Page 61 of Unspoken Rules

Finally, Chris makes the first move and shoves by his father, who bows his head and sighs. He steps inside, completely ignoring me, so I head outside and ignore the sting that created.

This isn’t about me.

He and his son are fighting. His son is more important. Obviously. The car is already started when I get into it, and Chris peels out of the driveway. I want to talk to him, to figure out what the hell is going on, but I know Chris well enough to know he isn’t going to talk about it. So, as hard as it is, I keep my mouth shut. He hops on the highway and takes an exit into the city a town over that has much better food options. He stops at a burger place, and we get out.

Once we’re seated inside, with food and drinks ordered, I finally say something. Because if I don’t, I think I’ll explode.

“How was work today?”

He shrugs, his melancholy mood not shifting to anything better. But at least he answers.

“Mondays suck. It’s like everyone hates being there, even though as far as I know, everyone really loves their jobs.”

“That’s how it goes, right? Mondays are the worst. It was the same in school.”

He chuckles. “Yeah, that’s true.”

“So, what exactly do you do there?”

Why do I feel like I have to force conversation? It never used to be like this for us.

“Bitch work. Mostly running reports and testing software. It’s boring as hell sometimes, but totally worth it.” Our drinks come and Chris reaches for his rum and cola, while I grab my water. “How about you? Did you find a job yet?”

I watch him suck down half the drink before answering. “Nothing outside of painting the studio.”

“You should consider doing tattoos. You’d be so good at it.”

I huff out a laugh. “Yeah, okay.”

“I’m serious, Bryson. Tattoo artists make bank. Especially the good ones, and you are good.”

I can agree that I’m a good artist. My work is one of the only things I’m ever proud of. But putting something permanent on someone’s skin? That’d give me way too much anxiety.

“No way. Painting on walls and drawing on paper is one thing. Putting something on someone’s skin that can never come off? That’s too stressful.”

“You really need to stop thinking so badly about yourself.” My jaw drops. Chris never scolds me like this. He always makes a joke or just ignores it. “Your artwork is amazing. Always has been. Sure, tattooing is different and new, but that’s why you get an apprenticeship. So you can learn. It’s not like they throw you to the wolves. Pretty sure you have to apprentice for a few years before they let you take clients on your own.”

I ignore his aggressive tone and keep the conversation going.

He had a rough night and a rough day. He’s tired and hungry.

“Okay, then that’s a few years of working without pay.”

“So get a day job. Do you have anything else to do?” I bite the inside of my cheek to stop myself from snapping back at him. Chris is the only person I’ve ever fought with. Outside of my father, of course. Typically I shut my mouth and turn the other way, avoiding any situation that could become confrontational. But me and Chris have had a lot of arguments over the years because I’m comfortable speaking my mind with him. He continues, adding insult to injury. “I know your dad is an asshole, and he fucked you up, but damn, Bry. You’ve been away from him for years now, and you still act like he’s talking shit to you every day.”

I blink. Then blink again. I want to tell him to fuck off. That he has no idea what he’s talking about, and how dare he say something like that to me when he’s being a complete dickhead to his father.

But of course, I don’t.

“It’s not easy to forget all the shit he said to me, Chris. It doesn’t work that way. And I was just with him for the last six months. You think that doesn’t bring all the insecurities I thought I fixed right back? You have good memories of your father. I have fucking nightmares.”

He scoffs, grabbing his drink. “Memories of my father aren’t all that great.”

“Are you joking?” I snap. He frowns at me, and I know he’s going to say something harsh, so I keep going. “Did you forget how long I was with you growing up? Did you forget that I was there a lot of the time too? Did Cole only be an asshole when I wasn’t around, Chris? Because for quite a few years, we grew up with the same man. One who wasn’t a dick.”

His gaze goes from shocked to furious to something akin to thoughtful. He’s either thinking about what I said and trying to understand it, or he’s trying to calm himself down so he doesn’t punch me.

“You don’t know him like I do,” is all he says, reaching for his drink.

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