Damaged Hearts

by Andi Bremner

  EVERNIGHT PUBLISHING ®

  www.evernightpublishing.com

  Copyright© 2017 Andi Bremner

  ISBN: 978-1-77339-356-8

  Cover Artist: Jay Aheer

  Editor: Audrey Bobak

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  WARNING: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.

  This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, and places are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  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.

  Chapter Two

  Alex

  My head ached and my lungs burned. It felt as if I’d inhaled toxic gas it was that hard to breathe. But I hadn’t. I’d just dreamt I had.

  Staring at the clock on the kitchen wall, I tried to summon the feelings of excitement or anticipation I knew I should have. Today was my first day of work. I had a job, a real fucking job doing something I loved. I should be ecstatic, I should be over the moon. But instead I was so fucking tired my eyelids burned.

  I poured myself another coffee. Strong. No milk. No sugar. I was determined to get through the day, no matter what. I needed this job. I needed this life.

  I also need to get rid of the fucking nightmares and get some decent sleep.

  I thought about ringing Nicole and making an appointment. As a therapist, she was good, and for the first time ever I felt as if I was getting somewhere, which was saying a lot as I’d seen a shitload of therapists over the past few years. Some were better than others and some were worse. But Nicole was … okay … good even. One night a few weeks ago, I slept for three hours straight, which meant we were making progress.

  My phone buzzed and I glanced at it, chugging down the rest of the caffeine before I answered. “Miranda, hey.” I tried to sound like I’d had a good night’s sleep, like I was up and eager to start work.

  “Hey,” she drawled into the phone. “Just checking you haven’t changed your mind. We’re all excited to meet you.”

  “Nope, haven’t changed my mind,” I replied, pouring another refill. “Looking forward to it. Be nice to be part of a team again.”

  “Awesome. I’ve told Gillian all about you. She was impressed with your work, by the way, which says a lot as Gillian is one of the best in the business.”

  “Gillian?” My heart hammered to a stop in m
y chest and my coffee suddenly tasted like dirt. It was the name. Her name. That was all. I hadn’t been expecting to meet anyone with her name. I tried to think back to what Miranda had said about the studio. She talked a lot and while I tried to keep up, my mind tended to wander. It didn’t wander in the usual sense of the word, I didn’t daydream and think about other things, it just went blank and I tuned out sometimes when people were talking. Nicole said it was a coping mechanism, that I thought about nothing instead of thinking about bad shit. Whatever. I was sure, though, I would have registered the name Gillian if Miranda had mentioned it. But no. Miranda had talked about the other two artists, some of the clients, the town, the pay, but I don’t remember hearing the name Gillian.

  “My go-to girl,” she was explaining now. “Don’t worry you’ll meet her soon enough.”

  Right. Shit. So, I was going to have to work with some girl called Gillian. Okay. I could do this. I would not lose my shit on the first day.

  I hung up from Miranda, promising I’d be in shortly, and closed my eyes, sucking in a deep breath. Gillian. Of all the names to hear today, on the day I was finally getting my life back together and it was Gillian.

  And I was going to have to work with her. Hopefully she was nothing like the Gillian of my memories. The Gillian from my other life. Hopefully there was nothing attractive or sexy about this woman at all. Hopefully, just hopefully, she’d ruin the fond memories I had of a girl called Gillian for good.

  It was stupid really. Years ago, I’d given up on hope.

  Chapter Three

  Gillian

  Tammy Barnes was a hairdresser who worked in the salon two doors down from us. In between our tattoo studio and the hairdressers was, ironically, a store that sold inspirational gifts. You know, little crystals that hang by the window and send fragmented light around the room, cupid statues decked out in dried flowers, little angels and fairies with personalized messages. They also sold personal development books, spiritual books, and motivational books, many of which I had a stack of at home. I loved them, was always looking for that ‘magic something’ that would fix what was broken inside of me. So far, I’d failed to find it in any of the poems, quotes, or stories, but I kept searching.

  I’d never give up and give into the darkness that lingered on the scattered outskirts of my mind. I’d done that once and had been taken to a place I never, ever wanted to visit again.

  “Are you sure about this, Tammy?” I asked now as she flipped through one of the files displaying our work in the reception area.

  “Absolutely. He’s the one,” she stated, “he really is.”

  I smiled tightly and bit my tongue. “Well, what about something that means forever?” I suggested. She wanted to have her boyfriend’s name tattooed across her breast, over her heart. I’d seen enough mangled tattoos and been involved in too many repair jobs to count to ever suggest that tattooing someone’s name on your body was a good idea. There were exceptions to the rule of course. A parent’s or a child’s name, your love for them would never change, but a lover’s? That was a whole other story and one no one knew the end of the love affair until, well, the end. And they rarely ended well.

  Tammy sighed and pointed to a set of old fashioned lettering. It was like newspaper heading from the nineteen twenties. Big and bold. Nothing discreet. “I think this is good.”

  I considered it. “His name’s Timothy, right? That’s going to be quite large.” And quite messy to get rid of in the future, I added silently.

  She shrugged. “The bigger the better they say, right?”

  I nodded and led her through to the back of the studio where I would draw up the sketch for her. It wouldn’t take long.

  A little while later and Tammy was lying back on the chair, staring at the television we’d mounted on the ceiling, her breast exposed as I made Timothy’s name permanent over her heart. He might not stay in her heart forever, I mused to myself, but he’d be on it forever. Tammy and Timmy, a match made in heaven … hopefully.

