Page 60 of Yours Truly

SEVENTEEN

Boss’s orders.

Ivy

My rage is blinding me. Truly. I cannot see anything but epic darkness. Ringing fills my ears, so I cup my hands over them protectively and drop to a crouch, getting my bearings. It’s just a panic attack, I tell myself, forcing deep breaths and rational talk. You’re having a major moment, you’re going into fight or flight. You got this. Just breathe, let it flow through you, and come back together.

A minute passes until I get back up, catch my breath, push my hair off my face and cross the street. Heading into Ink Time, I take a spot at my little table in the back, working on a redo for Connor’s client today.

They’re turning their old lover's name into a dagger wrapped in—fittingly—ivy. And I’ve been tasked with the sketch that ultimately Connor will ink.

That is all I focus on.

Turning Stephanie into a sharp, dangerous blade.

After last night, I thought we were in a new place. But then I catch that jerk saying I’m not good enough. With my head down, I let a tear slip out and don’t take care to chase it. It plunks on my paper, sliding off the tip of my nose.

“That,” Deuce says, startling me with his presence at my back.

I swipe beneath my eye and keep my chin held high. “What?”

“That wet spot on the paper. It’s why I initiated ending the apprenticeship.” His gaze settles awkwardly on me, waiting for a response.

“So you wanted to cut me loose and he said I wasn’t good enough to be set free.” I give him my bitchiest, most curt smile. “Really supportive workplace,” I say, the sarcasm doing a shitty job of masking the hurt.

“Ivy,” he says carefully, slowly, deliberately, like drawing out my name is giving me time to prepare for something bad. My stomach clenches, but there are no more tears. “You’re falling for him, and I don’t know that he’s ready to catch you. Or anyone, for that matter.”

I want to ask him how or why Trace might hurt me, but I also don’t want to know. Maybe I’ll find out, and maybe he will be right.

But maybe he won’t.

My bottom lip wobbles annoyingly. “Where is he?” And by that, I’m crying, why didn’t he follow me?

“I told him to take a walk. Catch his breath. He was upset and I know you’re upset and that’s… not a good combo for work.”

I bring my hands to my forehead, kneading the panic and tension, but it doesn’t help. “God, I’m so sorry, Deuce, you gave me this apprenticeship and now everything is a fucking mess. I held women at knife point and because of me, the reason people come to Ink Time is now walking down the street.”

“Hey,” Deuce growls, “Connor and Rash held it down at the other location for years before Trace,” he says, Rash being the artist that quit the shop in Riverside because he met a woman in Oakcreek. “Trace is my best friend. He’s a great artist. But Ink Time will make it with or without him.”

“Same goes for me. And I’m newer and need more help. Fire me, don’t fire Trace,” I exhale, still staring at my sketch, unable to meet his eyes.

“Nobody is getting fired, so let’s clear that up. And second, you’re right. I won’t lie. I don’t need either of you.” He leans down, the scent of coffee and waffle syrup easing my sharp defenses. The smell of Goode’s diner brings me comfort. Deuce brings me comfort. “But I want you at Ink Time, Ivy. And I want Trace, too.”

I blink up at him as he rises, loving that he doesn’t acknowledge the fresh set of tears stinging my cheeks. “I’m sorry I’m making things complicated.”

Deuce scuffs his boot against the tile, shaking his head. “Life is complicated. Don’t apologize. And…” He scratches the back of his neck. “Trace cares about you, he’s just a little behind on how to show it.”

My chest squeezes at his words. I know Trace cares about me. I’ve been confident in that truth for a while. But his demons are standing between us, and while I thought the cage would help, I’m realizing, I need to do more.

“Some men need more help than others,” I say, smiling away the traces of tears left on my cheeks. “My feelings got hurt today. But he’s right. I’m not ready to be on my own. And I’m not a quitter and equally, I don’t want anyone to play favorites for me. I’ll be done with the apprenticeship in six weeks like we planned.”

“He didn’t mean that, you know,” Deuce offers softly. I peer around the top of my cube as Connor comes into the shop, a bouquet of roses in his hand. He reaches over the partition and lowers them to my desk.

“For your first piece yesterday,” he says with a wink. He’s a friend, and they were flowers for a friend. But all the same, I’m kind of glad that Trace isn’t here to see it.

“Thanks, Connor,” I say, getting to my feet in time to hug him over the partition.

“I hope you celebrated last night,” he says with a wink before he returns to his own work, settling in.

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