CHAPTER 1
FIVE MONTHS AGO
BRIDGER
My back aches a little as I sit up and wipe down the tattoo I’ve been bending over for the last two hours. It’s time for a break. Past time, really, but my client has been sitting like a champ. Sometimes it’s better to take advantage instead of risking the pain setting in and their skin becoming tender.
It doesn’t help that I’m working on this guy’s chest piece, and I’ve been tattooing around his nipple. He hasn’t flinched, but every time I’m close to it, I wince internally in solidarity. It’ll be worth it, though.
This traditional Oni mask will mirror the one he already has on the other side. While the first one we did is all light, filled with color, flowers, and water, this one is dark. The juxtaposition of the imagery is beautiful and I’m damn proud of this design.
Before I just trudge forward, I stretch a little and force myself to ask, “You doing good? You need a break?”
“Shit,” he hisses slightly, the first sign of his silent struggle coming to light. I get it and he could have said something, even though I don’t exactly invite conversation during my sessions. “I wouldn’t mind stretching and taking a piss, man.”
I practically raise my hands up in surrender at his words before putting my rig down and wiping the tattoo again before pulling my gloves off. He stands up and heads toward the bathroom as I reset a little to get ready for him to come back.
“Yo, Bridger,” Travis calling out from the other side of the room has me looking toward him. He’s grinning at me with his phone in his hand, curiosity shining back at me from his eyes. “You’re the one with a client who used to be part of that boy band, right?”
It’s difficult, but I stop myself from rolling my eyes. Monroe’s client, a woman who is a little too perky for my taste, takes notice of our conversation. The woman’s eyes ping-pong between Travis and me, as if the action will get me to answer him faster.
“Yeah, Falcon is one of my clients,” I admit, even though I do so reluctantly.
“Oh!” The woman Monroe is tattooing exclaims. “He’s the cute one,” she pauses, and her face twists up before she corrects herself, “well, they’re all the cute ones. But he always had a sexy bad boy vibe to him.” Her eyes snap toward Monroe who is biting her lip and trying not to laugh before her gaze moves to me. With her chin to her chest, the look on her face is filled with far too much curiosity as the client asks, “And now he has tattoos?”
“A few,” I grumble.
I hate small talk. The only people I really talk to are the people I work with here at Vibrant Ink. And it took time. I’ve never walked into a room and craved attention or the spotlight. I sure as fuck haven’t ever wanted people to swamp me and expect a lot of conversation.
Unfortunately, I can’t fully avoid it here. Not only do I, occasionally, have to talk to my clients, but the people I work with won’t let me retreat entirely. I almost wish I could hate them for it, but I don’t.
They’re the closest thing to family I’ve ever had, and I love them, as much as I know what love means. I appreciate them, their quirks, their individuality, their artistry. I lean on them, even if they don’t realize it, and I try not to make it obvious. I support them when they need it, though I try to do it as silently as possible.
Monroe grins at her client before shooting me a look and shaking her head as if reminding me to be nice. I almost let out a derisive snort. I’m nice. It’s not exactly my fault if no one else thinks I am, is it?
“Anyway,” Travis holds out the word, but winks at Monroe’s client who flushes a light pink color in response, “something just popped up on my feed about their last album and tour. It was almost 15 years ago now. Can you believe it?”
Monroe’s client squeals and I cringe because it hits a note which should only be heard by dogs or come from babies. “They should do a reunion tour,” she gushes.
“I’m not mentioning that to Falcon,” my voice is gruff and holds no room for argument.
It’s not only none of my damn business, but I won’t become some teenage fan girl over my client. The man doesn’t talk about his time with The Heart Beats. Granted, I’ve never asked. Sure, the first time he came in for a consultation, I recognized him but that’s where I left it.
He found my social media page through the Vibrant Ink profile, and he liked my work. That’s all that mattered to me.Hell, the only thing I share on my social media is my art. No one gives a shit about what I eat throughout the day, and I certainly have no interest in influencing anyone about anything.
Let people live their lives without all the social media drivel and pressure. It’s all too much, and most of it is fake anyway.
Knox pipes up from his corner of the room, “You don’t need to bring it up to him. The way to get things moving is to talk to Tenley about it.”
“Why is my wife’s name in your mouth?” Even though I can hear the edge of teasing in Wyatt’s voice, there’s quite a lot of steel there as well.
Knox chuckles and looks over at Wyatt with a huge grin on his face. The man knows what he’s doing and isn’t scared at all. It’s because, at least partially, Knox is a big guy and not a lot of people are willing to step up to him. What you can’t tell just by looking at him is that he’s a big softie who loves to make people laugh however he can.
“Well, she is gorgeous,” Knox teases our boss.
Wyatt opened this shop 15 years ago and has been steadily growing his business. One of the best things about Wyatt is that he loves to find new talent. We’ve seen quite a few amazing artists come out of this shop; most of them started here as apprentices.
Some people have gone off and moved away from Denver to work in notorious studios across the country. Others have opened their own spots. Wyatt doesn’t feel like he’s losing a damn thing when either happens, even though I think a lesser man would.
