10. Chapter 10

Chapter ten

Present

A knock on the door frame startles me and brings me out of memory lane. I glance up, half-expecting to see a ghost from the past, but it's only Maeve standing there in all her fiery glory.

Maeve, with her long locks of wavy, deep auburn hair tied up into a ponytail and two loose pieces framing her face, looks at me with her ash-grey eyes like she's about to either start a fight or drop some heavy news. I've known Maeve for the last six years, and in that time, the woman has been as constant as a tattoo needle buzzing in your ear. She looks like she came out of the womb with winged eyeliner and a nude lip, eyebrows on point, and a nose ring that makes her seem both approachable and intimidating—like a punk rock fairy godmother.

The only thing that’s changed over the years is her ongoing collection of tattoos. She's like me—covered head to toe in black and grey work—but unlike me, she’s still got a few blank spaces that she’s probably saving for when she figures out what the hell to do with them. I imagine she has some crazy scheme like getting a full-blown map of Middle Earth on her chest. But who knows?

Maeve is one of the first tattooists we hired when we opened the shop, and her artwork is like a fever dream on acid—wild, colourful, and somehow still technically perfect. Her room is decorated like Barbie herself threw up pink all over it, with rare and expensive Barbies boxed up on the shelves. I swear one of them cost more than my car. Every time I see them, I half-expect them to come alive and start critiquing my ink choices.

Maeve leans against the door frame with her arms crossed and gives me a weak smile, which, in Maeve language, means something’s up. “How are you, Killian?” she asks, her voice unusually soft, like she’s trying not to wake a sleeping dragon.

I smile back, trying to match her tone. “Good, you? Anything new?” I ask, already bracing myself for whatever she’s about to unload.

She sighs deeply, like she’s been carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders. “Nothing new or worth talking about. I've had clients coming out of my ears the past month. Also, you look well.”

“I feel good,” I say, genuinely meaning it. “I’m back at work, I have a beautiful fiancée, and a child on the way. Life’s good, Maeve. Really good.”

Her smile fades faster than a cheap tattoo in the sun, and before I can ask what’s wrong, Ethan appears next to her, swaggering in like he owns the place. And honestly, with that ridiculous mop of golden hair, he might as well.

“Goldilocks,” Maeve says, her eyes scanning him up and down like she’s appraising a questionable piece of art.

“Hello to you too, Firecracker. I’ll take Goldilocks over dickhead any day of the week,” Ethan shoots back with a grin that suggests he’s already mentally undressing her.

Maeve tilts her head, pretending to think. “I guess I'll have to be more creative next time,” she says, her tone flat, but her eyes glittering with mischief.

Ethan raises an eyebrow. “Don't have a client to tattoo?”

“Not got another girl to disappoint by sleeping with them? Or have they finally realised how much of a dick you are?” Maeve fires back, and I swear I see Ethan’s grin falter for a split second.

Ethan chuckles, trying to regain his composure. “Oh, Maeve,” he says with a smug smile that usually works on everyone but her. “I'm flattered you think I have another girl lining up to sleep with me. I’ll take it as a compliment.”

She huffs and rolls her eyes so hard I’m surprised they don’t get stuck in the back of her head. "Don’t flatter yourself," she mumbles, clearly unimpressed.

My eyes bounce from one to the other, trying to keep up with the rapid-fire banter. From the way Maeve’s lips are pursed, you’d think she’s chewing on something sour.

"We both know I gave you the best night of your life," Ethan says, his voice dripping with arrogance as he leans in slightly, almost daring her to disagree.

Maeve scoffs so loudly it echoes. "You wish," she mutters.

"I see you're both getting along better than usual," I say, trying to diffuse the tension with some sarcasm.

Maeve doesn’t miss a beat. "He might have been the shittiest shag I've ever had," she says, turning to look at Ethan with an expression that’s part pity, part disgust. "No offence."

Ethan shrugs, still smiling. "None—" he starts to say, then the words catch up to him. “Hey!” He gapes at her, genuinely offended now.

Maeve laughs, a genuine, belly-deep laugh that’s so contagious, I almost join in. "We're still work colleagues," she says, waving a hand as if that should excuse everything.

