Camden Bay looks like a nice little town on the coast of Maine. It’s as far away as possible.
It has that small-town feeling. It even has a main street. Like an honest to god, good ‘ol main street, with shops and a diner, a hardware store, and a couple of bars. And to top it all off, nestled right next to a bookstore, is Ink Me.
I pull my bike into a parking spot in front of the tattoo shop. Taking my helmet off, I glance up at the old wooden sign.This is it, this is the place that I’m betting my life on.
Reaching into my pocket, I take out my phone and dial my best friend Beckett.
“Hey man, I made it,” I say as soon as he picks up.
“I can’t believe you finally made it. It seems like you have been riding forever.” He is not wrong. It took me fucking forever. If the hunk of steel sitting between my legs was not so important to me, I would have flown.
“You're not the only one. My ass hurts and my back is killing me.” I can feel my bones crackle and pop as I throw my leg over the bike and slide off.
“Have you spoken with my uncle yet?”
Three weeks ago Beckett made a call to his uncle, the owner of Ink Me. Turns out he needed a tattoo artist, and I needed to leave.
Nobody wants to walk away from family, but self-preservation and what not. They are toxic and I couldn’t do it anymore. I was losing the battle, and the nightmares were getting worse. Mentally I was in such a dark place that I did not know how much longer I could hold on.
“Nope, just arrived, and I’m about to head in.”
“You're gonna really like it, Finn. You're really talented and you deserve this. The guys are great, and Jaxon has one of the best shops around,” he says like he actually needs to sell me on this place. He doesn't, not really. It’s the only option I have.
“I know, and listen, thank you.” I should say more to him. Thank you for saving my life. Thank you for being my best friend and for being the reason I still believe in humanity. The words stick in my throat, so I push them aside and clear my throat.
“I did nothing, Finn, I just made a call. Your portfolio did the rest.” He says it like I should know this.Yeah, I was good with the self doubt shit.
“Well, thank you either way.” When a few raindrops hit my head, I walk to the door. Talk about excellent timing. “I’ll call you in a couple of days once I’m settled.”
Hanging up the phone, I catch the rainbow sticker in the window.
Closing my eyes, I take a deep breath and pray it’s true and not just for show. Then pull open the door.
Ink Me is a thing of beauty for a tattoo shop. I don’t know what I was expecting, but it wasn’t this. I came from a gross, run down shop with questionable sanitation practices. But this, this was bright and clean.
They dressed the white walls in all kinds of art, not just pictures of tattoos. It has white floors and black armchairs that match a black leather couch up in the reception area.
I feel like I don’t belong, but I know for certain that this is where I want to belong.
There are a few customers browsing catalogs and talking to the receptionist. Waiting my turn, I finally pull up to the counter.
“Hi, I’m Finn Cartwright. I’m here to see Jaxon,” I say with the best portrayal of confidence I can muster. She looks me up and down, with a look I can’t read. Her eyes give a cold, hard stare.
Okay, so pretty sure I should be slightly afraid of her. Then her lips move into a smirk as I silently thank the stars above.
“So, you're the new guy, huh? Ok, well, I’m Mira, this is my station,” she says while splaying her hands across the counter-top and computer. “Don’t touch my shit,” she says, then she clears her throat… “Please!”
Staring at her, I simply nod and say, “Got it.”Fuck, she scares me.
She plasters a smile on her face, which again is borderline creepy. “Sorry, Jaxon is making me work on my people skills. He is in the back. I’ll go get him.”
I move around to look at the shop after she leaves. Behind the counter is a half wall with two tattoo stations. Behind that is a hallway and two enclosed rooms with a large window on each side. And further down the hallway are a few more doors.
The last door on the right opens and out walks a giant of a man. Tall, muscled, with short dark hair and a beard. As he gets closer, I see the tattoo sleeves on each of his arms and a tattoo peeking out his shirt and up his neck, like mine.
We shake hands and make eye contact. He smiles, and that’s when I see the resemblance to Beckett. Their smiles radiate goodness.
I might be okay.
