Out of his fucking mind.
He shut the book and stared at me. Time had never been on our side. But now that it was, we were content to just look at one another. I blinked, remembering my question.
“The paintings,” I whispered.
“It’s a long story.” His gaze never wavered, but I could feel his energy shifting.
“Tell me,” I insisted. I stepped lightly over my discarded clothes and sat beside him, not caring that I was only in my underwear.
He sighed and sat back, interlocking his fingers and placing them on top of his head. His eyes were on the ceiling, and I thought I’d have to remind him that I was sitting beside him.
“You left so suddenly that you forgot your paintings at the high school. I took those home because…it was too hard to leave them there. I’d already left you once. I couldn’t leave the things you’d left behind. And once I had those, I had to have what was at Tim’s place. At first he wouldn’t even see me. I understood. He blamed me for what happened to you, said that if I ever found you again, it would kill you. And I believed him. I thought I wasn’t good for you. I pushed you when I knew you weren’t ready. I kept thinking that I would be patient enough, but I ended up pushing you and then pushing you away. Sure, I was a kid. But I made you think I could handle it and when it got too hard, I left. Even the night your mom showed up. It was my fault, what you did. I didn’t know how to handle it, so I turned away from you.”
I said the words I knew I was supposed to say. I knew he couldn’t shoulder all of that blame. A guy should be able to turn away from his girlfriend without her getting wasted and almost dying. That I knew to be true. Sure, he’d said he would be there. But I was the mayor of crazy town. Had he known that going in, things might’ve been better. He might’ve gone on to live his life and marry Rachel. Pain lanced through me at the thought, but it was true. I wasn’t good for him. We weren’t good for each other.
“Don’t think that, Dexter Andrews. I knew what I was doing,” I grabbed his cheeks and he nudged my hands away, leaning forward, his shoulders hunched.
“Stop it, Noa. I’ve had time to think about this. Years. I know you’re fighting it still, the need for self-preservation. You withdraw, and I can see your mind working. Sometimes I wonder if you’re counting the seconds until I’m gone again or how many steps to the nearest exit.” He faced me, his eyes shining. “I did this to us. You were right. And I don’t know what to do. Tell me what you need me to do,” he pleaded, his hands finding my waist and gripping me tightly. I shushed him, placing his head on my lap and stroking his hair. He was a mind reader.
“After your mom came back to live with Tim permanently, he paid Aunt Tracey a visit, leaving all of your things there. I guess she moved into your room and wanted it all gone. And when my aunt asked why he’d brought it to her, he said that I was the only person he could think of who loved you enough to want it all.” He twisted and I watched his profile frown. “I didn’t know Tim well, but I felt like that was his way of giving me the green light. I’ll never know but…it sure does feel that way.”
My hands stopped their fluid motion and I leaned back, overwhelmed. Tim had never told me about Dexter. He hadn’t told me Dexter looked for me, though I had my suspicions, never told me Dexter came for my paintings nor that he’d given them to him. I’d forgotten about them anyway. But I knew, in Tim’s twisted way, he was protecting me. Even still, fate worked in its own way, as I was sure Tim understood. While he’d never said anything good about Dexter, he also never said anything bad about him. Thank you, I mouthed to myself, knowing that, if life was as beautiful and good as I sometimes thought, Tim would hear me.
“I want you to know permanence, Blue. I want to be with you,” Dexter whispered, his voice heavy with sleep. Although my legs were going numb, I let him lay there until he was asleep.
“Me too, Dexter Andrews,” I said as I continued to smooth his hair back. At some point, I’d fallen asleep only to wake up hours later with a blanket covering me.
I sat up, my eyes bleary. The curtains hadn’t been closed last night and the light shone through. Dexter wasn’t here. Obviously. It was time for him to get back to real life and work and…Phoebe. I dropped the blanket from where’d I’d been clutching it and walked over to the window. It was my favorite spot. With a cup of hot coffee, it was heaven. I settled without the coffee, content to wake up on my own. Looking down at the world, I was lost in thought until my phone rang. I looked down at the screen with a smile.
“I thought I’d never hear from you again,” I said easily, leaning my hip against the cold glass. My underwear did nothing to protect my skin, but I didn’t mind too much.
“You thought wrong. I heard you’re back in town,” Miranda said. I could hear her shuffling papers and I smiled again.
“Stalking me? Miranda, I thought such a thing was beneath you.” I looked out the window again. I should’ve been shy, hiding myself from the bustle of people below. But really, I was too high up to see clearly. And it wasn’t like they’d look up anyway.
“Interestingly enough, it isn’t. You forget Larry always lets me know these things.” I groaned, thinking about the landlord who constantly checked the security cameras and was infatuated with Miranda and all of her cool grace. If there was ever a cool girl, it was Miranda. And if she was cold, I was hot like fire. Fire and Ice, she’d always say. We evened each other out.
“Only because he hopes to slide right into your uptight panties.” I muttered, heading to the kitchen to make that blasted cup of coffee.
“Darling, I doubt La Perla manufactures panties that anyone would deem uptight. Anywho, I called for a reason. I need a timeline, Noa.” She was getting down to business. I groaned.