Ethan, desperate to salvage what’s left of his pride, leans in again. "I gave you the best night ever,” he says, cracking that same infuriating smile. “From what I recall, you were screaming my name. 'Oh, Ethan, don’t stop!'" He moans, mimicking her voice so badly I choke on a laugh.

Maeve side-eyes him so hard it’s a miracle he doesn’t spontaneously combust. “I gave you the fakest orgasm ever,” she states, each word hitting Ethan like a punch to the gut.

Ethan's smile drops like a lead balloon, and he looks genuinely hurt. "You faked it?" he asks, sounding like a kid who just found out Santa isn’t real.

Maeve nods with the confidence of someone who’s just delivered a death blow in Mortal Combat. “So much so, I should be in the Guinness Book of World Records for the fakest orgasm.”

I can’t hold it in anymore and snort loudly, trying to stifle my laughter. This is just too good. Poor Ethan looks like he’s about to crawl into a hole and die, but honestly, he brought it on himself.

Not finding my laughing amusing, Ethan stares at me with slotted eyes and his brows furrowed, looking like he’s mentally plotting my demise. He’s always been a grumpy guts when anyone jokes about his sex life. He takes so much pride in the ‘pleasure’ he gives, and his ego is so big I swear it’s got its own gravitational pull. All it does is make me laugh harder.

I turn my attention back to Maeve, who’s smirking like she just won the lottery. "I think you broke his ego," I say, wiping a tear from the corner of my eye.

"If you can't please a beautiful woman like Maeve, you've more than likely not pleased many other women. Just be glad she’s told you, unlike the rest," Toby says, appearing out of nowhere like some sort of wise old tattoo sage. He’s already giving Ethan a pitying look as he taps him on the back.

Maeve flashes Toby a grateful smile. “Aw, thanks, Toby,” she gushes, lightly touching his arm.

Toby smiles at her, then turns his gaze to me, fighting to keep a straight face. He side-eyes Ethan, looking him up and down like he’s a particularly disappointing student. "More than just his ego might get broken if he carries on."

Ethan runs his hand over his face like he’s trying to wipe away the last five minutes. “You’re all wankers,” he mutters, though there’s no real heat behind it.

Maeve reaches out, looking genuinely sorry, and places her hand on Ethan’s arm, giving it a comforting squeeze. "I'm only joking," she says, her voice uncharacteristically kind.

Ethan’s eyes widen in surprise, like a puppy who’s just been given a treat. "Really?" he asks, his tone almost childlike, as if she’s just told him he won the lottery.

Maeve breaks, laughing so hard she has to hold onto the door frame for support. "No!" she manages to get out, tapping him on the arm once before looking at us all with tears of laughter streaming down her face and as we join her in a chorus of laughter.

Toby, always the gentleman, steps forwards and gestures to the spare chair. “May I?” he asks, and I nod. He strolls over, sits down, and spreads his legs out like he’s about to settle in for a long story.

Toby isn’t a bad-looking man. Picture a silver fox with a tidy beard and a hint of mischief in his eyes, heavily tattooed, and in his early fifties. Add glasses, and you've got a pretty good image of him. He was the first person we hired when we opened, and he’s been with us every day since—except for the tough time he took off a couple of years ago.

Two years ago, Toby lost his wife to cancer. They grew up down the street from each other, and their love story was the kind you’d read about in a novel. They got together when they were only thirteen and stayed together until the very end. It was horrible seeing Toby go through that, but we all made sure he knew he had us. We’re his family now, his extended family, as he calls us, and we always make sure he feels welcome, no matter what.

“What are we all talking about, besides how shit of a shag Ethan is?” Toby asks, settling in like he’s just joined a gossip session at a knitting club.

“Maeve was just asking me how I'm doing, and I was just saying life is good. Laelia’s working like usual, we have a little one on the way, and I couldn’t be happier,” I explain, feeling a warm sense of contentment. Life really is good, even with the circus happening around me right now.

Toby scratches his head, his eyes flickering between me, Maeve, and Ethan as if he’s trying to decode a cryptic message. His expression grows more confused by the second, and I can practically see the gears turning in his head.