  The door to the shop jingled and I called out a ‘just a moment’ as I concentrated on the ‘M’. Miranda had popped out to do some banking and Jacob didn’t work Mondays.

  Finishing up, I glanced at Tammy. “How are you doing?” Tammy had several tattoos so she was probably relaxed about the whole thing, but I still wanted to make sure she was okay.

  “Fine.”

  “Be back in a minute,” I told her as I headed out to deal with the customer who’d walked in. Miranda would be back any moment and then I could finish up with Tammy before my next appointment arrived. My next appointment was a guy name Blake who was in the process of getting a massive scene etched onto his back. It was a huge phoenix rising out of the ashes, complete with gargoyles, dragons, and other mythical creatures hidden in the flames around him. Blake had come up the idea and together we’d created it. It was fabulous, or at least it would be when it was finished.

  “How can I hel—”

  My words faded out, floating into the nether as I stared at the man in front of me. All coherent thought fled my brain and time stood still. No, time didn’t stand still, it was retched back, far back about ten years to when I was twenty-two-year-old girl crying myself to sleep at night. To when I was terrified to leave the house, could barely bring myself to eat and was consumed by the darkness I’d spent the last ten years trying to escape.

  “Gillie.”

  I blinked at the stranger I knew so well. Pain prickled all over my body, piercing my heart, making my skin itch and burn and my hair stand on end. I wanted to grab at my flesh, pull it off and scream over and over and over. How I managed to remain so calm, so still, I would never know, when every part of me, every single cell, felt as if it were on fire.

  I’d been in hell once before so I knew how much it burned.

  “Alex. Oh, my God,” I breathed, “what—what are you doing here?”

  His gaze flickered over my face as if he was taking in every detail. Otherwise, there was no reaction from him, nothing. Nada. It was as if he’d bumped into an old friend from high school, which I guessed was what we were. Only we were so much more. Had once been so much more…

  “I have a job. Here.” His voice was flat, almost bored, and I envied the stoic composure he had. But I guess that was what years in the military would do. He was hard. Hardened. He’d probably seen things worse than what we’d been through, and I wished I didn’t envy him.

  “You’re … Joe?”

  “Uh huh.” He glanced down at his feet and then back up at me. The shock of seeing his eyes, so green and so full, made me jump a little. I dreamed of those eyes. Sometimes they were beautiful dreams where his eyes were full of love, and other times they were nightmares, where I’d wake sobbing into my pillow, my heart broken all over again.

  I opened my mouth to speak, not even knowing what I was going to say, when the door behind him swung wide and Miranda walked in. She smiled when she saw us in the reception area, utterly oblivious to the moment we were both trapped in. “Oh good. You’ve met Joe.”

  I stared at Joe, waiting for him to say something. To tell Miranda he wasn’t Joe. To tell Miranda he wasn’t going to work here. To tell Miranda he had to go. To tell me he was sorry and that he loved me and never should have run away and…

  “Gillian.” Miranda’s smile dropped. “Are you ok—?”

  It came over me in a wave. A rush of emotion that made my stomach heave and twist and turn in on itself.

  “Excuse me.”

  Swirling, I ran out the back of the studio, past Tammy waiting patiently on the table, and into the staff bathroom where I threw up. I stayed there for the longest time, retching and retching until there was nothing left to purge. I squeezed my eyes shut tightly, hoping to hold in the tears, but it was no good. Like the contents of my stomach, they refused to stay inside my body which I feared was slowly breaking apart.

  Broken. You couldn’t break what was already broken.

  Wiping my face, I sat back
on the floor, leaning against the door.

  What was he doing here? How had he ended up here? I didn’t think for a second that Alex had come looking for me. No. Like me, he’d hoped we’d never see each other again. That we’d never cross paths and then never have to think about the unthinkable.

  “Gillian?” Miranda’s voice came through the bathroom door. “Are you okay?”

  I bit the inside of my cheek and wondered if he’d told her. In those few moments since I’d ran off had he told her our history, had he shared our story with her?

  “Yes,” I said and pushed to my feet, stepping out of the cubicle to splash cold water on my face. “I’ll be out in a few minutes.”

  “Okay,” she said, and I could hear her hesitate on the other side of the door. “Joe is finishing off Tammy’s tattoo. It’s lucky, he’s got a very similar style to you.”

  I made a face, staring at my reflection in the mirror, at the woman I suddenly didn’t recognize, a woman who’d just had her whole life come crashing down around her.

  Of course he did. He taught me my style.

  Chapter Four

  Alex

  The girl on the tattoo bed was flirting with me. It wasn’t the first time I’d been flirted with by a client, but it was one of the most disconcerting times. I was too wound up, too shocked at having just seen Gillian to really concentrate on anything other than the letters I was inscribing.

  “So, you’re new to town?” she asked, arching her back a little to make her breasts stick out more. Her nipples were dark red and pinched into tight nubs that were getting tighter every second.

  “Uh huh,” I replied, and then added casually, “so, Timothy must be pretty special.”

  Immediately, her ardor cooled at the reminder of the name I was inking to her tit. She mumbled something about him being her boyfriend before she averted her attention to the television screen mounted on the ceiling. I glanced up to find a rerun of Seinfeld playing. It was mind numbing but a great idea. Perfect to distract customers. Even seasoned inkers got nervous sometimes.