Chapter 17
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
RAINE
E tch ‘N’ Ink is my home away from home. Maybe it shouldn’t be, but it is. My mom started handling the books for the shop, and my dad took over the business after my older sister, Penelope, was born. My siblings and I spent more weekends hanging out in the breakroom and making friends with all the artists than we did at home watching Saturday morning cartoons.
It’s probably one of the reasons why I fell in love with art in the first place. The scent of laundry detergent with an underlying wisp of weed is probably a weird smell to most people, but I love it. The laid back yet hardworking employees, the rock music, the Milo Anders original paintings hanging on the walls. It’s home. And it’s what was missing the entire time I worked under Lucian despite his friendliness. Class and grunge and sophistication and comfort. Honestly, I still don’t know how my parents pulled off the balance, but they have.
I’m surprised how much I’ve missed it. For the last six months, I’ve been so enveloped in all things Drake I didn’t realize how much I was pulling away from my life before Drake. Before I moved to Cedar Springs. Before he would scoff anytime my family would call or point out how he didn’t have a family anymore, and without me, he’d be all alone, so I should be, too. Before his tantrums after a loss or his gropings when he’d have too much to drink. Yeah, I screwed up. Big time. Add it to the list, I guess. And I hate how it makes me feel guilty. Like I don’t belong because it’s been so long since I’ve been here. Since I’ve seen these people. My own dad included.
“Bo!” one of the artists calls from the back of the room. More people join in, moving toward me and pulling me into their own hugs until I’m the center of a Raine sandwich next to the front door.
“It’s been forever, girl,” Max says as he lets me go. A frown takes up his features as he stares at my lip. Shit. I did everything I could to cover the damage. I even asked the girls if they had any tips and tricks to help it look less…terrible. Finley called her half-sister who does makeup for a living, but there’s only so much help she could offer over the phone and with what little supplies I had available on such short notice. Even then, I thought we did a pretty good job, but apparently, lots of ice, concealer, and Vaseline only got me so far. I hate it. The confusion in his eyes. The concern. The fucking horror.
When he opens his mouth to ask me about it, my dad appears from the breakroom and strides toward me with his arms wide open.
“There’s my Rainbow?—”
He stops short, and his brows tug at the center. Yup. He sees it, too. And instead of being confused, he’s already jumped to his conclusion. I can see it by the way his eyes darken and his upper lip curls. I steel my shoulders, bracing for it .
“Max,” my dad barks, though he doesn’t take his eyes off me. “Get back to your station.”
Max lifts his hands in defense but backs away, leaving me alone with my dad in the front of the shop.
Well, this isn’t awkward at all.
Pretending to be oblivious, I say, “Hey, Dad.”
“Was it Lucian?”
“What?” I shake my head and touch my bottom lip with my hand. “No, not even a little bit.”
Reaching for me, my dad hugs me, then lets me go and lifts my chin, studying the damage in a way that’s eerily similar to Everett’s response. Well, other than the possibly wanting to kiss me part. Not that Everett wanted to kiss me or even thought about it, for that matter, but?—
“Gonna tell me what happened?” my dad demands.
“Bar fight in Cedar Springs,” I lie. It was the best one I could come up with since our phone call earlier. “Took an elbow to the mouth in all the commotion, but I’m fine.” I grab his wrist and force him to lower his arm. “Promise.”
His gaze narrows. “You sure?”
“Pretty positive, actually. It should go down in a few days, but if we could not make me feel like an alien with a bad lip injection until it goes away, that’d be great.”
His mouth twitches, and he clears his throat. “Did you bring your notebook?”
I slip the weathered book from underneath my arm and offer it to him while trying to hide my surprise over the fact he actually dropped his interrogation for once. The guy’s been overprotective since day one. The fact he bought my lie is a freaking miracle, but I’m not about to question it.
When he takes my notebook, he smiles. “That’s my girl. Come on. We have a full afternoon.”
“Already?” I ask.
“You doubt your old man’s abilities to book a few clients?” He tosses his arm around my shoulders and guides me to his cubicle without any further explanation. Then again, I guess he doesn’t need one.
Sometimes, it blows my mind. How he can basically work whenever he wants, and with a simple post on his social media, he has clients champing at the bit to book an appointment with him. I should know better, though. The guy’s talented, and his reputation is insane. It’s…inspiring and hella intimidating, too. Honestly, it’s one of the reasons why I was scared to work with him. Terrified of disappointing him. Of disappointing his coworkers or fans. Terrified of one of them pointing out how I’ll never live up to my father’s legacy when I’m already well-aware of it. The shadow he casts. The shoes I know I’ll never fill.
But I guess it’s life.
“Come on,” he prods, leading me to his small desk tucked beside the vinyl adjustable chair he uses for clients. “Let’s see what you’ve learned so far.”