Love from Left Field: A Billionaire Romance

by Jenny Rabe

  Cambria raised an eyebrow. “Well I’m really hoping this works then.” She handed him a T-shirt rag, a sponge, and a washcloth. “Let’s see if one of these will work.”

  They spent the next few minutes trying out the removers using the three different materials. The sponge ripped easily, and fibers from the washcloth stuck to the concrete wall. The T-shirt rag worked the best, but the spray paint didn’t budge much, though it left colorful streaks down the wall, making more of an artistic mess.

  “Ahh, this is not working,” Cambria finally said, wiping sweat from her face with an elbow. Her hands smelled of chemicals, the humidity making things almost unbearable.

  Brian surveyed their work. “I think you’re right. I have one more idea though if you’re game. It’ll have to wait until tomorrow, but my friend has a power washer we could try.”

  Cambria brightened. “Oh, I didn’t think of that. We’ll have to try it on the smaller walls.”

  “And the other two walls, I was wondering if we should just paint. It’s a long stretch of wall with most of it covered. What do you think?”

  Cambria nodded. “I think you’re right. Do you have anything going on in the morning? I don’t know if I can come out in this heat again.”

  Brian wiped at his face. “I agree. Would it be all right if I swung by and picked you up tomorrow morning, say about 7:00?”

  Cambria scrunched up her face. “Okay. I’ll try to be up by then.”

  “We can do it later if you need.”

  Cambria shook her head. “No, 7:00 works. It’ll be too hot otherwise. I’ll just do my painting earlier.”

  Brian nodded. “What do you paint, you know, besides my face?”

  Cambria smiled and threw her rag at him. “Faces have been my fascination recently, yes, but I’m working on a project.” She hesitated, not knowing what can of worms she was about to open. But she couldn’t help it. “Maybe I can show you sometime.”

  His eyes lit up with interest. “Yeah, sure. I’d love to see it.”

  Cambria smiled, that little thrill she felt earlier returning. She really did want to show him and that surprised her. “Why don’t you come a little earlier, and I’ll make my famous breakfast casserole.” She’d picked up groceries after the grief meeting, though it had taken almost every penny in her bank account. She’d have to sell a painting or two to even survive next month.

  “I don’t want to put you out or anything,” he started to say.

  Well, I already bought the ingredients so . . . It has bacon,” she said, trying to sweeten the deal.

  “Oh, I’m there.”

  Cambria laughed, and the two of them gathered up the cleaning supplies and stowed them away in the trunk. “See you tomorrow?” she said when they were finished.

  “I’m looking forward to it.”

  * * *

  Cambria spent the rest of the night finishing up her last canvas, making sure she packed it up early enough to clean. It’d been a few weeks since her last deep cleaning and knowing that Brian would be in her house the next day made it all the more nerve-wracking.

  Around six-thirty the next morning, he knocked. When she opened the door, he held out a cup to her. “I know it’s summer, but this is the best hot chocolate around. 7-11 style.”

  “Ooo, perfect. Hot chocolate works all year around. Especially when the air conditioner is on.”

  Brian laughed loudly, sending an echo through the house. “Sorry. Dad always told me I was too loud for my own good.”

  She glanced back at him. “It’s nice, actually. You’re the first person to visit since I moved here, well other than the Walkers next door.”

  Brian screwed up his face. “Really?”

  She nodded. “Yep. I’ve kind of isolated myself really well in this town.”

  Brian chuckled. “Well, I guess I’ve messed up your plans then.”

  She nodded. “A bit, but I like the change in pace. Life couldn’t have gone on much longer like that.”

  Brian took his first look around the house. “Um, whoa. You weren’t kidding. You are a big-time painter.”

  “Yep.” Cambria smiled. It was an impressive sight. The hall was lined with more than half a dozen paintings, all hanging now.

  “Are these separate paintings of people or do they go together?”