“I thought Laelia—” Toby starts to say, but before he can finish, Ethan practically jumps in front of him like he’s trying to defuse a bomb.

“T, my man. I was… er… wondering if I could borrow you for a second because I have something to ask you. Is that okay?” Ethan asks, his voice awkward and a bit too eager.

Toby squints at Ethan, his head tilted to the side like a curious dog. “Okay...” he drags out, clearly not buying whatever Ethan’s selling. Still, he hesitantly gets up from his chair.

Ethan releases a sigh of relief so exaggerated it’s a wonder his lungs don’t deflate like a balloon. He shoots me a quick, almost pleading look before nodding towards the door, silently urging Toby to follow him out of this awkward mess.

Before Toby disappears, though, he stops and looks at me with a mix of concern and confusion. “I’ll catch up with you later, Killian,” he says, his tone making it clear that this conversation isn’t over.

“Fine with me, T,” I say, trying to keep my voice light, even though I have no idea what’s going on. Toby nods, turns, and walks out the door with Ethan hot on his heels, leaving me alone with Maeve.

Glancing at Maeve, I notice her expression has shifted. The playful teasing from earlier is gone, replaced by a frown, and her eyes are brimming with unshed tears. The sight of it knocks the wind out of me. Why is she upset? Did something happen that I completely missed?

“Is everything okay, Maeve?” I ask, my tone gentler now, as I try to figure out what’s going on.

She meets my gaze, and I can see her trying to blink back the tears threatening to spill over. “I just…” she starts to say, but her voice cracks, and I see the first tear slip through. She shakes her head like she’s trying to snap out of it, but instead, she just bursts into full-on sobs. “I can’t do this,” she chokes out, turning on her heel as if she’s about to bolt.

“Maeve, wait—” I take a step towards her, my hand reaching out, but she spins around, holding up her hand like a traffic cop stopping traffic.

“I’m fine,” she insists, even though the tears streaming down her face tell a different story. “I need to go and prep this design for a My Little Pony tattoo.” She says this with such a bizarre mix of emotion that I almost laugh—almost. But before I can even think of a response, she bolts out of the room like she’s being chased by a swarm of angry bees.

I stand there, frozen in place, my brain trying to process everything that just happened. What did I do? Or more accurately, what just happened? Did I miss some crucial piece of information, some cosmic joke that everyone else seems to be in on?

Feeling like I’ve just walked into the Twilight Zone, I sit back down, trying to make sense of the scene that just unfolded. Maeve was fine—sarcastic, funny, and as tough as ever—and then, bam, she’s in tears and running out like the room’s on fire. Ethan was his usual smug self, but even he seemed off, like he was trying to hide something. And Toby... Toby looked like he was about to drop a bombshell before Ethan cut him off.

Just as I’m about to spiral into a black hole of overthinking, the door creaks open again. For a split second, I think it’s Maeve coming back to explain herself, but instead, it’s Ethan. He pokes his head in, wearing an expression that can only be described as sheepish.

“Everything okay in here?” he asks, his voice tentative as if he’s afraid I’m going to hurl something at him.

“Depends,” I say, crossing my arms. “You going to tell me what’s going on, or are you just here to practice your peekaboo skills?”

Ethan shifts uncomfortably, his gaze darting around as if searching for an escape route. “Well, you see, I was going to explain, but…” He trails off, his voice dropping to a whisper. He clears his throat, attempting to regain his composure. “There’s something I need to—actually, never mind,” he says quickly, forcing a strained smile. “I think I’ve forgotten something—important. I’ll just, um, catch up with you later.”

Without another word, Ethan takes a few hurried steps backward, and in an instant, he vanishes, as though he’s been abruptly yanked away by an unseen force. The room falls into an eerie silence, the space where he stood now empty.

I’m left standing there, a mix of confusion and alarm gripping me. What just happened? Why did he leave so suddenly? The unsettling quiet that follows is almost deafening, amplifying my growing sense of unease.

I glance around the room, searching for any clue or sign that might make sense of the situation, but everything remains stubbornly unchanged. It’s as if Ethan’s disappearance has thrown me into a void of uncertainty, leaving me stranded with nothing but questions and an unsettling feeling of being utterly in the dark.