Chapter One Like a Fisting Tattoo? #3
“Okay, thanks, I guess . . .” Owen hopes he sounds convincing enough. Then he has to question just what he’s trying to convince
Kaitlyn of.
“You good?” she asks.
No, he thinks. Why would he be good right now? “You just caught me off guard is all.”
“Would you be okay with him staying with us? Just on the couch.”
No. No, nope, not possible. Can’t do it.
“Sure!” Owen says through gritted teeth.
“You’re positive?” Kaitlyn asks, voice firm. She wants the truth. What’s the alternative, though? To tell his best friend
that the brother she hasn’t seen in a year needs to find somewhere else to stay?
“Yeah, it’s whatever. I’m cool as a cucumber . . .” Owen winces, heat flushing his cheeks. “What time does he land tomorrow?”
“I’ll have to check the info he sent. Honestly, who knows how long it’ll take him to get from the airport, traffic’s going
to be hell on the holiday.” Kaitlyn forces a bit of laughter, probably in the hope that it will break the tension.
“Right, yeah . . .” Owen’s trying his hardest to hide the growing discomfort in his voice. “It’s been too long.”
“Yeah, I’m excited to see him again.” There’s an affection in her words, more salt in the wound.
“Okay, well, I should probably get back to my client,” Owen says to her, desperate to end the conversation.
She doesn’t reply to that, instead asking, “What time do you think you’ll be home tonight?”
“Depends, are you and Abigail done fingering each other over Frosty the Snowman?” he jokes, and Kaitlyn laughs, and things
quickly feel normal again.
“There’s just something about a man who’s good with children,” she says with feigned longing.
“You’ve never expressed interest in a man in your entire life.”
“Not true,” she insists. “Robert Pattinson.”
“There’s nothing sexual about your interest in him,” Owen reminds her. “You just like weird little dudes.”
“Which is exactly why I hang out with you!” she adds. “Okay, get back to tattooing or whatever. Sorry again for dropping all
of this on you.”
“Yeah, thanks for the heads-up.” No matter how short notice it is.
“I’ll see you tonight?”
“Yeah, love you!”
“Love you too,” Kaitlyn says before she hangs up the phone.
For a moment he just sits there, staring at the wall where the most eclectic assortment of art sits on display. All kinds
of things belonging to the artists who work at the shop, from sketches and paintings to framed pieces to doodles done on napkins
to things found on the sidewalk.
“Helloooo?” Trevor sings from Owen’s station. “Are we going to finish this tonight or not, dude?”
“Yeah.” Owen stretches his back out again. “Sorry about that.”
Just for a few days, Owen tells himself. A week at most. Then he’ll be gone again, and everything will go back to being normal.
“Got a little drama in your love life, huh?” Trevor asks, sitting himself back on the massage table, kicking his legs back
and forth as Owen grabs a new pair of gloves. “Chicks or dicks?”
Owen’s almost taken aback by the words. Though it’s far from the strangest thing a client has ever said to him.
“Both? A combo of the two?” Trevor continues when Owen doesn’t reply. The funniest part is that he sounds totally genuine.
“Hey, no judgment here. Everyone’s doing their own thing. ’S what makes the world go round.”
“Do you care?” Owen asks, falling back onto his stool.
“Determines the kind of advice I’m planning to impart on you as a man of much experience,” Trevor says with a too-proud smile.
“It’s an ex, I presume?”
“He’s coming back into town for the holidays,” Owen answers before he can second-guess himself. Sure, why can’t he confide
in a stranger?
“I’m guessing it didn’t end well?”
Owen huffs. “No,” he replies. “It didn’t.”
“Well, time heals all wounds. Give yourself the space to mourn, but don’t let the grief hold you back from finding something
new, having new experiences.”
Owen pauses, blinking a few times as he looks up slowly at Trevor. “I . . .”
“Oh, didn’t expect me to give such good advice, huh?” Trevor says with a boisterous laugh. “The Trev-man’s got some experience
with breakups.”
“Right . . .” Owen says simply, trying to shake off the weirdness of the moment. “Are you ready to get started again?”
“By all means,” Trevor says, stretching his arm back out so that Owen can continue his work. He takes the time to clean the
tattoo, reapplying the dollop of Vaseline onto the top of his hand before he picks up the tattoo gun.
Time heals all wounds.
Right.
But how much time? That’s the question Owen’s been asking himself for the last year. He’s been waiting for the day to come,
for the morning to arrive when he’d wake up, open his eyes, and realize that he’d finally fallen out of love with Jacob Morrison.
No amount of time has been enough so far. But at the very least Owen had distance. The thousands of miles that provided a
buffer strong enough that Owen was able to avoid thinking about Jacob all of the time.
Tomorrow. He’ll be back tomorrow, and Owen can’t stop it, can’t tell him to go somewhere else, can’t find somewhere else to
be himself. Now all he can do is suffer through.
At least he’s always been pretty good at that.