  Cambria sighed and led him down the hallway. “They go together. This is a project I’ve been working on for a while. Since I’ve moved here, I’ve watched people at the park, at the fields, on their runs. Most of the people around here are connected to the military in some way. I know the type, I guess. For once, I wanted to capture them without their uniforms on to show they lead normal lives. Normal people who are heroes. Shawn served in the military, and it’s my way of honoring him.”

  Brian lifted his eyes. “That’s incredible. Really great. Are you going to showcase them somewhere? I know military families would love seeing this.”

  Cambria sighed again. “That’s the sad part. I’d love to have an art display of this project, but right now I need to focus on selling them. I have no other job and just spent the last of my savings on groceries.”

  Brian crossed his arms as he studied each painting. Cambria hoped he wouldn’t study the faces too deeply or he would see a bit of himself in each one—his eyes, his ears, his mouth. Only one had all of his facial features included in it, and that was still hidden away in her art room.

  “Could you send them to an art gallery?”

  Cambria bit her lip. “The closest one’s in Austin, but I don’t have any connections. Back in Phoenix, a gallery paid me to paint for them. Now, I’m stuck with a house full of finished paintings. Good thing I’m out of canvases to paint.”

  “What happens now?”

  Cambria shifted her weight from foot to foot. “Good question. I’m not sure what will happen. I’ll probably have to get a real job until I figure something out. And that’s if I can find another house in time. My landlord is selling mine.” Cambria regretted saying anything. Brian looked too concerned, and it wasn’t his problem. She’d work something out.

  “Should we eat?” she asked, trying to steer his attention away from the paintings.

  He nodded and followed her to the kitchen.

  Cambria tried to keep the conversation light as they ate, talking about the weather and their friends at the grief meeting.

  After breakfast, Brian drove them to the smallest wall, pulling out two power-washing machines from his truck. Cambria had never worked a power washer before and enjoyed the moments he stood behind her, teaching and encouraging her. But then he would always step away, leaving a safe distance between the two of them, and she’d go back to wondering what he was thinking.

  The power washer worked wonders, and they spent the next few hours hitting the graffiti at all angles. Both of them held their machines and sand-blasted the graffiti from the wall. Only a trace of a shadow was left behind. Her hands shook as she finally put the head of the washer down.

  Cambria looked over at Brian. His pants were wet to his ankles and everything else he wore was either drenched in sweat, sand, or water. “You need a shower.”

  He looked down at himself and laughed. “Look who’s talking.”

  Cambria giggled and felt her own clothes. “I guess you’re right.”

  Brian sat down on a ledge and handed her a bottle of water. “I’ve been thinking.”

  “Oh yeah,” she joked. “Is that a common occurrence?”

  Brian smirked. “Funny. Look, I’m kind of a whiz at the internet. I run my own web planning company and could create a perfect website, just for your art.”

  Cambria stopped smiling. “You mean, people could come to the website and buy my work?”

  He smiled. “Exactly.”

  Cambria didn’t think she’d have to part with her paintings so soon. But the last thing she wanted to do was depend on her mom to help her. “I guess I should start doing something.”

  “How about before we go out
and hit the next wall with a power washer, we sit down and talk business?”

  “I can’t pay—”

  Brian lifted his hand to cut her off. “This one is on the house. I feel like I owe you after yesterday, and I really want to help.”

  Cambria nodded, not knowing what to say. She’d needed to get this started for months, and right in the nick of time, he had rushed to her aid. “That would be amazing. Should I make you breakfast again?”

  Brian smiled. “Nah, it’s my turn to treat you. There’s this little donut shop down the street from me. I try to stay away from it most mornings, but tomorrow will be an exception.”

  They talked about the website all the way to Cambria’s house, discussing what features she wanted and how she wanted her art displayed. The whole idea excited her, and she couldn’t wait to start.

  “Thank you for today,” she said, when Brian parked outside her house. “I’ve been in a rut for a while, and maybe one day I’ll be able to explain how meeting you has helped me move forward.”

