Page 20 of Yours Truly

It’s fucked up, I know.

“Those are hers,” I comment on the sketches as Deuce plucks one from the stack, holding it up to the lamplight on my desk.

“I know,” he says, his eyes full of wonder as he takes in the sketch. A woman—one who reminds me of Ivy herself—lots of ink, long wavy hair, a scowl on her face, plump lips and a stubborn little nose— holds tight to a circular piece of wood, knives sticking out of the board. Beneath the sketch of the salty woman having withstood a barrage of knives, two words written in beautiful cursive. Magician’s Assistant.

That one’s my favorite. Deuce turns the piece so I can see it, nodding as he says, “She’s good.”

I shrug, focusing on the rope I’m currently sketching. “She’s not bad,” I say, hating that I can’t just agree with him. She’s not even around. It would be okay to admit to Deuce that Ivy is incredible. Hell, it would actually be the best time to do it. Get it off my chest, make her look good to her boss, which she absolutely deserves, and purge it from my soul so I don’t accidentally slip and tell her she’s good or something.

I lower my pencil to the paper and get to my feet, facing my friend. Looking over the stations, I don’t see Ivy but still, I keep my voice low.

“You picked the right person for the program. She’s a gifted artist.”

There.

Easy.

The right thing to do is now done.

In my mind, I’m swiping my hands together to be rid of the guilt, and patting myself on the back for giving her the credit she deserves.

Maybe I’m not such an asshole after all.

Deuce claps a hand on my shoulder. “I already knew that, asshole. Why don’t you tell her instead of me?” He glances down at the sketch I’m working on then back at me, adding, “Good luck on your morning session today. I was only asking if you’re ready because it’s been a while since you did a few hours.”

I nod. “I’m good.”

He moves out of my space, toward the front. “Good. Because I’m heading out. I’ll be back around lunch. Ivy, too.”

I arch a brow. “She’s not going to watch my session?” I scratch at the back of my head, trying to ignore the free fall of disappointment in my stomach that she won’t be here this morning. “Isn’t that, like, the point of the apprenticeship?”

“The point is to learn the business and art of tattooing, which she’s doing.”

“So where’s she goin’?” I ask, ignoring the urge to look around the studio. She was just here, so where the fuck is she now and why isn’t she staying?

“Connor is taking her to look at needles at the supply store twenty minutes North.”

“Oakcreek?” I ask, my throat suddenly dry and uncomfortable.

Deuce nods. “Yeah. She’ll probably be our buyer once she’s ready and secure—and Connor is dying to pass off the responsibility. He did it at the last shop we were at and he said he’d do it in Bluebell to get us on our feet but he doesn’t want to be our buyer. And Ivy would be great at it.”

“You’re offering her a job when she hasn’t even graduated from the apprenticeship?” Why I am arguing against Ivy when I know firsthand she’s capable of doing anything, I don’t know.

“She’s talented and sharp, and she works hard. And last time I checked, I don’t need your permission to run my business. That opportunity came and went years ago, didn’t it?” Deuce says before pushing open the front door with a ding, disappearing onto the sunny sidewalk.

At one point, Ink Time was our dream.

But I met Cat and everything else happened so fast.

By the time I signed onto Trace Tats, Deuce had already put down money for a lease on the first two shops.

The shop falls silent without Deuce. I guess Ivy must’ve slipped out the back when she went to meet with Connor.

Connor. Psh. I know she didn’t choose him over me, she just chose to learn a new task today instead of sit and observe. I can’t fault her for that. Truth be told, I think it’s sexy as shit that she’s so hungry to learn the business.

I’m not mad because she’s not here.

I’m disappointed.

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