Infinite

Ronnie and I walked into the restaurant hand in hand. A young girl stood at the podium in the center of the waiting room and smiled politely. A large family sat in the chairs to our right and watched us as we walked up to the girl. It wasn't Olive Garden, but it was the closest thing nearest to us and it smelt delicious the minute we walked into the building.

"Just the two of you?" she questioned with a smile, her eyes running over our connected hands.

"Yep," I replied, smiling back at her.

She looked down at the computer in front of her and clicked a couple things. The smile was back on her lips when she looked up. "You're in luck," she spoke cheerily, "There's a table for two in Jeremy's section. Just follow me." She turned and led us to the left. We followed her down the hallway to a section in the back. Most of the tables were filled but there were two small ones on either side of the room.

"Here you go." The brunette motioned to a ornate table. "I hope this is good for you."

I nodded as we sat down in our chairs. "This is perfect," I vocalized, reaching across the table to pull the hat off of Ronnie's head.

I watched the girl's eyes move to Ronnie's previously hidden head and face tattoos. It wasn't everyday that a man walked in with a giant tattoo of a shark etched on the side of his head so neither of us minded when she got a bit distracted by the images.

"That must've hurt," she commented offhandedly, meeting Ronnie's eyes instead of staring at the tattoos. That only lasted a minute and she glanced back to the calligraphy on his forehead, trying to read what it said.

Ronnie's fingers ran over the side of his head like he'd forgotten they were there. "Yeah," he replied, licking over his lips as though it was an obvious answer, "It was pretty brutal."

The teenager nodded, seemingly not convinced with his nonchalant answer. "Well," she changed the subject, "Jeremy will be right with you. Can I take your drink orders while I'm here?" She pulled a little notebook out of her apron and looked at us expectantly.

We relayed our choices to her and nodded politely when she promised that our waiter would be on his way soon with our cups. When she left us, I handed Ronnie's hat back to him and smiled at the singer. "She looked pretty stunned by all of that." I motioned to his head.

He ran his fingers over the short section of his hair. "Everything is basically covered up, so I guess she wasn't expecting it," he replied, moving his hand to rub his neck.

I reached out and touched his tattooed fingers. His fingers spelt out two sayings, one being Bang Bang and the other spelling out the single word Renegade. "I absolutely love your tattoos," I said softly, moving my fingers to the rose on his hand, "I can't possibly imagine you without them."

"I love yours too," he replied, a slight smirk on his face as he thought about the only tattoo that adorned my body; a simple, black, cursive R on my ankle. It oddly matched the double Rs on his temple and it obviously stood for him.

I rolled my eyes at his cocky smirk and thought about how much I wanted to try for something bigger. "I want to get another one," I admitted to the singer, "But I don't really know what I want."

We both leaned back in our chairs as a lanky boy came walking our way, carrying two glasses. He plastered a smile on his lips as he stepped up to our table and lifted the drinks a bit higher in the air. "Rootbeer?" he asked, looking between us.

"Me," I told him.

He set my glass down in front of me and Ronnie's Coke in front of him. He grabbed his notebook out of his apron pocket and introduced himself to us. "I'm Jeremy," he explained, "I'll be taking your meal orders today. Can I get you started with any appetizers?"

We skipped the snacks and moved straight to the meals. I ordered Chicken Parmesan and Ronnie ordered some kind of raviolis. Much like his predecessor, Jeremy promised to be back with our food as soon as possible, making me wonder if it was part of their protocol to reassure us there'd be a short wait.

"Thanks," I murmured politely before he turned and walked away, carrying our order on a piece of paper. Ronnie was about to continue our earlier conversation, but I quickly moved my eyes from him and reached to slid my cell phone from the pocket of my jeans. "My dad's calling," I stated, glancing at Ronnie.

I slid the bar across the screen and moved the mini machine up to my ear. This was the first phone call I'd gotten from him since right after we skipped Thanksgiving and even though he showed up at Ronnie's birthday party, I was bit a surprised that he was calling me first. "Hey, Dad. What do you need?" I answered.

"Atticus?"

"Yeah," I replied, resting my elbow on the dark wood table. "What's going on?"

"Oh, you sounded different," he said, shaking it off, "Anyway, I was wondering if you and Ronnie could stop by sometime today. I have some Epitaph news."

