by Rebel Farris
“Give me the damn boots,” I said, holding out my hand with a sigh.
Sloane’s eyes lit up. “You’re going to do it?”
I shoved my feet in the boots, not bothering with the laces, and plodded over to the white backdrop that curled across the floor in front of the camera. I held the flag in front of me as I pulled the tie of the robe and shrugged my shoulders until it hit the ground. Sloane rushed over with my guitar and scooped the robe off the ground. I spared a tiny thread of thought for the windows facing the street but decided that protesting further would only delay the inevitable. Best to just go along and get it done.
I wasn’t happy, but the photographer never asked me to smile. It went a long way in making me feel more comfortable. In fact, he never asked me to do anything, just barked orders, and my body went on autopilot to obey. I tried not to think about where that malleability came from, but looking at his sister’s eerily similar face, and with his departure only hours before, memories assailed me. Thoughts I knew I’d regret, but I was powerless to stop their onslaught.
My hand drifted to my mouth as my lips tingled like an echo from the kiss he left me with the night before. Maybe he’s right. Part of me will always belong to him. Steely resolve settled over me. It didn’t matter what we were, or what he turned me into. I was my own person. I could choose, and my mind was made up. I was always going to choose Jared.
Now
We pull into a dirt parking lot outside a little, rundown warehouse in East Austin. I glance over at Dex. I’m not sure where we are, but this can’t be his home. He puts the car in park and cuts the engine.
“You live here?” I ask.
He nods absently. “Home, sweet home.” He smiles, his dimples peeking through. “Impressed?”
“I’m reserving judgment.” I grin. “I thought you lived near me. Audra goes to the girls’ school.”
“She’s part of the magnet program,” he says, opening his door.
He takes a few long strides around the car to get my door and offers his hand. I take his hand and step out.
“That’s impressive. Those programs are fairly competitive, aren’t they?”
He smiles sheepishly. “Yeah, she’s a good kid. Can’t take any credit for it. She’s done it mostly on her own.” His brows furrow. “Though I’m trying to change that.”
He leans around me into the car and grabs my bags.
“I can get that,” I say, reaching for the bags in his hands.
“It’s my pleasure.” His tone is firm but not defensive.
I sigh, giving up. “You’re doing a great job from what I can tell.” His head jerks back in confusion. “With Audra—the father thing. Though you’re okay at the bag-carrying gig, too.” I smirk.
“Just okay?” He laughs and shakes his head at me.
“My bad—you’re one fine specimen of bag-carrying glory,” I deadpan.
“Better,” he murmurs as he tugs me to his side and kisses my temple. “Follow me.” He sweeps his free hand out in front of us, and I follow him down the well-worn path from the parking lot to the door.
The sun is still out, though it’s already well past the tree line. The dingy beige paint on the corrugated tin siding is highlighted by the fading sunlight. There are a few weeds scattered about, but no grass or any other vegetation. Only one small window covered by security bars faces the street. It doesn’t feel very homey. I get to the front door and wait as Dex enters a code on the keypad lock. I’m expecting it to be dark inside but am taken aback when I walk in. The entire wall opposite the entry is glass and overlooks the river at the bottom of a small cliff.
I walk through the short, wide hallway and find that the glass wall spans the entire building. My heels click across the rust-color-stained concrete floor as I’m drawn to the view like a magnet. The other side of the river is steeper, showcasing one of my favorite features of Austin, the striated limestone cliffs. It’s gorgeous.
“It’s a beautiful view, isn’t it?” Dex asks, startling me.
“Unexpected,” I say, turning to him. “How did you find something like this?”
He shrugs, setting my bags down on a cream-colored leather sectional I didn’t even see until now. “I could never see myself as one of those guys that end up in a suburb with a white picket fence. I just asked the realtor to look into something commercial that didn’t have zoning restrictions. He found this place. Just got lucky.”
“Very lucky,” I murmur, looking around.
The space is open and sparsely furnished; one large room that holds a living area and kitchen. The ceiling is two-stories high, and the windows—that aren’t windows but three glass garage doors—span the height. There’s a loft space toward the front of the building that seems to be divided in two by a solid wall and cut off from the downstairs by plate glass walls. It’s kind of amazing.
“You want the tour?” he asks.
I nod.
“Those doors lead to a bathroom and a storage room that’s empty. I thought one day I might add a bed and make it a guest room. It’s the only room that has a window that faces the front. Those stairs there lead up to Audra’s room.” He points to a very modern set of metal stairs with wood steps and industrial pipe railing on the far wall of the living area. “And that door past the kitchen leads to my studio and the access to my room. Which way do you want to go?”
“You have a studio?”
His cheeks tinge pink, and a shy smile lights his face as he turns away. “Yeah, one of the bays on the garage was cut off from the rest, so I decided to set up space in there for my art.”
“You do more than sketching and tattoos?”
“I dabble in other mediums, I guess.” He shrugs.
“You sound entirely too modest about that. I’m betting that’s a treasure trove of Dex insight. I wanna see it.”
“After you.” He gestures me toward the only door off the kitchen area.
