Page 8 of Hidden Ink

Sloane let out a breath and gave a tight nod. Montgomery Ink was his family, and he had to remember that. He’d been dancing around what Hailey meant to him, what he wanted her to mean to him, for far too long, and now he had to deal with the consequences. The others had always known there might be something brewing between the two of them, but now he’d done something blatant about that…connection.

And as soon as Hailey found out about what he’d done, he’d be in for it.

He closed the office door behind him and let out a sigh, running a hand over his face. Then he sat down at the main desk and traced his finger over the edge of his sketchbook. He’d been an artist for as long as he could remember, though he’d never thought of himself as such. He’d been good with a pencil since he’d been a kid and yet had always held it close to the vest. He hadn’t wanted the others to know what he could do. Not when a weakness such as art could mean a fist.

He’d learned long ago that his fingers were better for triggers than graphite and ink.

Or so his father had told him.

His skin tightened and he clenched his jaw, forcing his breath to come in even pants rather than the shallow ones his lungs seemed to want to do. His chest constricted and he rubbed his fist over his heart.

He stuck his ear buds in his ears and turned on some alt-rock that didn’t have too much bass and had the lead singer’s soothing croons instead of lyrical whining about lost hearts and lack of empathy. Sloane needed to calm down before he had another anxiety attack. He’d never had one in the middle of the shop, but he’d been damn close before. It’d been a decade since he’d been in the service, and yet he could still hear the yells, the shots that never seemed to go away. If he took deep breaths and focused on drawing, he could calm himself enough that he wouldn’t break out in a cold sweat. If he beat back the pain, he wouldn’t vomit on the floor, wouldn’t smash his hand into the drywall because he didn’t know another form of release.

Sloane nodded to the beat as he forced his eyes open. His hands once again traced the sketchbook before he opened it, pencil in hand. He had a few drawings to finish so they were ready for clients, as well as things on his mind he could just draw for relaxation, but his mind wouldn’t focus.

Couldn’t focus.

A hand touched his shoulder and he whirled around, standing in one breath, his hand raised, the pencil poised as a weapon. The beat of the music increased, as did the sound of his heart.

Hailey stood in front of him, her eyes wide, one hand on her chest, the other out in front of her.

Protecting herself.

From him.

This was why he wasn’t for her.

This was why he’d stayed away.

He’d only hurt her. Only lose her to the demons that plagued him.

“What?” he bit out, pulling the ear buds from his ears.

She took a step back at the sound of his voice.

Sloane let out a breath. “Shit. I didn’t mean to scare you. You just startled me.”

Her throat worked as she swallowed hard. “I can see that.” She licked her lips and put her hands down, fisting them at her sides. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

He froze, not knowing what to say. Had she seen the panic in his gaze? Seen the fact that he wasn’t whole? That he was damaged goods…far too broken for a woman like her?

“Why did Brody tell me to ‘take it up with Sloane’ when he said he wasn’t interested in me?” she continued.

He swallowed hard, the short burst of relief that she hadn’t seen the truth of him quickly replaced with the damning feeling he’d messed up.

“He wasn’t good enough for you,” he said simply.

Her eyes narrowed, her cheeks pinking with color. He loved the way her face carried emotion. Most of the time she kept her smile on, as if she had to be happy and bubbly for her clients, adding “sugars” to her drawl when she felt like it. But sometimes he saw beneath that, saw the woman he wanted in his life but knew he couldn’t have.

“Fuck you, Sloane.”

His brows rose. Hailey didn’t normally curse at him.

“Don’t look at me like that, you asshole. In fact, don’t look at me at all. Who do you think you are? Who the hell do you think you are, Sloane? I thought you were my friend, but maybe I was wrong. What kind of man steps in and tells another to back off? It wasn’t your place, that’s for sure. I smiled at one man. That’s it. I said I’d be over at my shop when he was through with his ink. That’s it. And yet, that somehow triggered your alpha complex and you had to scare him away. How dare you say he’s not good enough for me? You don’t know him. And, apparently, you sure as hell don’t know me.”

Tears filled her eyes and she blinked them back quickly, raising her chin.

Damn it. He was an ass. A prick. A loser. A douche.