My gaze met Ronnie's across the table. He quietly awaited to figure out what my dad wanted, but when he saw my eyes move to him, he could tell that it was something to do with him. He moved his chair closer to the table like it would allow him to hear my father on the phone.

"We're out to lunch," I replied, running my fingers through my locks, "What is it about?"

"Oh, that's fine. Just stop by when you get done."

I sighed softly and moved the phone away from my mouth, pressing it against my leg. "He wants us to stop by after lunch," I relayed to Ronnie, "Says he needs to tell us something about Epitaph."

The singer rested his arms on the table. "Can't I just stop by the label tomorrow? You'll be at work so there's nothing else to do," he muttered, not sounding thrilled with the idea that I'd be spending the day away from him.

I ignored his tone and lifted the phone back to my face. "Dad, he'll stop by the Epitaph building tomorrow. We don't really want to drive all the way out there. We were just planning on staying in the city today."

"Atticus, this is pretty big news," he replied, poorly masking the excitement and urgency in his voice, "I'd be great if you guys could stop by tonight. I wasn't planning on being at Epitaph tomorrow."

Ronnie and I finally gave in and agreed to be at my father's house in Pasadena when we got done with lunch. It was another fifteen minutes before the young twenty-something waiter brought our plates out with refills of our drinks. He grinned a crooked smile and wiped his hands against his apron. "Can I get you anything else?" he questioned, his eyes staying more on me than on Ronnie.

I glanced across the table at Ronnie, who shook his head. I looked back to the lanky waiter. "No, thank you," I replied, reaching for my fork, "We'll let you know if we need anything else."

He nodded and thanked us before he moved onto another table. Ronnie's mood had changed drastically, from the playful, laughing man who rolled out of bed this morning into the pensive, quiet introvert who sat in front of me now, pushing his food around his plate.

"Baby," I said softly, stealing his attention from the uneaten food on his plate.

His eyes met mine but he stayed silent, his lips pressed firmly together.

"What's wrong?" I asked simply, trying to decipher the flickers of emotion.

He shook his head and dropped his fork. He reached for his hat and fiddled with the hem of it. "Nothing," he objected, setting the hat back on the table so that his fingers could press against mine.

I slipped my fingers between his and squeezed his hand. "Come on," I remarked, "Fifteen minutes ago you were perfectly fine and now you're not saying a word. Tell me what you're thinking."

He pressed his lips into a tight smile and shook his head again, shaking off my accusations. "It's nothing really, I promise," he repeated, "I was just wondering what made your dad change his attitude."

The night before, I had thought the same thing, wondering why my father showed up to his party at all, seeing as Max could've borrowed the car and driven everyone easily, saving my father from being subjected to his daughter's 'worst decision' and the people who loved him.

It didn't make sense to either of us, but unlike me, Ronnie felt the need to understand the man who raised me and shunned him. Now, with plans to willingly go to his house, Ronnie's mind went into overdrive and searched for the answers that we'd never been able to make sense of.

I pressed the tips of my fingers into the top of Ronnie's hand, his palm against my palm and tried to shut down his thoughts then and there. "You can't worry about it," I explained, a pleading tone in my voice, "Just accept the fact that he's including us in his life again, Ron."

Ronnie's face crumpled. "Including us?" he repeated, obviously not liking the taste of the words in his mouth, "Atti," he breathed, "We don't need him to include us in his life. We're not the ones who're bothered that he doesn't accept us together, he's the one who won't be in our lives until he does."

"Maybe he does," I asserted, "If we don't give him another chance, how will we know?"

"How many fucking chances are we going to give him, Atticus? Are we going to go running back every time he decides he's tired of fighting us?" he asked rhetorically, his voice not loud but firm.

"If he stops fighting us and we keep fighting him, what's the point? It's a one-sided battle against ourselves," I retorted, "I know you think I'm being biased because he's my father, but seriously? What's the point of holding out for something that we're never going to get?"

"Shit, Att," he muttered, pressing his free palm against his forehead.

I spoke again, not giving him a chance to formulate a rebuttal. "Come on, Ron," I added, "Let him be the one fighting a losing battle, not us."

He ran his palm over his hair and stayed silent, after a few short moments his mouth turned up in a reluctant smile and his eyes met mine. "Okay," he agreed, dipping his chin in a nod, "We'll give him one more chance."

