MidnightInk-epub Read online

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  “Stone cold sober.” She sighed.

  “Alright then, let’s do it.” He patted a bench and indicated she should make herself comfy while he prepped his station. “Since everyone else is gone, I’m gonna lock the door. Will that freak you out?”

  “Considering my bare ass is hanging out, it’s probably for the best.” She chuckled, then climbed on the table he gestured to and rested her forehead on her folded arms, trying not to flinch at the breeze dancing over her exposed skin.

  Shep laughed as he took care of business. Professional yet down to earth, he put her at ease. “What style do you want the lettering? And how big do you want this to be? Color? Black and white?”

  “I only care about the name.” She shrugged, lifting her head a bit as it rode the movement. “You’re the expert. Do what you like. Something fit for a military man.”

  “My favorite kind of customer.” Shep hummed as he squirted some pigments into tiny cups. He assessed the rest of her artwork and made a few quick decisions. “I’ll make it match your style and conform to your body. Sound good?”

  “Yeah.” She exhaled long and slow, relieved he wouldn’t make her concentrate on technicalities when her mind was so focused on the reason behind the ink.

  “Spell this asshat’s name, would you?” He sounded as if he had gritted his teeth.

  Chavon complied with his orders then hid her face against her forearm, embarrassed by the tears in her eyes. Just Burke’s name had longing bubbling to the surface, despite her best efforts to snuff it.

  “Well, I guess I ain’t gonna bother asking you out.” Shep’s light touch as he freehanded the design on her skin softened his joke. “You’re clearly crazy to be letting some bastard have a place of honor on this perfect ass. Clearly, he didn’t know what he had.”

  Chavon hummed with a hint of the melancholy that had refused to leave her. Both of them knew she wasn’t available. It’d be a while before she could imagine another man’s hands on her, unless they were administering a platonic or clinical touch. Pathetic.

  “Maybe I’ll be able to move on after this. I just don’t want to forget him, you know? While it lasted, it was…everything.” She looked up at Shep, hoping he wouldn’t laugh at her. Or the tears streaming down her cheeks.

  He didn’t. His nod was solemn as he rolled up his shirtsleeves, exposing the ink beneath, and prepared to work.

  “Honey, I know this is tough, but if you’re shaking like that, you’re gonna end up with some squiggly lines, and I ain’t known for doing shit tattoos.” Shep squeezed her shoulder. “You can always come back for a touch-up, but let’s try not to need it, okay? Or we could wait…”

  “No. It has to be tonight.” She swallowed the lump of misery in her throat. Hell, she had plenty of practice in drowning out the pain. “I’ll do my best.”

  Shep made some rumble of agreement before getting down to business. The buzzing needle had nothing on the rending of her heart. With each pass Shep made, a little of the emotional trauma faded, replaced by a physical ache and the security of knowing that Burke would always be with her.

  Even if she had to go on without him.

  Chapter Three

  Almost Three Years Later

  Burke Levine reread the e-mail his friend, and new boss, had sent him yesterday. He compared the address in the document to the scrolled ironwork on the building in front of him. It was the right place. Midnight Ink. A tattoo shop on Canal Street planned a New Year’s Eve benefit that would generate donations for the Wounded Warrior charity that had employed Burke for the past six months.

  It felt like a pity gig some days, but the reality was he hadn’t had much choice except to pack up and leave Pensacola for the generous opportunity. Constantly hobbling around to rehab appointments and wielding a limited civilian skill set, he’d taken what he could get and used the position to help others who’d suffered similar or worse fates than he had.

  Most of his tasks were easy, like this one. He’d agreed to check out Midnight Ink and make sure the place was up to par so they could endorse the event and run joint promotion. It was routine busy work with the side benefit of reminding him daily that some people truly had a core of goodness. Their willingness to help strangers erased the ugly behavior he’d witnessed, and participated in himself, while at war.

  Burke massaged his thigh so he’d limp less when he entered. He didn’t mind the thought of going inside the shop he loitered in front of for a couple of reasons.

