Page 21 of Turning Tides
Cyrus had always been an eye-for-an-eye kind of guy. Me, not so much. If Clayton wanted to fuck me over—cool… great. Go for it. But I’d never be stupid enough to make the same mistake twice. My new shop was mine alone. But for the grace of having a space to start out in, everything was mine. The equipment was mine. The talent was mine. Clayton had been good, but I was better.
“Cy, we’ve been over this. Charging Clayton and taking him to court, tracking him down, all of that takes time and money that I don’t have. It’s easier to wash my hands of the whole thing. To forget he exists entirely and hope one day the karma bus doesn’t brake for losers like him.”
I shoved myself to my feet. “Doesn’t your shift start soon?”
The only downside to working above the bar was going to be how easy it now would be for Cyrus to track me down.
“You shouldn’t let people walk all over you. But I suppose it’s your call.” Cyrus sighed, like it was a burden on him to let me make my own decisions.
“It is. Thank you.” I hated having this conversation with Cyrus and I was glad to be getting some proper distance between us. Cyrus was older than me by seven years. Just old enough to think he knew better. He’d always embraced the protective big brother role, and as much as I appreciated him having my back, it sometimes got stifling.
Cyrus got to his feet and headed for the door. “Maybe now that we don’t live together, I might get to see you more often.”
I grinned at him. “Don’t count on it.”
Cyrus shot me a dirty look, but finally left me alone. It was weird to know that he was just downstairs now, especially when I had spent the past few weeks avoiding him.
I was tired down to my bones and though I wanted nothing more than to curl up on the couch for a few hours, I had a ton of shit to get done.
With my earbuds in and my favorite playlist blasting in my ears, I got to work unpacking. I did a quick sort of boxes and would unpack the bedroom last. For now, I concentrated on getting the living space rearranged. I moved the couch to the other end of the living room and created a space for myself to chill out or to consult with clients.
Getting my equipment up the stairs had been no easy feat and I thanked my lucky stars I had Cyrus to help me. I’d never have hefted everything up there by myself. No wonder Clayton had only taken the cash. Everything else was too big to put in his pocket.
Arranging the tattoo portion of my space was trickier, but I got everything set up the way it needed to be. A chair with plenty of room to move around it. My tattoo machine on a small cabinet I’d thrifted for my supplies. Rubber bands, ink, needles, razors, and all the other little items that made a shop tick.
By the time I got everything sorted the way I wanted, I took stock of my inventory and made a list of things and inks I needed to order.With the tattoo part of my space set up, I could move on to hanging the art. I stopped and took a deep breath and looked around, planning where I wanted to hang my pieces. Music pulsed under my feet like a heartbeat reminding me that a whole world existed outside of the several hundred square feet I was determined to turn into my second chance.
The sun was significantly lower in the sky than when I’d started unpacking and arranging things, and my stomach angrily reminded me that I hadn’t eaten since breakfast—and that had been a single breakfast sandwich Cyrus had bought me on the way to the storage unit.
Living above the bar was going to have advantages. After making sure I had my wallet and keys, I locked up and went into the bar. The place was busier than it had been the last time I was there. More than half the tables were full and a few people sat at the bar. I took a seat at the other end from them.
Shane saw me walk in and by the time I sat down, he’d finished serving other customers and made his way over.
“How’s the moving going? Cyrus said you got everything up there okay.”
“It’s going great. The space is already coming together. Maybe you’d like to see it when I have things organized.”
My cheeks heated at the thought of taking Shane again on that same couch. Maybe we’d make it into the bedroom next time. If there was a next time. Him renting the space to me had probably put an end to anything that might have happened between us.
“I’d like that.” Shane turned his attention to people at the other end of the bar, calling his name. “Can I get you anything?”
“Yeah, a bottle of whatever’s good and a bacon cheeseburger with fries.”
After serving me my drink, Shane was off again. I tried not to watch him work, but I couldn’t help it. He was friendly to everyone and they all seemed to genuinely like him. He was an easy man to like. Sitting at the bar, nursing a beer and pretending not to watch every move Shane made wasn’t a hardship. It got even better when my food appeared in front of me, delivered by Mickey, the bartender Cyrus had told me all about.
“You must be Archer.”
“Guilty as charged.” I pulled my burger closer and snatched a fry off my plate. “And you’re Mickey. Cyrus has told me all about you.”
“Nothing bad, I hope.” Mickey said it like he was trying to pass it off as a joke, but I saw the way he held himself, like he was anticipating an emotional blow.
“All good things. Cyrus only pretends to be mean. I think he’s under the impression that people who work in kitchens have to be angry all the time. He’s actually a softie. But don’t tell him I told you that.” I lifted the top of my burger bun up and showed it to Mickey. “See, he knows the burger was for me, so I got extra pickle. He’s soft.”
Mickey pretended to zip his lips. “I’ll never tell.”
Mickey had to go help another customer, but he returned a few minutes later when I was half done with my burger. “I heard you’re renting the upstairs.”
“As soon as I get everything sorted, I’m going to run a tattoo shop up there. It’s what I was doing before I moved back.” I didn’t want to tell Mickey how I’d been fucked over. It was bad enough that everyone else under the sun knew my business.
