Page 3 of Accepting Fate

I was very skeptical because who offers their home to a complete stranger? I think she could tell I wasn’t believing a word she was saying. She took her phone out and showed me an Airbnb listing, and I was shocked. Mrs. Wanda explained that she used to rent out her cabin home to tourists while she and her husband stayed in the south during the summer months. Unfortunately, her husband was diagnosed with cancer late last year and his condition was quickly deteriorating. Due to them needing to be close to the hospital, they moved into the city and had to take the listing off since she can’t get out there to keep the maintenance up.

Mrs. Wanda offered to meet me up here the next day and see if it was what I was looking for. I probably should have been more careful because she could have been leading me to my death in the woods, but I was desperate.

I was ready to sign on the dotted line the minute I drove through the heart of Cliff Haven. The main road is lined with a few shops, a bar, a tattoo shop, and a convenience store. I drove slowly and looked down the small roads that branched off and saw a tiny grocery store and a diner. I wanted to stop and explore but I was desperate to see the house.

A long driveway opened up to a small clearing where a small A-framed deep oak cabin sat. The bottom floor of the house was made up of two giant windows that are separated by stone that extends into a chimney. The windows allow the light coming from inside to illuminate the driveway. You could see straight to the back of the house where a small screen door provided a view of a small deck facing the expansive forest behind the house.

The night before, Mrs. Wanda told me to bring the first month’s rent in case I loved it, which I did. The minute she opened the door, I handed her the money and asked for the rental agreement. She shook her head and said she knew I would. Twenty minutes later, she dropped the keys on the small table and left.

Before heading back to the city, I explored the house to see what I would need to bring with me from the apartment. The entire place was furnished which made me happy knowing I wouldn’t have to rent a U-Haul and could donate the small amount of furniture I had to a shelter.

The kitchen was small but had all the necessities, with light wood cabinets and a granite island that separated it from the rest of the first floor. In the living room, two identical gray suede couches mirrored the windows with a coffee table in the middle and the focal point was a gorgeous gray stone fireplace. A flat-screen TV was on the wall above the mantel. I imagined myself curled up on the couch with a book and a fire going on my nights off.

A staircase led off to the loft above, where the only bedroom in the entire house is found. From the top, there was a perfect view of the living room below, and a large picture window framed the king-sized bed on the back wall. I was surprised to see a large master bathroom with a sparkling white clawfoot tub sitting below a skylight. I could see myself soaking and looking up at the stars on clear nights after a long shift. Next to the bathtub was a waterfall shower that I knew would be used to wash off all the mud I would be covered in after my hikes.

Harper would have a heart attack if she had to live here because although this place was perfect, the closet was very tiny. That girl owns so many clothes she could open a department store.

I don’t have an expansive wardrobe like my best friend, but I needed more than the space provided. My wardrobe consisted of too many pairs of scrubs to count and an extensive graphic tee collection. Also, a stupid number of Nikes, a few pairs of hiking boots, rain boots and a few going out shoes that Harper forced me to buy. Thankfully, there were drawers lining underneath the bed that I could shove clothes and underwear in. Before I left the house that night, I rush ordered a small dresser.

Now I’m here and I can’t wait to finish settling in. I think if someone had told me almost eight years ago this would be my life, I would have laughed in their face. Although I made a promise to myself that day to keep going and never give up, I certainly didn’t think I would have made it this far.

My work as a nurse has brought me more than I ever could have imagined. I have a stable income. I love my job. I have two amazing best friends.

I just really hope this new town and new place will give me the peace I’ve been so desperately seeking. I know that’s near impossible with the living threat over my head that haunts my nightmares. It’s been so long, but I still feel like the danger is slowly closing in on me. I just hope that if or when it comes, all the work I’ve done to prepare is enough.

Chapter Two

Grayson

Ishouldhavepickeda different profession. I’ve been staring at this damn pirate inspired piece for three hours and all I’ve accomplished is the outline of a compass.

I stare at my sketchpad for another twenty minutes before I give it a rest for the day. The guy getting the tattoo isn’t coming in for a month, so I’ve got time.

Standing up from my desk at the back of my shop, I look out at the place that I built from rubble.

I opened The Needle about three years ago, right after my twenty-fifth birthday. I would have opened it sooner if the old bastard that owned the building had sold it to me when I first put my offer in almost five years prior. He was a greedy dick that was determined to try and milk every cent out of me. I could have given up and bought another building, but this place had special meaning.

It’s in the same town I have lived in my entire life, Cliff Haven. I didn’t want to start my own tattoo shop anywhere but here. The most important part is that it’s directly across the street from The Handle, which is the bar that has been in the Hayes family since my grandpa opened it over fifty years ago. My youngest brother, Noah, now runs it since Gramps is too old to deal with all the bullshit that comes with owning a bar.

I knew what the building was valued at, so I was content working at my construction job until the asshole gave me what I wanted. His wife eventually caught on to his games and called me and told me we had a deal. I wish I could say it was smooth sailing after that, but it wasn’t. The bastard got so pissed that his wife sold it behind his back, he went in the night before the keys were mine and trashed the place with a sledgehammer. He told the police it was a break-in and since there were no cameras, there wasn’t anything the cops could do.

I don’t know who the fuck would believe someone would break into an empty shop that didn’t have anything but built-in shelves and tables. And in a town this small, everybody knows everybody, so I doubt the cops really believed it and just didn’t want to deal with the town dickhead.

I was left with a pile of rubble and a short amount of time to start making a profit, but I got to work. His temper tantrum set me back six months of time and money. But I’ll give it to the guy, for such an old dude, he did a number with that sledgehammer.

Using the skills I picked up in my years working in construction, I was able to do most of the renovation myself. From the dark cedar wood planked flooring to the light gray walls, this is the perfect place for artists to work in a clean and safe environment. Artwork from various artists around the Seattle area line the walls, plus a few of my own and some from the artists I employ.

The entire shop is one big open concept. I didn’t want the clients or the artist to feel closed in. Living in a place where it rains more than half the year can be suffocating. I don’t want anyone to feel like that coming to The Needle.

A half wall separates the workstations of the three artists I employ along with myself from the desk and couches in the front of the shop.

The Needle is so much more than a tattoo shop, it’s an outlet for me to escape my emotionally taxing second job. This place allows me to be creative and express my anger, sadness, or happiness in my art. The strokes of pen on paper and the vibration of my tattoo gun somehow release all that emotion that harbors inside me every time we go on a job. I know I could see someone to help me when my mind goes too far into the darkness. Or I could always quit going to the places where that darkness seems to be found. But I’d never leave my brothers to do this shit alone since I’m one of the reasons it started in the first place.

My lunch threatens to come back up as I even imagine the idea of stopping.

I snap out of my thoughts when the bell from the front door chimes. I expect to see my client, but it's my brother Landon.

Landon is the second oldest of the four Hayes brothers. He is also the shortest out of all of us but that doesn’t mean much because he’s still six-one. My poor mother had all giants, which isn’t surprising because my grandfather was almost six-five.