Permanent Ink (Something to Celebrate #1) (28 page)

Chapter Thirty

Two days later, Ben ducked out of the main entrance of Sunnyside Retirement Center and stared numbly at the sea of cars in the parking lot. Shading his eyes, he looked to the right at the field across the highway. It was filling up with cars, too. For Ink Fest. Part of him wanted to breathe a sigh of relief, and the other part wanted to run screaming.

What he wouldn’t give to be anywhere else. Hell, he’d almost enjoy tagging along with Starling and Peter, who were eloping to Niagara Falls in less than an hour. Lucky them.

Rolling his tense shoulders, he pulled the doors open and went back inside the cool, crowded lobby, his gaze darting around, looking for Blair. He knew it was hopeless, but there was always a chance she might show up for the TV interview. There was always a chance she’d come to him. To explain.

That’s all he needed, he realized. Nothing she’d done—no matter how horrible—could change his love for her. He’d seen that love reflected back in her eyes. When she’d stood on the steps of the gazebo, gazing at him, her heart in her beautiful eyes, he knew. That as much of a mess as she’d made, she loved him deeply. Why else would she have deliberately tried to sabotage the parade? If she’d just told him the truth…

Pausing in the lobby, he looked around one more time.

People from all walks of life were packed tightly in the cavernous space. Before this year, Ink Fest had been a congregation of hard-core enthusiasts. It hadn’t been the type of place for kids—at all. Now there were families packed in, balloons and candy being handed out, and seniors were everywhere. A group of them across the lobby sat in wheelchairs while they chatted up a guy with full-body tattoos. Everyone was included. Everyone was celebrating the art of tattooing.

Ben smiled. Blair had made this happen—and, he finally realized—she understood him. She understood him completely. If only she were here, he could tell her. Congratulate her on her brilliant planning, but right now, he could barely think. The din from down the hall—in the recreation room where the vendor booths had been set up—was deafening. He needed to get his shit together and focus on his agenda. And then there was the dreaded speech, which he had to give to the artists and vendors before the TV crew began filming. But before he could look at the list in his hand, Grizz clapped him on the shoulder.

“It’s a record crowd, son. You should be proud.”

Ben gave him a nod. “Yeah. Thanks, man.”

“You nervous?”

He was nervous as hell. Heartsick as hell. “Nope. I’m trying to get to these last-minute details.”

With a laugh, Grizz grabbed the piece of paper from his hand, glanced over it, and then wadded it up. “You don’t need this. Take it as it comes.”

“That was my list of clients for the day.” Ben reached for it.

Grizz tossed it over the reception counter. “Relax, son. The clients will come find you and your speech will be great. Don’t worry. You’re getting famous, and famous people get cut some slack.” He walked away, grinning.

Ben knew it was true—at least the fame part—there were posters with his face plastered on them all over the place. He was standing right next to one of them in fact, and he eyed it warily, looking at his own carefree smile and confident pose, tattoo machine in hand.

It had been Blair’s idea over a month ago to use his face for the posters instead of Starling’s. And he’d thought it was because she liked the idea of him being famous. He’d been a complete asshole. Then he’d walked away from Blair when she needed him most. When she’d completely fucked up—he’d offered her a cold shoulder instead of forgiveness.

And now?

She might escape. Take the job in the city, because she thought that he’d rejected her. He had—at first. He’d been
so
pissed. If she’d come to him then, there was no way he would have listened. But now he wanted to. He wanted her to face him—face her fears. Like he was about to face his own.

He was solo at his first ever Ink Fest, contemplating whether or not to punch a hole through a four-foot tall photo of his own face. And then three girls with faces full of metal and horrible scratcher tattoos approached him, phones in hand.

“Can we have our photo with you?” one of them asked breathlessly.

“Sure,” he allowed. Anything to distract him, even if it was this—this uncomfortable feeling of being admired. He posed dutifully, his arms around two of them. Glancing down, he scrutinized the badly inked anarchy symbol on one of the girls’ necks. “I can fix that for you,” he said.

She slapped her hand over it self-consciously. “It’s bad, huh?”

“Honestly? Yeah. Sorry, but it is.”

“I know. It’s really embarrassing.” She pulled away from him and looked at his arms. “Not like yours. And I know better, now. I’ve learned a lot about tattooing.”

“Yeah?”

