No, our boss views it as a good thing, as an expansion of the art and a reflection on him and Vibrant. While it hasn’t happened with everyone, he’s retained close friendships with some of the people who have left and gone on to do their own thing. One of those people is Beckett Banks who opened Banks Ink. in Denver. There’s more than enough business to go around and he’s made a name for himself which is pretty damn impressive.
The last time I saw him was a few months ago, since we’re now invited to all the Banks Ink. events. Not only is it because of Wyatt, but his wife as well. Tenley’s older brother, Troy, works at the Banks and is family to Beckett.
I’m sure they’d say I’m part of the family as well. I like them all, don’t get me wrong, but it’s so many people. Add in the kids and it’s loud and chaotic. Those situations aren’t easy for me. People expect too much from me.
“She is gorgeous, but you don’t get to say that shit,” Wyatt grounds out just as my client comes back from his break.
As we get set back up for the next part of the session, Knox’s laugh fills the shop. He’s far too amused by getting Wyatt riled up where his wife is concerned. To be fair, it’s easy as fuck to do.
“Come on, boss man,” Knox chides Wyatt as his eyes sparkle with mischief.
Monroe’s client’s eyes are huge as she looks between Knox and Wyatt, hanging on their every word. It’s comical, but all I can do is shake my head. Knox is a showboat.
“I’m confused,” Monroe’s client muses, her eyebrows pulled together, “what does this have to do with The Heart Beats and Falcon?”
She does look confused, and I can only huff out a breath. “You good?” I direct the question toward my client, and he gives a chin lift.
The best clients are the ones who are good with silence between us. I could hug him; if I were the kind of guy to give out hugs.
I’m not.
Knox seemingly ignores Monroe’s client as he addresses Wyatt, “Just tell wifey about The Heart Beats anniversary. She can talk to Troy, who can talk to the SO guys.”
Monroe’s client pipes up again, “SO guys?”
“Suburban Outcasts,” Knox explains. Even though I’m not facing her as I focus on tattooing, I’m sure the chick’s mouth has fallen open in shock.
I can’t say I blame her. Suburban Outcasts is a big deal. They’re rock stars in the truest sense of the word. Well, at least when it comes to notoriety. They aren’t into the wholesex, drugs, and rock and rollversion of the word, especially since they’ve all settled down with wives and kids at this point.
They also started their own record label based right here in Denver. Everything they touch seems to turn into gold. The growth of their label is a testament to that. Most of the time they’re bringing up new talent. But success doesn’t stop there.
The guys of SO have brought some careers back to life. There was Birch Byrne, a rock star who couldn’t write after his first album, which had been an enormous success. Turns out he left his heart back in a small town in Tennessee. Then there was Langston Phillips. Grief and fame had him spiraling before he hit rock bottom. His new album has been climbing the charts.
A comeback story leading to success isn’t the only thing both guys have in common. There’s also love.
Both musicians found their other half, with the markings of the Banks family all over their love stories.
Maybe that’s why I don’t talk much whenever we’re hanging out with them. They’d try to sprinkle their pixie-love dust all over me.
No fucking thank you. I’m not interested in falling in love.
It’s a fucking trap anyway.
The memory of my mom and how she searched, desperately, for love after my sperm donor abandoned us pops into my head. I slam the door closed on those memories because there is no fucking way thinking about that bullshit is a good idea.
“Suburban Outcasts,” the shriek that comes from Monroe’s tattoo chair has me cutting my eyes in her direction as my client lets out a low grunt of annoyance.
Yeah, right there with you, man.
“There is no fucking way that I’m talking to my wife about them,” Wyatt’s voice holds no room for argument.
“Talk to me about who?” Tenley’s voice is breezy as she walks into the back room of Vibrant Ink.
I hadn’t even noticed the bell above the door going off out front, which is why we have Dallas. She’s the perfect receptionist; we all know Tenley is welcome in the back any time she comes in. There’s no reason she shouldn’t be let back immediately.
Especially now. She’s about two months away from giving birth to her first baby. Well, it’ll be Wyatt’s first baby, in a sense, too.
Ian, Wyatt’s 12-year-old son, trails after Tenley. “Hi Dad,” he chirps, and I watch our boss, a man who didn’t even know he was a father, light up. “Hi guys,” he shouts to the rest of us before he blushes slightly and adds, “and Monroe.”