  First, because it would allow his mind to wander from the job to the things he preferred to focus on—or worry about—on a daily basis, like his progress in physical therapy and how his long-lost love might be doing out there in the world on her own.

  Probably taking the damn thing by storm, if he knew Chavon.

  Another reason, if he was honest with himself, was because he’d decided what he wanted for Christmas. It was a few days early, but why wait? Unlike the year before, the item at the top of his wish list was something that would probably seem trivial to most—a tattoo.

  His first one ever.

  For a Marine, remaining a clean slate through an entire tour overseas was something of an oddity. Then again, he’d never made it to the final days of his deployment.

  Twelve months ago, he’d begged the universe or Santa Claus—he would have asked the fucking tooth fairy if there was a chance it might help—for things like relearning how to walk and how to talk after surviving the blast that had rattled his brains and his bones equally. Every day had been a challenge kicked off by a rude awakening from nightmares of bombs exploding and his comrades screaming as flames engulfed their convoy.

  Burke had come a hell of a long way. Through it all, one thing had encouraged him to take the first horrendously painful step, then the next and another...

  The memory of a gorgeous, slightly crooked smile.

  Open, encouraging arms.

  Flowing green tresses.

  A unique woman.

  Chavon.

  He’d obsessed over whether or not she’d take him back. Would she count him lucky to be alive? Or would she shove him away because of his disabilities and the constant struggle he endured to return to normal, whatever the hell that was? His gut knew what she would do. He knew her acceptance would be absolute. At least on the human level. On the romantic front…well, he might have lost that war. For all he knew, she could be married with an equally adorable blue-mohawked kid by now. His guts clenched hard enough to tug his scarred side at the thought.

  Still, he had refused to seek her out until he knew he could be the man she needed instead of one who’d act as a burden she didn’t deserve. Again.

  Except when he’d finally managed to march from the military hospital under his own power, straight to her crappy apartment in Pensacola—with flowers clutched in his shaking hands—he’d found it abandoned. Her phone had been disconnected. Even the e-mail he’d sent her bounced back. The woman he’d forced himself to leave behind had vanished. Nobody at her old diner had seen her since she’d quit.

  Sounded like that had happened about two seconds after he’d left her.

  Walking away had been the hardest thing he’d ever had to do. Even more difficult than writing letters to the families of the men he’d served with, who’d been shipped home in boxes.

  Sure, he’d waited years to contact her, but only because his future had been so uncertain. Hell, his worst imaginings had nearly come true the day the series of IEDs had launched shockwaves and shrapnel that ripped through his flesh.

  What if it had been Chavon some official had presented a folded flag to?

  He couldn’t bear the thought of doing that to her.

  Instead, he’d sacrificed.

  After he’d escaped the military, and his obligations—ones he’d signed up for before he’d met the special person who’d altered his ambitions—he ran for her. Okay, maybe it was more of a half-assed hobbling jog, but it was the best he could manage. Only to end up empty-handed. Whe
n he’d spied the busted out windows in the bedroom where he’d last cradled Chavon against his chest and rapidly pounding heart, he’d broken. Everything that had motivated him to heal quickly had poofed like a mirage in the desert he’d fought—and nearly died—in.

  Even though he’d clutched her hard enough to crack bones, he hadn’t been able to hold on to her. She’d slipped from between his fingers.

  In the wake of his eviscerating discovery, he’d accepted his buddy’s offer and moved to New Orleans to start his new—unimproved—life. That didn’t mean he had to forget.

  Forcing himself back to the present, Burke took a deep breath then pivoted on his good leg for the front door of the tattoo shop. He tried not to stand so straight when he entered the casual civilian space and approached the front desk. A woman with rich caramel skin, a whole lot of curves, and an electric streak of turquoise in her long brown hair, stood from her place behind the counter to greet him with a wide smile.

  “Hi. I’m Sassy. Welcome to Midnight Ink.” A collection of bangle bracelets jingled on her highly tattooed arms when she pushed a pair of fashionable spectacles up higher on her nose. To his eye, it seemed like plain glass in the frames. The look was a good one for her, he noticed idly. He supposed she would be considered attractive by his friends, though no woman had caught his eye since Chavon.

