Old Ink (Get Ink'd #3) - Ali Lyda Page 0,42

to figure out what he wanted to do, and which path would work best. But Channing had proven himself mature for his age and the fact that he could even consider others’ feelings regarding his actions like this was well beyond his years.

“I don’t think I have any passions, Reagan. The things I was passionate about have changed, but nothing has really grown or flourished in their absence. And I’m only twenty-one and it seems crazy to not have dreams or passions but also nuts that I’m supposed to know my whole life already.”

God, his words rocked me to my core—he sounded exactly like I’d felt all those years ago, when I was his age, the confusion and pressure and fear and thrill. And fuck, I was feeling it all over again now. Only at midlife it no longer felt as if I could change directions. But he didn’t need to know about that now; I didn’t want to scare him off.

I squeezed his hand. “I get that hard, Channing. You know it’s normal, right? Hell, I’m forty-five and I still have moments where I question what I’m doing and what I’m passionate about.”

Channing stopped, his grasp gently tugging me to a halt. “Really? I just assumed… I mean, I’ve been kicking myself because I thought I was just proving everyone right, that I was still a kid and couldn’t be trusted to make good decisions for myself, or be responsible with important choices. That just switching career choices was, I don’t know, flippant? Ungrateful for all the help and support I’ve gotten?”

I laughed and released his hand so I could slide an arm around his waist. “Hell no. I didn’t start in tattoos, you know. I’d been an artist—paints, charcoals, the whole nine yards—and, if I can be so bold, a good one. For a short time I had secured a place in the art world and had been moving up. Making a name for myself.”

A moment of wistful nostalgia rocked me.

“Ultimately, though, I found more joy in tattoos. Dropped everything and switched gears. It appalled some people, but it made me happy.”

Channing was staring. “I had no idea, but I guess it isn’t actually that surprising. You’ve got such an eye for tattoos. It’s still art, just a different canvas.”

Nodding, I tugged lightly at him, and we started walking again. “Sure. But there were a lot people who didn’t see it that way—even people who’d been really important to me. But I made new and better friends, I found happiness, and the people who truly mattered supported me. Isn’t that what you’re really concerned about? That Christian won’t support you anymore?”

“Now wait a minute there, Dr. Redhead. I didn’t know you were also a psychotherapist,” Channing teased. But I could feel him relaxing again, encouraged by my story. “But yeah. I just want him to be proud of me.”

“He’s been proud of you. And you taking time to think about what you want from life? That’s good. And mature, and responsible—because you only get one shot at doing this right the first time. Doing it right for you. And Christian strikes me as the kind of guy who’d support you as you figure it out.”

Channing sighed and tipped his head back, looking at the stars. “Sure. But he can support me and be disappointed in me. Again, he’s been paying for me. This feels like a bit of a fuck you to him, you know? Throwing his kindness and generosity back in his face.”

“Is it a ‘fuck you’?” I pried.

“God, no. Never.”

“Then talk to him. Just like this—although maybe not with the cuddling.” Channing laughed, and I continued, turning a bit more serious. “I’ve gotten to know Christian since he came into Dane’s life. He’s a really good guy with a ton of patience and empathy. How else could he tolerate Dane?”

We both chuckled at that. The lake was moving gently, the small waves breaking on the posts of the bridge we were on. I stopped us and we leaned over the rail, looking at the dark waters. It was peaceful being with Channing. Well, except for my heart, which raced at each touch. But I hadn’t expected how easy it would be to talk to each other like this.

“You give good advice,” Channing said.

Shrugging, I angled toward him. “With age comes wisdom,” I offered.

“You’re super old, so I suppose that means super wise, then.”

My eyes narrowed and he playfully bumped me with his hip. “You’re a brat,”