“I know that you’re one of the best.” She shrugged. “I’m an apprentice for an artist in Buffalo, and I’ve been studying your work. It’s inspiring.”

Ben stared at her. “Thanks.”

She grinned. “No problem. It’s very exciting to meet you.”

Shaking her hand, Ben returned the smile, noticing with surprise that his anxiety faded a little bit. He waved to the girls and began to walk down the hall, but was stopped again. And again. Some of the people only wanted a photo, but there were several more who wanted to compliment him on his work. All in all, it took him another ten minutes to make his way down to the vendor area, and when he walked into the room, it erupted with applause.

Ben stood there, speechless, his chest expanding with something…something good. He was appreciated. Admired. And although he was still uncomfortable, he came to a realization. Somehow, during the chaos of the last couple of months, he had become a star, whether he liked it or not.

His face splitting into a grin, he waved at the crowd and cleared his throat. “Thanks!” The applause began to die down. “Thank you.”

He waited another minute for the room to get quiet—or as quiet as it
could
get at a tattoo festival. “As you all know, the NBC affiliate from Syracuse is here filming today. After I give an interview, they’ll be wandering around. Try to ignore the cameras and act natural.”

Everyone laughed, which prompted him to grin. “I need to take my own advice. Getting up in front of people isn’t my strong suit, but I’m learning.” He took a breath. “So now is a good time to thank you all for being part of the festival. We’ve had a great time so far and it wouldn’t have been possible without three people.” He searched the room and spotted Grizz and Starling standing off to the side. “First of all, Grizz Carson, the legend.”

As Grizz walked up to stand beside him, Ben waited for the whistles and cheers to subside. “We all come to a crossroads in life, and Grizz came to his when he decided to leave Ink Fest in my hands. It means the world to him, and I’ll do my best to honor his legacy in the years to come.”

Grizz wrapped his arm around Ben’s shoulder.

Ben fought away the lump in his throat and gestured toward Starling. “I owe a huge debt of gratitude to Starling—”

He paused again, smiling as the crowd went wild. Starling, of course, stepped forward and ate up the attention, posing in her leather bustier as if she was doing a pinup photo shoot. After a few seconds, she motioned for the crowd to be quiet.

“As you well know,” Ben said, a chuckle in his voice, “Starling is amazing. She is the reason that clients are lining up outside the door of my studio. And because of her, I’m lucky to have tattooed some of you in this room.”

Ben stood there for a moment and then took a deep breath. “The last person I need to thank…well, I don’t see her here today, but it’s Blair Whitaker, the woman who had a big hand in planning Ink Fest.”

There was a smattering of applause, and Ben forced himself to raise his hands to the crowd and slap another smile on his face. “Have fun, everybody. Be safe. And kick ass.”

A wave of cheers rolled over him and he stepped back, relieved. Now he could go lose himself in tattooing. Let the noise and excitement of Ink Fest wash through him, around him. Deaden some of the pain of losing Blair. He had lost her, hadn’t he? She hadn’t come to explain anything to him—even though just like other times, she’d had plenty of opportunity. She knew where he was.

Starling walked forward and gave him a loud kiss on the cheek, wiping lipstick away. “Blair’s not here,” she whispered. “I’m really sorry.”

Ben nodded, but couldn’t bring himself to say anything. What could he say?

“I’ll mingle for a little while, but then I’m off. I…I should say I’m sorry for ditching Ink Fest. I know that. But I’m really not, because you’ll be fine without me.” She tilted her head to the side, considering him. “I liked what you said about being at a crossroads, Ben. It’s true for me, too. And for you.”

As she walked away, she glanced over her shoulder, concern in her eyes.

“Buck up, son. It’s not that bad,” Grizz said.

Ben glanced at his mentor. “You have no idea.”

“Bullshit. I know everything there is to know about you.”

“Like what?”

“Like the fact that you’re head over heels in love with Blair. Like the fact that you used to be a rich poser trying to become a legit tattoo artist. Then you worked your ass off and became one in spite of everything. I’m damned proud of you.”

Ben opened his mouth. “How—”

“Oh shit, son. Just because I’m old don’t mean I can’t figure out the Internet. You think I didn’t check you out before you became my apprentice? I maybe take most stuff in stride, but I’m dead serious about who I take under my wing.”

