Chapter 31
Four Months Later
My hands are clammy, no matter how many times I wipe them against my jeans. I tug at the collar of my shirt, feeling confined within my own clothes. The AC is on blast, and yet I feel sweat coat my brow. I’m a wreck and haven’t even gone inside yet.
In fact, we’ve been sitting outside The Skin Quill for ten minutes as I try—and fail—to work up the courage to go inside. Truett sits next to me in the driver’s seat, gently rubbing my shoulder. He’s given me grace and patience, far more than I deserve for how silly I’m being.
As True has reminded me, I’ve gone into this tattoo shop a thousand times.
Sat next to Damian and tattooed alongside him.
It’s not new, and yet the thought of walking in now, with my design book full of my art to be judged in hopes of securing an actual apprenticeship, makes me want to throw myself into oncoming traffic.
At least that will hurt less than someone saying I’m not good enough to be their apprentice.
And, yeah, I guess failure and setbacks are part of life.
Those are two areas I’m well versed in, but after confiding in my mom about the path I wish to take, this feels like a lot is hanging in the balance.
She has been one of my biggest supporters, making sure I used the money we won from hosting the championship to buy new supplies and equipment, as well as tucking away some savings in case of emergencies.
“You’re overthinking again, babe,” Truett says gently, squeezing my thigh.
My body jerks in response. “No, I’m not.” It’s a lie, and we both know it.
Truett isn’t deterred though. He cups my face and pulls me closer, kissing me.
At first I freeze, my brain too wired to do more than just sit there, but soon my body melts into his, and I’m kissing him back.
His lips are soft, grounding me into reality.
His belief in me is in every swipe of his tongue and soft whimper that leaves his mouth.
I feel empty when he breaks away.
So much has changed over the last few months—both with Spare Time and in my personal life.
Truett has really stepped into his role as manager and taken on more responsibility than ever before.
My mom and I have been working closely with him, training him in every part of running the alley.
He’s learned how to manage inventory, handle the daily cash flow, create employee schedules, coordinate with vendors, and address customer concerns.
From fixing lane issues to balancing the books, he’s been involved in every moving part of the business.
It hasn’t been easy, but he’s risen to the challenge, and it’s starting to show in how smoothly things are running.
What’s been truly amazing is that Mrs. Barnes has not called the cops on Truett. Apparently, that special treatment was reserved solely for me, as if she knew I shouldn’t be there. But Truett does belong. He fits into the alley in a way I never did.
Where he’s really shining is his lessons.
Truett has taken on teaching children and adults the proper way to bowl and build confidence in their game.
At first I was worried this would be too much on his plate, but he’s only thrived and has formed strong bonds with his students.
It’s honestly remarkable and reminds me just why I love this man.
As for us, we’ve been talking about getting an apartment together.
Considering we are in each other’s beds every night, moving from house to house, it seems only natural that this is the next step in our relationship.
I’ve been the one dragging my feet, not certain I want to leave my mom alone in the house.
When I brought this up to her, though, she simply laughed and said she’d have room for all her friends and sisters to stay over, which is why I needed to move my ass out.
Of course, that’s going to entirely depend on getting this apprenticeship. So, you know, no fucking pressure.
“Maybe tomorrow would be a better day—”
“Oh, no,” Truett cuts me off. “We’re not doing this again, Ezzie.
You’re going to march that tight little ass up there and hold your head high while you speak with the owner.
I know it’s scary, but just think. A year from now, we are going to look back at this moment and smile, knowing this was the start of your career. ”
I’d very much like to skip to that moment but wisely keep my mouth shut.
The nerves come from the owner I’m about to meet.
Damien’s family owns this shop, and it would be one thing speaking to Damien.
I might even get the benefit of being his friend to secure the position.
But the man—whose name I don’t even have—is one of Damien’s tíos from out of town.
He’s the only one who can approve apprenticeships, and he’s only here for the next few days.
Basically, it’s now or never.
“I’ll be right here when you get back. No matter what happens, I’m proud of you, Ezra. I know none of this has been easy.” Truett squeezes me one last time, and I know my time is up.
