I Don't Want To Miss A Thing // Aerosmith

Jackson

The clacking of my laptop keys fills the room, the only sound at all. I'm focused on the last few emails that are waiting for a response after putting in a few hours going over inventory checklists for some clients. I've done a decent job keeping up with work remotely, thanks to Grinder letting me use his office in the mornings. Not that it's a big step up from the dingy storage room. His office has freaking wood paneled walls, and not the real wood. Faux as fuck. His desk is a time warp monstrosity, the only real wood in the room, but covered with stains and so many nicks that the surface is no longer flush. Nothing in this office space fits with the modern look of the main studio. It's the polar opposite, forgotten from long decades past. The chair is at least comfortable, worn in with use. I could get used to this chair. But it's usable space, a place to focus, so I can't really complain.

It's a perfect set up because he doesn't come in until later in the afternoon, splitting his time between the administrative side of the business and working on actual clients. Having a quiet space with a closed door has made all the difference in taking care of my responsibilities and continuing to earn a paycheck. There's no freaking way I could concentrate on the ancient couch in the storage room serving as my bed. I can't even get a full night's sleep on the thing. Grinder may find it perfect for a nap, but it's no Tempur Pedic mattress. The thing has lumps with lumps. I'm going to need physical therapy to work out all the kinks once I make it home.

Home. Fuck, I can't even think of home without getting pissed. Home to me is a broken-down mobile trailer where my mom dragged my ass years ago. A town almost identical to Fallbrook Hills with a dark side just as bad. Although, I saw where Holly lives. She may be in a house on a rock-solid foundation, but the neighborhood could get her killed. At least the other homes in our trailer park are filled with families and older retirees on a fixed budget who couldn't afford anything else. I've never walked in on a drug deal or broken up a fight. I think I may have stumbled upon both after dropping Holly off a few days ago.

Is that what's scaring the shit out of her?

I text her all the time about anything and everything. But I make sure to text her every morning and every night no matter what, asking if she's okay. I have to know. I'm fucking anxious when I think about how she flinched. And she won't tell me why. I respect her need for privacy. I get it. She's not ready to talk about it. But at some point, the two of us are going to get closer, close enough to trust me with her secret. I want to earn that trust, but I also want to kick someone's ass.

I'm closing out my work account and powering off my laptop when my phone rings. Positive that it's Holly calling me, I pull it out of my back pocket and answer with a smile.

"Hey, I just wrapped up work for the day." I lean back in Grinder's desk chair and settle in for a fantastic convo with my favorite girl.

"Bout time you answered my call."

And fuck me. It's my mom, the liar.

"You haven't called, mom. You haven't even texted. How long did it take to figure out I'd left town?" She's real funny if she thinks I'm falling for that bullshit. And I really need to change her ringtone to something I recognize so this never happens again. Maybe some kind of death march, something dark and ominous.

"I knew right away. Thought I'd give you some space since you obviously needed it. You got your fancy new job and already needed a vacation? Must be nice."

The distain in her voice makes my blood boil. I want to confront her. I want to call her on her bullshit and lies over the years, but I don't know if I'm ready.

"Nothing to say to your old mom? After all I've done for you your whole life, this is the thanks I get."

Well, fuck her.

"Nah, mom. I've got some things to say. I did some digging. I'm not on a vacation. I'm staying with dad. Remember him? The man you took me from and cut out of my life?"

The silence on the other end of the line is anything but empty. I know the blow I just delivered, and it was too long in coming.

"Why in hell would you go visit him?" She sounds genuinely confused. "He did more to cut you out of his life than I ever did."

More lies. "Why are you calling me?" I don't have time for this, or for her. I sense the anger brewing like a storm and that's not how I want to feel when I go see Holly.

Mom sighs, obviously annoyed with me. "I'm trying to find out when you plan on coming back. Jay is in town and I don't want any interruptions while he's here."

The implication is clear. Her on again, off again boyfriend of a few years is staying in her bed and she doesn't want me to pop in on them. I swallow the bile building at the thought. I've heard about this Jay guy for years but never had a face to face with him. He doesn't stick around long enough for me to meet him.

"He's still coming around? When are you going to realize he's using you?" Not that I care anymore. There was a time when I worried about him, busting into town and giving her ideas of romance then leaving just as abruptly. She'd call me, depressed, and I'd have to clean up his mess.

"You wouldn't understand."

"Nope, probably not." And I have no interest in learning more. "Whatever, mom. I've got things to do." I move a couple of files Grinder left on the desk and find his records book. It's half incomplete, numbers a mess and his computations are...creative.

"Wait! You never answered me. Coming back anytime soon?"

"No clue. I'm just going with the flow." Even if I knew when I was headed back, I wouldn't tell her.

"Fine. Just let me know when you're on the road. A mother worries."

I swallow the laughter threatening to come out. "We'll see." I end the call without another word, then power by laptop back up. When I'm pissed off, I solve problems. Mathematical ones. Grinder left me the motherload when he slacked off on his bookkeeping so I'm going to indulge my wild side and crunch some numbers.

