Page 47 of A Little Jaded
“Yeah, he was a really good mentor.”
“Yeah, I know he is. It’s the only reason I didn’t try to convince you to come to Etch ‘N’ Ink when you first showed interest in tattooing.”
My shoulders fall, and I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Dad…”
“What’s going on, Raine?”
“My apartment flooded, so I decided to find a new place, and the drive was too much?—”
“You moved?” he growls.
“I, uh, yeah. It was a spur of the moment decision, but I didn’t want to drive from Lockwood Heights to Cedar Springs everyday, so?—”
“Bo,” my dad prods. “What’s this really about?”
Oh, what a loaded question. I pinch the bridge of mynose, trying to come up with an answer not involving my abusive ex while also telling the truth or at least part of it.
“Dad…” My word hangs in the air, and I swallow thickly.
“Why didn’t you call me?” he murmurs.
“I was too ashamed to tell you what happened,” I admit. “And even now, I don’t really want to…you know. I mean, who, uh, who lets their apartment flood, right?”
“I’m gonna take you on. Mentor you.”
“Dad.”
“I’m serious, Bo,” he pushes. “It’ll be good for me to step back from the gallery for a little while, anyway. I could use a break.”
My mouth lifts. “Liar.”
“I would never,” he argues, but I can hear the amusement in his voice, and it eases the ache in my chest.
My dad’s an artist. A big, burly, fully-tatted artist who started out in the tattoo industry until a few of his pieces were displayed in a gallery or two, then, just like that, he became a world-renowned creative whose paintings go for more money than most make in a lifetime, let alone a year. He hasn’t worked in the tattoo shop he owns for over two decades, other than a quick pop-in here and there for his favorite clients. The idea of him stepping back from the gallery he opened with my mom a few years ago to mentor me is…a lot.
Thoughtful, sure. Intimidating, definitely. Unfair to every other starving artist out there? Yeah. One hundred percent.
“Dad,” I sigh. “I can figure this out on my own, remember?”
“That’s the beauty of family, though. Because of us, you don’t have to,” he reminds me. “Meet me at the shop at four, all right?”
“Daaaad.”
“I’m serious.”
“So am I,” I push. “I don’t want any handouts. If I’m going to make it in this business, I need to make it because of my talent, not because of who my dad is.”
“I hear you, Bo,” he rasps.
“Do you, though?”
“You want to make it on your own, and you will,” he adds gently, “but there are a lot of shit artists out there, and if you’re back in Lockwood Heights, it makes sense to come to Etch ‘N’ Ink. Come on. Do your dad a favor and stop being stubborn. Just this once, yeah?”
Nibbling on the edge of my thumb, I consider my options while hating how few there are at the moment. I’m a nobody. A big. Fat. Nobody. Even with Lucian’s offer to help find me a new mentor, I’m stuck in the mountains for the foreseeable future, and asking Everett to drive me anywhere more than the bare minimum feels about as pleasant as having my toenails ripped out.
“Promise me you won’t treat me any different than you would a regular apprentice.”
His hesitation is louder than a blowhorn, and I pull my cell away from my ear, confirming he’s still on the line. Yup. The call is still connected, which means I’m not the only one dealing with a curveball from this conversation.