I take a shaky breath and reach for the door handle, my fingers slick with sweat. “I love you,” I whisper like a sacred vow meant to steady my nerves.
As I shift to stand, the portfolio in my lap slips, nearly crashing to the ground. My heart lurches as I fumble to catch it just in time. Great. Hopefully that’s not a sign of how this is about to go.
The warm Texas air hits me the moment I step outside.
It’s that weird time of year where the mornings are warm enough for short sleeves, but by nightfall, the temperature drops low enough to make you regret not bringing a jacket.
Texas weather is fucking ridiculous. Still, each step toward the shop feels heavier than it should, like I haven’t walked this exact path thousands of times before.
By the time I reach the front door, my hand lingers on the handle for only a second before I force myself to push it open.
The blast of cold air from the AC—finally fixed after months of being broken—hits me the moment I step inside.
I half expect to see Damien waiting for me at the front desk to wish me luck, but he isn’t there.
Instead, a man sits behind the desk, looking up just as I freeze in place.
He smiles warmly—a smile that stuns me because I can’t believe he’s here.
And I can’t believe I forgot who the damn owner was!
“Zeke?” I don’t mean for his name to come out accusatory, but I feel like my mind’s playing tricks on me. But of course it makes sense now. I knew Zeke was Damien’s uncle, but conveniently forgot he was also the owner of The Skin Quill. I don’t know if I’m thrilled or terrified by this.
Probably the latter.
Zeke laughs, a soft, gravelly sound. “Hey, Ezra. We keep running into each other, don’t we?”
“I didn’t know you were going to be here.” It’s a dumb thing to say, but my brain is slowly processing everything, trying to keep my nerves in check.
I haven’t seen or spoken to Zeke since Truett and I were in Dallas.
He made an offhand comment about how, with a little more practice, I might be persuaded to work for him.
At the time, I brushed it off as him just being nice, but now the words keep circling around in my head.
Did he actually mean it? And if he did, have I practiced enough to even come close to meeting his standards?
“I’m just checking in on my shops, seeing if there’s anything I’ve been neglecting.
Plus, Damien mentioned you’re looking for an apprenticeship.
I’m trying to make sure all my shops are fully staffed before I finally retire.
Did he tell you he’ll be taking over my Dallas shop with my daughter? ” Zeke asks.
“No, he hasn’t.” The news is shocking, but considering every time I’m around Damien, he’s been busy with clients or showing me the ropes, it’s not a surprise he hasn’t mentioned this yet.
“I’m getting old, Ezra. My eyesight isn’t like it once was. So, I’m making some changes to my shops.” He looks down at the portfolio in my hands, reminding me what I’m here for. “Can I see what you brought?”
My hands tremble as I fumble with the portfolio, nearly dropping it before I manage to pass it over. Zeke takes it without a word, leans back in his chair, and starts flipping through the pages one by one.
He grunts at some. Shakes his head at others.
His expressions shift too quickly for me to read—disappointment?
Confusion? Disgust? I can’t tell. Each reaction tightens the knot in my stomach.
I try to stand still, but my fingers thrum against the counter.
I can hear my heartbeat in my ears, loud and frantic.
Finally, after what feels like an eternity, he closes the portfolio with a soft thump and slides it back toward me without saying a word. I stare at it, throat dry, unsure whether I should pick it up or apologize. Maybe I should just leave and tell Truett moving in together isn’t an option anymore.
Just as I’m about to cut my losses, Zeke gestures for me to sit down. I really don’t want to—far too much pent-up nervous energy. Still, I do as he requests and take a seat across from him in a warm leather chair.
“You’re a good artist, kid. Damien shared some of your work with me, and it’s damn good for a beginner,” Zeke says, and the anxiety deflates like an oversized balloon. “But you still have a lot to learn.”
I sit up straighter in my chair, nodding. “I know. I want to learn new methods and techniques. Damien has taught me a lot, but—”
“Damien’s good, but he’s still young and has more learning to do himself,” Zeke cuts me off.
“What I said in Dallas is still true. I want to take you under my wing. I think you have great potential. You just need a solid mentor to get you there. I like your work, Ezra, and I think you’d make a great apprentice. ”