"Last one," I agreed, gently rubbing my thumb over his knuckle.

We took our time eating and talked about nothing of importance. It felt nice for the two of us to just be the two of us. Since we'd returned home after tour, we'd barely managed to covet any time for ourselves. Surrounded by friends and family constantly and pulled apart by work obligations and plans for the band, we'd stolen a few short hours but never any continuous amounts of time. Unlike the previous summer where we spent all our time together.

We finished eating and Ronnie paid our bill, not even flinching at the price for just two people. We headed out of the restaurant hand in hand, just like we'd walked in.

"I guess we should head to Brett's," Ronnie said after we climbed into the Escalade.

I shut my door and reached for the seatbelt, reluctant to agree with him. I buckled myself in as he started the car, not waiting for my assurance. He pulled onto the 110 and headed in the direction of my father's house. I knew that in a little over twenty minutes we'd be pulling into the driveway, so my thoughts shot back to the phone call with my father and his voice on the other end, adamant that we come hear his news today.

To say that nerves hadn't crept up my spine would be a lie. Just hearing my father sounding semi-excited about something that concerned both Ronnie and I was nerve-wracking. If it was good for him and had to do with us, I wondered if it could possibly be any good for us too.

I took Ronnie's hand we we got out of the car and headed up to the front door of the oversized house. From the front, the house looked dead, but when we walked inside I winced as Frida's voice pieced through the peaceful facade.

"Dad!" she yelled from somewhere upstairs, "Caleb is coming over!" Her eyes widened when she came out of the hallway and stood at the balcony atop the stairs. She frowned and headed down the stairs. "What are you two doing here?"

"Dad called," I answered, swinging Ronnie's hands between us, "He said he had some news for us."

"He didn't tell me anything," she replied, hooking a left towards the swinging door. "He's in the kitchen with Nico."

We followed her into the kitchen and Frida frowned when they weren't anywhere in the kitchen. She glanced back at the door on the end of the right wall. "They must've gone in there," she murmured, motioning to our dad's office.

"Alright, thanks," I said before I tugged Ronnie by his hand.

Frida replied, "Yup," and headed the other way, back towards her room. Before she left the kitchen completely, she called back to us. "You guys need to get out of here soon," she said, "Caleb's on his way and if he finds out you're," she pointed at Ronnie, "in the house, he'll forget I even exist."

"I can't help that your boyfriend has a crush on me, Fri," Ronnie defended, shrugging his shoulders, "You should just keep him on a tighter leash."

"Or send him to one of those Christian savior camps," she muttered, shaking her head as she roughly pushed through the swinging door.

We chuckled at her words. I knocked breifly on my dad's office door and then pushed it open. They weren't inside, but through the open door on the right wall, my dad's studio light was on and we could hear his guitar.

I spared at glance at Ronnie and pulled him through the office to the in-house studio my dad adored. Inside, Nico Moon sat on a plush chair and watched our dad as he concentrated on his guitar, his eyes closed. Nico grinned when she saw Ronnie and I. On the chair, she clambered to her feet and held her arms around for Ronnie. The singer pulled the three year old into his arms, which caused my dad to look up and the music to stop abruptly.

"Atti, Ronnie, you're here," he said, putting a smile on his face. He stood up and put his guitar on the wall mounted holder. "I've got some good news."

"What is it?" I asked, turning around as he headed back into his office.

"Well, just come look at this," he suggested, rifling through a stack of papers on his desk. He moved a couple of folders and pulled out a small packets of papers that were stapled together. He held it out to Ronnie, who took it cautiously with his free hand. His eyes scanned over the words on the papers and he looked up at my father.

"Tour dates?" Ronnie asked, confused by the information on the paper given to him. He looked over it again, frowning, and then looked back to my dad more certainly. "There are tour dates, Brett."

"What?" I asked, snatching the papers from his hand.

"I managed to get Falling in Reverse on a few more dates before Warped Tour," Dad explained, watching as I read over the names of places. I felt winded as my eyes moved back over the dates.

"It starts February 16th," I answered incredulously, not believing what I was reading.

My father grinned widely and nodded to me like he didn't notice the distress behind my words. He turned his attention away from me and spoke to Ronnie, clapping the singer on the shoulder like this was some great news. "Looks like you and the guys leave in a month and a half!"