  Brian ran a hand through his hair. “I don’t know how I’ve helped, but I’m glad.” He reached forward, wiping at some paint on her arm. His hand lingered there a few seconds before dropping back to his lap.

  A shiver traveled from her arm to her fingers. “An occupational hazard, I guess.” She felt the urge to reach out and touch him back. He had plenty of paint splattered on him as well. It had been so long since someone cared for her.

  A mental image of Shawn flashed through her mind. Guilt pressed down on her, paralyzing her. How could she think about touching another man? Sorrow rose in her chest, clawing itself through her resolve to move forward with her life. Her face crumpled, and she grabbed for the door.

  “Cambria, what’s wrong?”

  She looked back at him. His face was soft, concerned. But she couldn’t lead him on. She wasn’t ready for these feelings. “Nothing. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  She escaped before he could make her stop. When she made it inside, she turned to see Shawn staring at her from the framed picture. How could I even think about another man? I got to live, and he didn’t.

  Her thoughts tumbled, racking her mind with guilt and pain. Grief overwhelmed her, and she succumbed, crumbling next to the door in a sobbing heap. Back into her hole. Back into her grief.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Brian

  The next morning when Brian showed up with donuts and juice, he could tell Cambria had forgotten. She was still in the clothes from the day before. Aside from being embarrassed, she had red eyes and swollen lids, as if she’d cried the entire night.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, her eyes tearing up. “It was a bad night last night after you left. I haven’t really gone to sleep yet.”

  More than anything, Brian wanted to wrap her in his arms. Instead, he led her gently to the couch. “You know what? I need to work on your website anyway. Let’s skip today’s cleaning project and give you time to rest. After taking pictures of your paintings, I’ll work on the website and come back tomorrow.”

  “Wait,” she said reaching for his hand. Brian wouldn’t have moved if someone paid him to. His hand tingled in her tiny, cold one. “Please, can you stay?” Her voice broke as she searched for words. “I- I don’t want to be alone right now.”

  He nodded, and she retrieved her hand. She needed a friend and nothing more. He would be smart to remember that. “Do you want something to eat? Drink?”

  Cambria blinked fast but shook her head. “I just want to sleep.”

  Brian nodded and looked around. “I’m going to take some pictures, and then I’ll be right back with my laptop.” He found a throw pillow and gently slid it under her head. He pulled an afghan blanket over most of her and closed the blinds in the room.

  When he looked back at her, his heart felt like it would burst at how much she seemed to need him right then. Her eyes were already shut. All he wanted was to stay right by her side.

  Instead, he went out to his car and grabbed his laptop and the fancy camera his dad had given him on his 26th birthday when he’d graduated with his MBA in business.

  After setting up a black sheet for a backdrop in the kitchen where the lighting was better, he took pictures of each painting. It was heavy work and took longer than he expected. More than anything, he wanted to get back to Cambria. But the need to help her was stronger.

  After he finished the tedious job of snapping pictures of each painting, he saw a room at the end of the hallway. Splashes of paint decorated the back wall in what could only be her art space. Empty buckets stacked on each other on either side of the room rocked haphazardly as he brushed past them. Were there more paintings to document?

  He found a stray painting leaning against the wall. Maybe it was her last blank canvas. But hadn’t she said she’d run out of everything? He turned it around and stared. He was looking into a painting of himself. It was of a baseball player, with very similar facial features. Now he was even more curious about how she really felt about him, why he had been the inspiration she’d been looking for.

  He brought it to the kitchen, snapped a picture of it, and hung it on the last remaining hook. Cambria was right, she needed more room and more supplies.

  After he cleaned up in the kitchen, he grabbed his laptop and went to the front room where Cambria continued to sleep. Her hair had fallen across her face, and she was moaning softly.

  He chuckled to himself and moved her hair to the side. Her eyes fluttered open, and a small smile crossed her face.

  “Sorry I woke you,” he said.