  “Thank you.” He extended his hand, surprised and pleased by her firm grip when she shook. “I’m Burke Levine. I was sent by Wounded…”

  “Oh! Yes! Of course.” Sassy rounded the counter and waved him toward a small reception area filled with artfully scattered black vinyl chairs. “Would you like a cup of coffee while we chat? I can show you around and introduce you to the artists who are participating in the New Year’s Eve event. I have some flyers I can review with you too. We’re excited about raising some serious dough.”

  “That’s much appreciated.” Burke could only answer one of her million questions as she practically ran circles around him. “And no, ma’am, I’m fine on the coffee, thanks.”

  Sassy giggle-snorted at the formality.

  “Sorry, old habits.” He shrugged.

  “Hey, it’s probably the only time she’ll hear it, so go ahead.” A guy almost as tall as Burke approached. “Did I hear you say you’re with the veteran charity?”

  “That’s right.” He barely prevented himself from answering with, Yes, sir. “But what I hadn’t mentioned yet is that I thought I’d approve your shop my own way. I’d like a tattoo. Would that be possible?”

  “It’s what we do.” Sassy wiggled her brows.

  “What’re you looking to get?” The guy scanned Burke’s virgin skin as if looking for some hint of ink. He wouldn’t find any. “I’m Shep, by the way.”

  Burke held out his hand and shook, this time not the slightest bit surprised at the strength that returned his own. “Burke. I’d like a woman’s name. If you’ll go easy on me, that is. It’s my first time.”

  Sassy laughed and slapped his ass, startling him. “Yeah, right.”

  “I bet it ain’t been your first time in a while, soldier.” Shep shook his head but grinned.

  If only they knew exactly how long it had been since he’d had a woman, they’d be looking at him like he was more hopeless than the medics who’d assumed he would croak in that helicopter ride from the battlefield to the hospital.

  When Burke didn’t respond, Shep covered the gap in conversation. “Why don’t you flip through my portfolio and figure out what kind of lettering you prefer?”

  “I’ll grab the photo books and flash binders for you.” Sassy trotted off to a library built into her station at the front of the shop. Their whole operation seemed professional, thorough, and efficient.

  Burke had no doubts Midnight Ink would make a great partner for the charity.

  “So who is this woman to you?” Shep asked as they waited for the art.

  “The love of my life.” He sighed and slumped in the chair, unable to maintain his parade posture with the combination of pain in his back and his heart assaulting him at once.

  “Go ahead and relax. Nobody to impress the fuck out of here.” The tattooer grinned, then warned. “But you know, slinging someone’s name on your skin ain’t a good idea, right? It’s a curse. It never lasts after that.”

  “Eh. Too late.” He tried to swallow around the sudden dryness in his throat. “She’s already gone.”

  “Shit.” Shep spoke quieter. “It’s a memorial piece you’re looking for then?”

  “Ah, God.” Burke choked. “No. Not like that. I hope.”

  Panic assaulted him. Why hadn’t he thought to check the public records for some horrid accident? He refused to believe Chavon was just…no more. No, she had to be out there. Somewhere. Happy, he hoped.

  “Oh. Oops.” Sassy rejoined their awkward conversation in time to smooth things over. “How about we just give the guy what he wants, Shep?”

  “Good call.” The artist grew silent as Burke took the photo books and flipped through. The guy had serious skills.

  But the flourishes, three dimensional shadowing, and steady line work weren’t what stopped Burke’s heart. No, the thing that almost had him falling off his chair was something even more amazing. He could hardly speak.

  “This.” Burke’s finger shook as he pointed to his own name drawn in cursive with a star spangled background.

  He’d recognize that perfect ass anywhere.

  “Good eye. That’s the one I’m most proud of.” Shep nodded solemnly. “I could feel it really meant something to this girl. I felt I owed it to her to live up to—”

  “Wait.” Sassy leaned in closer, her eyes wide as she whipped off her accessory-only glasses. “What did you say your name was again?”