***

I lean back in the chair and power down once again. Rubbing my eyes and stretching, I finally calmed down. Numbers have always been a decompressor for me. I learned the power of finding a solution to a problem when I was a kid. The sense of accomplishment when I could tie it all together and find the answer was a potent drug, especially when I never had that experience in life.

I stand from the desk and stride to the office door, throwing it open and returning to the land of the living. The shop is just starting to feel its groove, the after-dinner hour being when clients start trickling in. I was at it in there for more time than I realized but at least I won't be a ball of frustration and resentment when I pick up Holly. I'm even relaxed enough to find the mild chaos of the shop appealing. Music is pumping just loud enough to create atmosphere without overpowering conversations. A few chairs have clients, a few more are empty with artists prepping for later.

I glance around for Grinder or my dad, finding both of them standing near one of the stations and looking through a binder.

Being around this place has made me think about letting Grinder design my first ink. I've looked through that very same binder wanting inspiration but nothing struck.

"I'm leaving soon. Thanks for the office." I pat Grinder's shoulder and give it a squeeze. "Sorry I was in there longer than planned but I fixed your books."

His eyes slide to meet mine. "Fixed 'em?" There's confusion and a hint of suspicion in his tone. "Was there a problem with 'em?"

I stifle a laugh. "No, just incomplete is all. Now they're up to date and I even highlighted your profits. You're in the black. Business is good."

He nods then rubs his beard. "Yeah, thanks. I hate that shit but comes with the territory."

I shrug. "Numbers are my thing, so it was no problem. It actually relaxes me so I should thank you. I needed the stress relief." I rub my neck, still sore from hunching over my laptop. Also, from the fucking anger that my mom sparked. But I don't want to think about that shit right now. I've got better things to do with my time. What I should be thinking about is the hot-as-hell kiss Holly and I shared when I dropped her home the other night.

Her fingers running through my hair.

My tongue dipping into her mouth.

The sexy moan that vibrated in her chest and struck me right in mine.

Fuck, I need more.

"If that's the case, maybe we can work something out. Ever think about getting ink?" He smirks, his question bringing me out of my fantasies.

"Actually..."

"Enough said. Look through here and tell me what you like. Then we can use the style to design something more unique." Grinder shoves the binder toward me. My dad looks on with a grin.

"Grinder here will do you right. He's the best there is." Dad points to a few visible tats as evidence. Although they're fucking weird so I'm not feeling any more confidence from these examples.

"Uh, yeah. Those are cool." My tone betrays me.

Grinder rubs a hand down his face. "Butch, those aren't selling points. You letting me use you as an experimental palate doesn't instill desire in clients. How many times do I have to explain this?"

Dad shrugs. "Look fine to me. Not sure why people would doubt your skills from the look of 'em. Practice makes perfect, am I right?" He gestures to his body. "Here's the proof of practice."

I laugh, so does Grinder.

"Alright, I've got a client coming in soon. 90 hour design and we're getting started on hour 30. It's going to be a long night." He looks at me. "Let me know if you decide you want to break the seal on some ink and we'll set it up."

"I will." I'm close. I've got some ideas, but I'll let them simmer a bit longer. For now, I have a date and I'm not about to be late.

"Seeing Holly again?" Dad asks.

I nod. "Yup. I'm on my way now."

"Must be going well then."

"I missed her."

"You remember stuff from back then?" He asks with a tentative tone.

I lean on the counter, keys in hand. "Not really. Bits and pieces, more like snap shots. It's enough to know that Holly was special even as a little kid."

He smiles. "She's a dime."

"Ten cents?"

"Nah. Just a ten all around. A dang good person to know."

"Has she come by much?" I've been curious how much my dad knows, how much time he's spent with her over the years.

"Oh, not really. I see her around here and there. Always thought she was too good for this neighborhood."

I agree. But I can't stand here talking about all of this anymore. My brain might explode between the call from my mom and thoughts of missing out on growing up with my dad. I need another distraction, but Grinder's books are already done. Good thing I'm leaving to see Holly.

Not that she's a distraction. She's so fucking much more. That's all girls have ever been before but she's something else. I'm already deeper than ever before and can't figure out why I should be concerned. Everything in my life up to this point has been a waste of time. Holly is the first person that's taken up purposeful space in my head. Important. Space and time I have no intention of missing out on. My life just started.

"I'm out. See ya later, Dad."

"See ya, Son."

As I exit, I smile. That exchange between a father and his kid was long overdue.

I have a thing for crazy moms, I realize. I don't know what that says about my own mom, or my momming skills, but let's chalk it up to my brain making fiction very dramatic.

Anywhoooo, I've got lots actually planned out for this book in the form of notes about where I see the story going, but more likely than not I'll deviate when the characters decide my plans suck and they have a much better plot. Happens all the time.

Here's that song about not missing the moments in life that Jackson had playing on their date:

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