terrible memories.
“Or maybe go and visit your family.”
“That I really don’t need to do.”
She cocked her head to one side and considered me. I’d worked in Miranda’s studio for the last five years, and while I considered her my friend as well as my boss, I’d never confided in her as a friend. I’d never explained what had bought me to this town, to this studio, searching for a new life. I kept my past to myself. I knew that being so secretive aroused curiosity and that was fine. Curiosity I could deal with, talking about my family, my past, I could not.
“Anyhow, tell me more about this new guy,” I prompted, redirecting the conversation away from me.
Miranda had been talking about the new recruit for the last week and I’d listened with feigned interest. But that morning when she’d waltzed in with that new tattoo marked on her leg and said Joe was now a new employee at Ink Addicted, I’d grown more interested. And apprehensive.
There were few people who created images as realistic as the one on Miranda’s leg. There were few people who blended their colors like that, few who paid such attention to creative detail in the eyes. Even as my heart burned just from the memories Miranda’s tattoo aroused, I told myself it was not possible. It could not possibly be the same person.
“He was in the army,” she explained now, putting another nail in the coffin for me. “He was only recently discharged.”
I felt the smile freeze on my face.
It couldn’t be. For one, I was two hundred miles away from the town we’d grown up in, the town where I’d lost my heart, the town I’d vowed never to return to. And two, his name wasn’t even Joe. I relaxed a little. It was just a coincidence that a guy from the armed forces could create beautiful artworks so reminiscent of him. That was it. Just a coincidence. Alex had trained me in the art and he’d probably trained dozens of other people since. Someone was bound to pick up and copy his style eventually.
The only thing was, I’d learned years ago, there were no such things as coincidences.