Old Ink (Get Ink'd #3) - Ali Lyda Page 0,63
your life, maybe adopt or have a kid together, and I don’t want to be a drain, or seem flaky—”
Dane’s usually relaxed face grew stern and he pointed a finger at me. “This is the only time I ever want to have to say this to you, Channing. You’re one of the brightest, most mature young men I’ve ever had the pleasure of knowing. You’re my brother and you make me damned proud every day. Now, I don’t bring as much financial promise to the table in this family, but you are always going to be a part of my life. Never a drain. And always, always welcome in this home.”
My throat tightened painfully. Christian nodded. “Exactly. And the money? I know it’s always been a point of contention between us. But I have it, more of it than I’ll ever really need for just myself, and spending it on something like your education? It’s the best possible way to use the money I make. You’re not a high-risk investment, Channing. You’re my brother, and I fucking love you.”
“I can pay you back for any wasted credits—”
“Nope. I will not accept it. None of it’s wasted—all of it helped get you to where you are now. Just do what makes you happy, Channing. The fact that what you’re passionate about is going to make the world a better place...well, it speaks volumes about your character.” Christian got up and walked around the table. He pulled me out of my chair and into a huge hug. “Also, you’re a bit of an idiot for thinking this was going to be a crisis. I hope you know that.”
I laughed and pressed my now wet face into his shoulder, hugging him tightly. “Okay, okay. I get it. I was a dummy for worrying.”
“And a smarty for thinking this through so much,” he added before releasing me.
“The PowerPoint was overkill,” Dane said. “I mean, holy nerd alert, Batman. But now that we’ve established your dorkdom, would you like a ride to work? I gotta get in a little early to prep for a back piece.”
My body was light, like I was filled with helium. It felt as if I would float free the minute I took a step. “Sure, that would be great.”
In some ways the relief of getting this off my chest was making me feel drunk on life, the kind of woozy happiness that made driving seem like a bad idea. God, I had been so worried! Now I couldn’t even remember why I’d been so certain I’d ruin everything.
I held out my hands, and they shook with the release of all my anxiety. I just wanted to sit and bask in it for a while. Plus, I couldn’t wait to tell Reagan how the talk had gone—he’d be quietly smug when he heard how he’d been right all along. And I hoped he’d be as proud of me as I was of myself for not only finding something I was passionate about, but that I was doing what needed to be done in order to make it happen.
Except after a few hours at work, all the feel-good inertia from the morning was gone, and I’d slammed straight into a wall of worry. Reagan hadn’t been at work when we’d arrived in the morning, which had definitely not been on the schedule. There weren’t any messages from him on my phone or Get Ink’d’s voicemail.
I didn’t want to be that boyfriend, the one who needed to know where the other person was at all times. Maybe I should have clarified with him that I do like a bit of communication, though. Or maybe older men didn’t feel the need to keep their boyfriends updated constantly. Ugh, I didn’t know what to do, and I couldn’t stop a black cloud from forming over my head while I sat at the front for most of the morning, wondering where Reagan was and when he’d get in touch.
I lost myself in thoughts, in the sounds of tattoo guns buzzing and the crew joking around, in the smells of antiseptic cleaner and peppermint. I’d finally replied to my advisor, letting him know my decision and asking for his recommendations on classes for the fall. I texted Brad and my roommates, telling them my news. And I tried hard not to look at my phone every five minutes, hoping for a message from Reagan.
Dane put me out of my misery at lunch. Well, sort of, at least.