The clicking of my heels echoes in the mostly empty space as I make my way to the door. I open it tentatively and peer in. It’s much like the rest of the building. No need for lights due to the giant glass garage door. Canvases line the walls, most turned away so I can only see the backs. The only furniture is a long wooden table, an industrial rolling ladder, some shelves, and a stool. A couple of really large canvases that wouldn’t fit into a normal space lean against the wall covered with a drop cloth. My fingers itch to yank it off, but I’m captivated by a painting of Audra that is left uncovered.
She’s standing in a field of bluebonnets, looking close to her current age, and laughing. It’s a large canvas, and as I move closer, I can see that his style uses short brushstrokes that give movement to the varied colors. The reds of her hair contrast the blues of the flowers. I reach out, drawn to it, but stop short.
“May I?” I ask.
Dex is watching me as he nods.
“This is amazing. It’s easy to forget who you really are when I almost never see you in this environment. How do you do this? You can tell it’s one stroke by the texture, but the color isn’t solid—all these variations make it look like real hair.” I take a deep breath and turn to him. “What do you do with these? Do you sell them? Show them in galleries?”
He shakes his head. “The painting I do mostly for myself. I find it relaxing, and it helps me work through my thoughts. That one there I painted around the time she moved in with me. I was struggling to figure out who I needed to be for her, and I just knew I wanted her to smile like that every day.”
Holy shit. That is unbelievably sexy. My lips curve up as I think about that for a moment. I’m definitely in uncharted territory when I find it hot that a guy wants to make his daughter happy. I try to distract myself from my urge to jump him by turning to the other canvases. There are a few paintings of objects and urban landscapes. My eyes are pulled to the covered ones with the ladder in front of it. If I had to guess, those are bigger issues for him to work through, and it has me
insanely curious.
“Can I see that one?” I nod my head in its direction.
“It’s not finished, and I want to say no, but it would be highly hypocritical of me to demand that you open up to me and keep things like that from you.” He doesn’t move but tips his head in that direction. “Go ahead—just pull on the drop cloth. It’ll fall pretty easily.”
I walk over to it. My fingers curl around the edges, and I look back to him to make sure he’s okay with this. He looks unbelievably vulnerable, yet confident, as he stands there. His arms are relaxed at his sides, his head held high, but worry tinges his eyes.
I give the cloth a tiny yank and step back as it falls to the floor with a whoosh of air. My hair billows around my face, and I pull it away from my eyes before I register that I see myself. The painting is of me. I’m not looking in the viewer’s direction—my face is in profile—but I recognize the color of my hair, the clothes.
“This is from the day we met up at the coffeehouse,” I murmur.
“I started painting it that day,” he says from behind me. “I didn’t know what I was feeling at the time. Why I chose that moment. But it took me almost this whole painting to put it together. I think that was the moment I fell for you.”
In the painting, I’m looking at his drawings of my tattoo design. My fingers rest on the page in a loving caress. Strands of hair have fallen out of the twist that they were styled into that day, and I’m biting my lower lip. I run my hand over the canvas in front of me. It has the same texture of tiny strokes. My mind boggles at the hours of work he had to have put into it. Awestruck. That’s all I’m feeling. It looks like a picture of that moment has been printed on the canvas.
“You must have a photographic memory,” I whisper.
“I do,” he says softly next to my ear. I hadn’t even heard him move. “How do you feel about it?”
“I think you’re more talented with a canvas or a piece of paper than I’ll ever be with a guitar. I hate to sound like a broken record, but it’s amazing. I can’t think of any other word for it.”
He turns me to face him. “You’re not creeped out by it? I mean I have a twenty-foot-tall painting of you in my studio.”
“No,” I say, entranced by his eyes. “Why would I?”
“I was worried it would bother you because it could be taken as a little stalkerish.” He takes a deep breath. “And with everything that’s been going on…”
“It’s not like it’s a painting of me in a private moment with someone else. This was a moment in your life. Your memory. It’s a gift to me to see myself through your eyes.”
A dimple appears with his hesitant smile. “I love you.”
Leaning forward, he brushes his lips over my forehead before squeezing me in a tight hug. My arms wrap around his waist. We stand there like that for a good bit. He feels so right, so solid in my arms. He steps away, clearing his throat.
“We should get ready to go. I’m pretty sure you said we would be there in about thirty minutes from now. And if we don’t get out of here, I’m going to throw you on that table over there.” He lets out a shaky laugh.
I shrug. “I’m not opposed to that, but you’re right. We need to be on time.”
“You can use the guest bathroom to get ready,” he says, backing away and holding up his hands as if to ward me off. “It’s the door next to the entry hall.”
I fight a smile unsuccessfully. “Aye, aye, Captain.” I salute him and head toward the door.
He starts climbing the circular staircase to the second floor, watching me as I go. I can’t blame him. I’m having a hard time taking my eyes off him, too.
Then
The front door slammed shut. I cringed. I wasn’t sure who was there—if they were coming or going—but I continued working on the song I was writing. This would be the first I’d ever written alone. I had to get these feelings out.