“So…”

“I’ve known for years, yeah.” He thumped Ben on the chest. “All I care about it’s what’s in there. And you’ve got something, all right.”

Ben laughed. “A shitload of heartache.”

“Yeah, well…I can’t help you with that. It’ll probably be messy, but you’ll figure it out.”

“I will.” Ben said it more to himself than Grizz, but it felt good to say it. “I will.”

“That’s the spirit. Now let’s go to work, like old times. You’ve still got a couple of hours before that interview. It’s gonna be a long day.”

Ben led the way to a reception room, where booths had been set up for visiting artists. His booth, and Grizz’s, were near the door. He grinned when he saw the first person waiting for Grizz—it was Colleen Callahan.

Ben nodded at her. “Good afternoon, Colleen.”

“You bet it is. I can’t wait to get my ink.” She thumped her walker on the linoleum floor and cackled, looking around. “Where’s Lola?”

Ben’s stomach jumped. If Lola was going to be here, then maybe Blair was, too. “I haven’t seen her.”

“Well she better not have fucking chickened out,” Colleen declared. She winked at Grizz, who chuckled.

“Chickened out? Don’t tell me she’s planning on getting a tattoo. I find that hard to believe.” Ben began to prep his station.

Colleen sank into the chair Grizz offered and glared over the low partition at Ben. “Old women can get tattoos if they want, dammit.”

He chuckled, holding his hands up. “And I’m happy to give tattoos to them.”

She settled back, resting her frizzy white hair against the headrest. “Good. But it’ll be a cold day in hell before she gets a tattoo. It’s her man who’s getting one. She wanted to watch.”

Ben was even more surprised. “Bill?”

“Yes?” Bill Benson emerged from behind a plant near the edge of the room. “Are you…ah, ready for me?” He twisted his hands together.

“Um…sure. Are you my one o’clock appointment?”

Bill cleared his throat. “Believe so.” He glanced toward the door. “I was going to wait for my fiancée…”

“That’s fine. Why don’t you have a seat and relax. We need to talk about what work you want done, anyway.” Ben gestured toward the chair.

Bill shrugged off his suit coat and sat down, rolling up his sleeves to reveal several faded, black line patriotic tattoos. He smiled. “I was in the Navy.”

With a grin, Ben examined them. “Nice work. So what would you like?”

“I want Lola’s name right here.” Bill passed two fingers above the top of an anchor-and-heart-themed piece. “In color. As many colors as you want to do.” He glanced up at Ben. “When I met her, it was like the world came alive with color. You know?”

Ben did know. The first time he’d seen Blair, his world had shifted, too. And it had stayed that way…slightly skewed, amazingly better. Blair had made him a better person. He cleared his throat.

“I understand. Give me a minute to sketch something for you and we’ll talk again.” He glanced at Bill, but the old man was looking toward the door, a small smile on his face.

Lola stood there, looking around anxiously. When she spotted Bill, she rushed over, her patchwork handbag bouncing against her side. “Oh, Bill. I’m sorry I’m late! Did I miss it?”

Bill took her hand. “Sweetie, I’ve only been here a couple of minutes.”

With a smile, Ben offered Lola his stool and flipped open a sketchbook on a folding table behind the tattoo chair. He wanted to ask where Blair was. He should. He…

“Ben?”

Blair’s soft voice filled the air around him.

His back went stiff and he turned around, the blank sketchbook in his hands.

She stood there, her hair wild and loose, wearing an Ink Fest T-shirt. His gaze travelled down to her uncharacteristic cutoff jeans shorts.
Short
shorts. And then her smooth, bare legs. She had a bandage on her ankle.

His head snapped back up and he looked into her cautious eyes. “What happened? Did you injure yourself?”

“No.” She tried to smile, but her lips were trembling. “Starling did it. Can I show you?”

“Show me?” He eased around the tattoo chair and stood in front of her.

A crowd had begun to gather and Ben glanced around in irritation. A good portion of the people were from Celebration. Yeah, they had come to gawk. Gawk at the woman who’d betrayed them.

Nodding at the crowd, she raised her hands in front of her. “I need to say something,” she called out.

They got quiet.

“I want to apologize.” She lowered her arms to her sides. “When I came to Celebration, the only thing I wanted to do was get out. In fact, one of the first things I did was to march into the mayor’s office and apply for a job that I fully intended to leave as soon as possible.”