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Twenty-Seven
Griffin
Ryan’s tattoo gun buzzes as the sharp sting of the needle begins to numb. I glance out the window, noting the warmer March air, and thankful that the worst of winter has ended.
Though, I have to admit, Ellie’s presence in my life has changed my perspective on the season entirely. Ever since Christmas, we haven’t been apart for more than a few days at a time, and it’s hard to imagine anything about my life before her.
“So,” Ryan starts. “What’s this one for?”
I glance down as he works with the gun, shading one of the keys. I decided to get piano keys tattooed on in the free space on one of my thighs just this morning. Ryan, as always, made space in his schedule.
“Nothing crazy,” I answer.
Ryan pauses, his dark eyes glancing up at me as he rolls the toothpick between his teeth. “You texted me at eight in the morning to ask about getting this. It seemed urgent, and now you’re telling me you’re just fucking around?” He chuckles, returning to his work. “Come on, Griffin. Let’s hear it.”
I huff a laugh, trying to keep my body still as I remember the email from last night. “Ryland’s band asked me to tour with them,” I confess. “Front of house mixing. Running the desk. They’re in a pinch for the last few shows over the college’s spring break, and since it doesn’t cut into my schedule, I actually think I can make it work.”
Ryan halts his tattooing, leaning back in his chair. “No shit,” he says. “You talk to Ellis, yet?”
I run a hand down my face. I knew the question was coming. “They only asked late last night.” It’s a shit answer. “I wanted time to get my thoughts together before I told her.”
Ryan lets out a low whistle, the judgment clear in his expression. “So, you got a tattoo before you even asked your girl?”
I shake my head, chuckling. “She’s with Cass, anyway. Lennon gets back from Minnesota tomorrow just in time for the art show. I figured I’d talk to her when I see her tonight.” I give him a pointed look. “Once I figure out how I feel about it.”
“Well.” Ryan taps a gloved finger on the tattoo gun still buzzing in his hand. “It’s just a few weeks, right? Very end of the tour.”
My chest tightens. This is the part that makes me nervous–the part that makes me question what it is I really want. I love mixing, and my job has given me the stable income and health insurance I need. Even so, music has always been a part of me. I’d be lying to say the thought of doing something bigger didn’t pique my curiosity. “It could turn into something more,” I admit.
By the way Ryland’s email sounded, if all goes well, they may consider hiring me for future tours. It would take me away from my family–from Ellis.
Ryan nods in understanding. He’s known me for a long time–knows how much I value home. Still, I can’t help getting the sense that there’s something he isn’t saying.
“Just tell me.” My tone is flat.
One corner of his mouth turns up at that. “Ever since your brother died, you planted roots and haven’t left. I mean, sure, you moved thirty minutes away from your family.” His leg starts bouncing. “Skylar up and moved to New York. It’s fine if you like it here, but who knows? This may be something good. You’ve just never realized it until now.”
“I’ll be away from Ellie.” My chest aches. To be honest, I’m nervous to talk to her. In the back of my mind, I know it’s something I want to do. Especially if I’ll be working with Ryland’s band. I know those guys, and I can’t think of any better way to start.
“She’s a good girl,” Ryan states. “And she fucking loves you, whether she’s said it yet or not. I’m sure it’ll be fine.”
His words pull at some deep feeling inside me, so I glance at the tattoo gun, allowing the smile to stretch across my face. “I’m paying you to give me this tattoo, Ryan. Why are you wasting my hard-earned cash by making it take longer?”
He chuckles, and when the needle breaks my skin, I swear the pain feels sharper. “Shut up, you asshat,” he mutters.
When I walk into Ellie’s living room, she’s sitting on the floor in shorts and a black crew-neck sweatshirt. She braided her hair down her back, but strands break free around her face as she focuses on the parchment surrounding her.
It’s absolute chaos.
“They’re all terrible.” Ellis stands, her brow furrowed as she steps over her mess, drawing into my chest and sending warmth through my veins. Sometime in the last three months, Ellis Smalley started to feel like home.
“They’re not,” I say before planting a kiss to the side of her head. She melts into me further. “But I get this is part of your process, and I know that you’re nervous.” I smile, squeezing tighter, if only for a moment. “I’m sure everyone will want to buy your drawings.”
She chuckles, her fingers grasping my T-shirt at my back. “It doesn’t count if you’re the one buying them, Finn.” When she pulls away, I can see the way her features have softened–the tension easing through her shoulders. She still doesn’t let go. “You’re barred from making any purchases at this art show. I need to see if my shit actually sells.”
“Your shit?” I say, my brows rising. “Don’t insult the drawings,” I whisper. “They can hear you.”
Ellis swats at me, and I chuckle, tossing my bag by the door and throwing myself on the couch cushions.