Jared’s homecoming had not been what I was hoping it would be. He was distant and withdrawn. He didn’t play with the girls anymore. I didn’t know what to make of any of it because he wouldn’t talk to anyone about it. We had all tried. We were scheduled to go on tour the next week, and I wasn’t sure how that would work out. So, I buried my pain in the notes and lyrics of this song I was writing.
The door to the music room creaked a little as someone opened it. I recognized Asher’s blond head, sneaking in. My lips tipped up in an amused expression.
“What’re you up to, all stealth-like?”
He shut the door quietly behind him. “I came to talk to you about a problem.”
“Okay, shoot,” I said, setting my guitar down.
“I found this when I stopped at a gas station yesterday.” He held out a magazine.
Tabloid was a more accurate word for it. I took it from Asher’s hands. The cover was two pictures of Law and me, superimposed next to each other from last month when I was in New York. One was of us going into the nightclub; I was smiling and holding his hand as we walked in the door. The other was me curled into his side wearing his jacket, with his arm around me. We looked like a couple out for a night on the town. My stomach turned as I read the caption.
Boxing’s bad boy, and notorious loner, takes a rare night on the town with America’s military sweetheart. Does this spell the end of her wedding plans? (More on pg. 8)
“This is such bullshit!” I said, tossing the tabloid to the ground. “Why would they wait over a month to print that garbage?”
“His return date wasn’t a state secret,” he replied, his eyes flicking to the door.
“That’s some bullshit, too. This isn’t even partly true.”
“I know. I was there,” Asher assured. “I just thought you should be prepared in case Jared sees it.”
“In case Jared sees what?” Jared’s biting voice filled the room.
I froze as dread filled me. Jared and I were on shaky ground since his return. This was honestly the last thing we needed. He approached. I didn’t move. Trying to cover it up would imply guilt. I wasn’t guilty of anything, but I wasn’t eager to shove it in his face either. He leaned down to pick up the tabloid from the ground. I closed my eyes.
“When was this?” His voice was deadly quiet.
“Last month, in New York,” I answered.
“You took him to New York with you?”
“No.” My eyes flew open. “It isn’t what it looks like. He was there for a fight and found out through Sloane where we were. I didn’t invite him or have much to do with him.”
“Bullshit,” Jared snarled. “You’re holding his hand and smiling. And this… this one, you two look pretty cozy, getting into a car together. I think it’s exactly how it looks.”
“I was there, man. She hardly even talked to him,” Asher defended. “The only reason he left with us was because the stalker fuck showed up. He was helping me get the girls back to the hotel.”
“What?” Jared asked. “You trying to get in her pants now, too?”
“You know what? Fuck you, Jared. You want to be a dick to me for whatever reason you won’t talk about? Fine. But you’re not dragging other people into this. That’s just a sleazy tabloid—do you expect anything they report to be true? I suppose you believed the alien babies story, too? Nothing happened—I said it, he said it. You can believe it. But I’m not going to stand by and watch you tear everyone down. We’ve got a tour set to start next week, so you need to get over this shit, real quick.”
“I knew this would happen the second I left,” Jared said, throwing the tabloid in my direction. “He’s been looking for his opening to get you back, and you’re so blinded by your cock lust for him you can’t see the truth.”
“Hey, man,” Asher interrupted. “You might want to take a break before you say some shit you can’t take back.”
“I’m not taking a break,” Jared yelled. “I’ve got something to say, and I’m going to say it. I’m fucking sick of this shit.”
&
nbsp; I raised my voice over him. “What the fuck are you talking about? This is one fucking tabloid and a made-up fucking story about something that never happened.”
“Do you have any idea what it’s like to be with someone that everyone wants to fuck? Guys constantly jerking off to thoughts of you. It’s sick.”
“What the fuck are you talking about?”
“That picture you did for the cover of Rolling Stone? Yeah, they shipped those out there to us. Every guy in our unit was jerking off to my fucking fiancée, naked and wrapped in an American flag. Fuck!” He pulled his hair and turned away.
“Hey—” Asher put his hand on my arm. “I’m going to let y’all work this out. You going to be okay?” His eyes darted to Jared.
Jared turned and at the sight of Asher’s hand on my arm reacted like a bull seeing red. He charged at Asher, knocking him into the wall. I stumbled back from the force. Jared raised his fist to hit Asher, and I reacted like I was trained. Sliding onto the floor, I put one leg between his, locked my ankles together, and twisted my hips, knocking him off his feet.
“Asher, just go,” I said, my breath labored. “I’ll take care of this.”
Asher nodded and walked out the door. Jared lay on the ground, breathing heavily. I crawled over to him. Silent tears made tracks down my face, stubbornly clinging to my chin before falling away.
“Please stop this,” I pleaded. “Just talk to me.”
“You want me to talk to you like he does?” He said glaring at me. “I heard him that day at your roller derby game. What he said and how you reacted. Want to be a little slut? Ride my cock while I finger your ass?”
My ass fell back to my feet as I sat there, stunned. I didn’t know what to say to that. That deep-seated part of myself that I’d never been ashamed of until that moment reacted to his words. He hadn’t touched me beyond a chaste kiss and a brief hug in the two days he had been back. He saw it, too, because he moved in like a tiger prowling and gripped the back of my hair.