  She patted the cushion next to her. Brian hesitated. Last night, he had seen the invisible walls come up as he touched her arm. And now she wanted him right by her? She patted the couch again and moved to the side.

  He sat down, making sure to leave enough space in between them.

  She wiped at the sleep in her eyes. “I can’t believe I fell asleep. I tried all night, but I just couldn’t.”

  He clasped his hands tightly in his lap. “Is everything okay? Did I do something wrong yesterday?”

  “No, not at all. I mean, yes, but it’s not your fault.”

  “I’m confused. Why yes?”

  Cambria sighed and hid her face in her hands. “Last night, I felt something I haven’t felt in a while, and it scared me. And then I came in and saw Shawn’s picture on the wall, and the guilt was a little too much.”

  Brian considered how he should ask the next question. He knew she needed to talk, but he didn’t want to force it. “What was Shawn like?”

  Cambria dropped her hands and looked blankly across the room. “Before Afghanistan or after?”

  Brian deflated a little. If he was deployed, then things couldn’t have gone that well. “I guess both.”

  She nodded. “It’s a long story.”

  He leaned back against the couch, getting more comfortable. “I have time.”

  “Okay,” she said, quietly. “Here goes. We met a year before he went on tour with the army. We did everything together—watching movies, taking walks, riding rides at amusement parks. Occasionally, we would go camping on weekends with a few friends or visit one of our families for Sunday dinner. It was the happiest time of our relationship.”

  Brian cringed as the cheerfulness in her eyes disappeared, and he knew the hard part was coming.

  “But then Shawn was called to Afghanistan for a year. At first his tour was going great, but toward the end, there was a bomb explosion. He wasn’t hurt too badly, but a lot of his unit died. After that, leadership saw that he wasn’t functioning well. He was short with everyone and got angry suddenly. Eventually, the army saw him as a risk and discharged him for medical reasons.”

  “Oh no. I’m sure that didn’t help.”

  “Yeah, it was pretty bad. Shawn came home really depressed and anxious, but he was also really happy to see me. We tried to get back to normal life. He decided to go back to school, and I had my art. Things seemed to be improving after a f
ew weeks, but a subtle change was happening to him, and I’m sad to say I didn’t catch the signs.”

  “Those kind of things are not easy to spot.” Brian patted her knee, and she reached for his hand. She squeezed it, and he knew she needed it for strength.

  “At first it was small things. He spent more time at his place than he did mine, and we rarely went out. I wasn’t alarmed. It was my first year as an artist. Demands for commercial art came in waves, and, mindlessly, I fulfilled requests and ignored what was happening around me.”

  He squeezed her hand in return. “You can’t blame yourself. People with PTSD are private, and it’s hard to diagnose.”

  She laughed, but there was no mirth in her voice. “I didn’t even know what PTSD was? I could have helped if only I would have seen it sooner.” A few tear drops fell to her lap, and Brian let go of her hand to wipe them from her face.

  She moved over, leaning her head against his shoulder. With some hesitancy, he wrapped his free arm around her, drawing her closer.

  Her voice broke as she continued. “Every once in a while, Shawn would come in and watch me paint. At first, I was thrilled he took an interest in something I loved. But after a while, his smiles turned to grimaces and there was pain in his eyes. But then he proposed, and those moments seemed too small to worry about. Four months after he returned, we were married, and everything was going great. Shawn seemed more lively, my business was thriving, and he even talked about starting a family.”

  “What happened to change everything?”

  She sighed and shifted against his chest. “The first few weeks of marriage were exciting and fun. We tried new things together and ate out all the time. But then he would leave for a day or two at a time, never telling me where he was going or where he’d been. Then, days after his return, I would find new scratches on his car from drag racing or outstanding debts from the nearest reservation where he gambled.”

  Brian nodded sympathetically. Adventure seeking and risk taking were a big part of how people dealt with PTSD. He had plenty of friends who had served in Afghanistan throughout his time in college and in business interactions with others, and most of them never returned the same.