  “Burke.” The book shook in his hands as he confirmed without blinking once. Chavon. She’d been here. Of all places. What the hell? How?

  Shep and Sassy exchanged incredulous glances over his head.

  “Whose name were you going to have me do?” Shep’s question held a protective edge that hadn’t been there before. Burke could relate.

  “Chavon.” Her name rolled off his tongue like a prayer.

  “Holy fuck.” Sassy stood up and paced away then back.

  “You remember her? It is a pretty name. Unusual. Green hair, gorgeous eyes, colorful tattoos, three piercings in her left eyebrow and one in her lip right here.” Burke turned to Shep as he tapped his own mouth, remembering how he’d loved kissing her with the bit of metal giving some strength to her lush softness. “How long ago was this? Was she okay? Did you do this here, or at a convention, or visiting another shop?”

  “Yeah, I ain’t gonna forget a woman like her so fast.” Shep seemed to choose his words carefully. “It’s been a few years since I did this piece though.”

  “I need to find her. Please. Can you help?” Burke pleaded, something he never did. But for Chavon, he’d crawl through the mud and then some. And that was before he groveled to get her back. It didn’t matter what it took. He’d do it.

  Shep was quiet so long, Burke began to think he’d say no. But Sassy squeezed the artist’s shoulder and tossed him a puppy dog look.

  “I keep a client roster. Especially for people I’ve photographed for my portfolio. I have their releases on file. Somewhere in the storage space upstairs.” Shep didn’t make any promises. “I won’t give you her information. That’s not right. But maybe I could track her down and give her yours.”

  “I would owe you for the rest of my life if you could. You have no idea how much this means to me.” Burke clasped Shep’s hand between his. “I love her. She deserves to know.”

  One of his biggest regrets was that he hadn’t told her. He’d known saying the words would only be selfish, make it hurt more when he left. He’d bitten his tongue to keep from admitting it as he’d slunk down her staircase and out of her life.

  “What if knowing isn’t good for her?” Shep wondered out loud. “What if she’s moved on?�


  “Then I’ll keep it to myself. Again.” Burke relied on his sense of honor to make the hardest promise of his life. “I swear, I don’t want to hurt her. I’ll only tell her if she’s open to hearing it.”

  “I’ll do my best.” Shep shrugged and looked away, making Burke curious about his sudden odd inability to meet Burke’s stare. Something wasn’t quite right.

  “Thank you.” Hope flooded Burke for the first time in months. He could have leapt onto Sassy’s counter and danced to some Dixieland jazz, complete with flicks and stomps on his bad leg, he felt so good right then.

  “So you still want that tattoo?” Shep angled his chin at the album in Burke’s hand. He snagged the sketch book and colored pencils Sassy held out to him then doodled.

  While Burke watched, fascinated, Chavon’s name materialized in artistic swirls and bright colors. The emerald green filling in the letters reminded him of her twinkling eyes and the alluring hair that had proclaimed her untamed side for all to see. Shep captured her essence in the bold lines and graceful curves of a textured banner that embodied sophistication and freedom all at once as it flapped in an imaginary breeze.

  Impressive, for a guy who’d only met her once.

  “Hell, yes.” Burke strode to Shep’s station, dropped trou, then wiggled the waistband of his briefs until his ass was bare. He lay down on his front, ignoring the zing in his hip at the should-be-standard motion. “Regardless of what happens, she’s part of me. The best part. I’m doing this for me.”

  Shep nodded as if he approved. Burke wasn’t sure why that mattered to him, but it did.

  Sassy grinned down at him. “This is a good day in the shop. Want me to hold your hand?”

  “Quit staring at his buns!” a female artist nearby shouted at Sassy, though Burke noticed she took more than a peek for herself in the process. He fidgeted, trying to cover up as much of the scarring as he could. Melted flesh tended to freak people out.

  “Does it matter?” Burke cleared his throat then looked to Shep. “That I’m fucked up? A lot of the other guys who come in for the New Year’s Eve benefit might be too. Is that a problem?”