I ask him to take a look in the mirror and he climbs down from the table.
He looks at the flying crane on the front of his leg then turns to look at the back.
“They’re so sick, man,” he says, and there’s real gratitude in his words.
I nod and thank him. “I haven’t had the chance to work on pieces this big in a while.”
He sits back down for me to dress it, then puts his shoes on.
We make another appointment for the following month. Then he pays, and leaves—the doorbell ringing so much louder than I ever remember it doing before.
As soon as he’s gone I drop into the stool behind the desk and rest my head in my hands. I breathe out slowly. I look at my forearms and the brightly colored patterns of my own tattoos, like if I keep staring at them the ache in my chest and stomach that’s been there since Eden kicked over Reeze’s bike will fade away. But it doesn’t.
I look around the shop again. The flash art on the walls looks stupid now.
I stand up before finding more shit I hate.
I wipe down my station and head to the back room. I open my laptop and go straight to my emails. There’s bills for the shop, sales reps trying to offload their latest products, and one from the town council about the next election.
Ignoring them all, for now, I open up the week's schedule and look at the following day’s appointments.
I might not want to see Reeze’s face or hear his fucking voice, but at least I can trust that he’s handling his own clients. How he’ll be doing that, I couldn’t possibly care less, but I know it'll get done.
And then there’s Eden.
Fucking Eden.
I still have week's worth of his appointments to cancel.
I click on the client info for next Monday’s first booking and the dread in my chest blooms into anxiety.
He should be doing this.
I want to call him just so I can yell at him again, but I know the argument that’ll follow will only be made worse by hearing his voice again and knowing he's not coming back.
I check the time.
Fifteen minutes till my next appointment.
Five more hours till I get to go home because I took on a couple of Eden’s smaller bookings.
The doorbell pounds against my skull.
I swallow down the momentary nausea and slide open the backdoor.
“The fuck are you doing here?” I ask when I see Austin standing in the middle of the shop floor with his arms crossed.
“Eden burned through my work Tuesday afternoon, so I thought I’d come and see for myself if the rumors are true.”
“You’re such an asshole.” I walk towards him and shake his hand. We’ve known each other since high school. He was one of the few guys Eden and I didn’t totally hate spending time with.
“I'm just bringing Eden’s attitude back home.”
“So you copped it too?”
He nods, his shaggy brown hair swinging. “There’s a clear path of destruction from here the whole way to that fucking cabin.”
I take a few steps back and lean against the front of the reception desk. “You’ve got five minutes. After that I’m closing questions for good.”