“Come on, Miranda. I haven’t even had my first cup.” I poured the black-as-ash liquid into my cup and took a sip, settling my elbows on my counter. “How many paintings were there? And I mean quality, not that little kid shit.”
“Even your kid shit is amazing, kid. I want to use it all. It’ll be fascinating, something Seattle has never seen before.” The excitement in Miranda’s voice reminded me of her incredible eye. Those who cannot do, become an expert in, I supposed. And behind her incredible eyes were dollar signs. She could smell money from miles away. Her late husband had instilled those senses into her. Both the eye for talent and the nose for money.
“Fine. How many pieces do you need from me?” I took a gulp, gasping at the heat of it. I needed the caffeine like a junkie needed its fix. Typically, I woke up fine without it, but if Miranda was going to badger me with business as soon as I woke up, it was necessary.
“Let’s try for eight. It’ll give us wiggle room if something happens or if one of the paintings is ruined,” she said, and I heard her knock on wood. Superstitious wench.
“Fine. You want a timeline?” I tapped my fingers against the counters. Realistically, I could work quickly. But that was when I was on my own, living like a recluse out of my studio for several months. With Dexter in the picture, it wasn’t realistic to think I’d be able to achieve that. “Six months.”
“Noa, I figured—”
I cut her off quickly, knowing that answer wouldn’t make her happy.
“I should get started, actually. I’ll call you with updates,” I said hastily, ending the call and downing the rest of the coffee. I was headed toward my dresser when I heard keys outside my door and then the locks turning. Dexter walked in, shaking the moisture from his hair, bags in his arms. He set the keys down where they’d been before and looked up, his eyes meeting mine. His grin was cute but I was still stuck, slack-jawed.
“We’ll never get to experience this.” Him, coming home to me, just me. Those youthful living together moments before the tough stuff: kids, mortgages, pets.
His smile dropped a bit and his brow furrowed. Rather than ask me what I meant, he went into the kitchen and set the bag down. Infuriating man that he is, I followed him.
“Why not?” he ask
ed, his back to me as he put the food away. There was no second guessing, no opening the cabinet to see where items went. I stepped farther in and saw that he’d cleared my cabinets while I was asleep. I opened my fridge. Empty and spotless. When I glanced back at him, he looked at me expectantly. Oh, right. I gulped.
“You have other responsibilities. And I haven’t outgrown the city life yet. I don’t know what I’d do in Everett.” All of a sudden I wished I had more clothes on, the air feeling chilly to me.
“Can we have a day? I’m leaving tonight. Just give me a day where…none of that bullshit matters, and I don’t have to worry if I’m never going to see you again.” He looked exhausted and I certainly felt it. All plans to work today were cancelled.
Sometimes you had to know when to put someone first. And while I was frightened, I knew Dexter needed peace. So, I’d give him all that I could.
“The day is yours. What would you like to do?”
“Would it sound too pathetic if I said I just wanted to be around you? Here? I’m tired of everyone. I miss our bubble.”
I stepped to him, wrapping my arms around his neck. His clothes felt cold against my skin but I held on. “Sounds perfect,” I whispered.
“But first,” he pulled away, “I distinctly remember telling you that you’d have to wait for your Christmas gift.”
I groaned.
“Yes….”
He turned me around, swatting my bottom. “Go get dressed and sit on your bed. Do not come over here, do not peek.”
I walked slowly toward my bed, wishing I could see what he was up to. My separator wasn’t thin enough to see through, so I settled on picking something to wear for the day. I chose black jeans, a white button up, and a green sweater. With thick socks on, I figured I was ready for the day. I stepped in front of the mirror I’d hung above my dresser and started braiding my hair. I hadn’t done the halo braid since…my eighteenth birthday. I missed the way it looked when my hair was blue, but it was lovely in the brown as well. And my hair had natural highlights, copper streaks woven in the strands. I didn’t bother with makeup. I knew Dexter preferred my face bare. Though there was that one time with the red lipstick….
I was picking up my clothes when I heard music. I straightened and looked at the separator curiously. When I took a few steps toward it, Dexter called my name.
I came to him, his hand outstretched. Where was the music coming from? I looked around the room until my eyes settled on a record player. He had set it on my desk beside my printer. There was a pile of records sitting on the floor next to a pile of books.
“Oh, it’s lovely,” I whispered, willing my eyes not to cry. “Macy Gray?” He was playing the song I’d sang to him that one time when life hadn’t been such a field full of the remnants of war, complete with blood and regret.
“Now you can listen to music again,” he said, his hand grabbing the one I offered. “Why’d you stop?”
I sucked in air, trying to find the courage to be honest. He deserved it, even if it hurt.
“I stopped doing a lot of things that reminded me of you.” He had me swaying along to the melody, despite my trepidation. Even when I said the words that I knew hurt, he continued swaying, his feet stepping only slightly, my hand cupped in his. “I feel like I’m at a school dance.”
Seven years and countless little shards of my heart scattered throughout this apartment, and I was still as smitten as I’d been that fateful day in high school.
“Let’s go steady. I’ll bring my letterman jacket.” His hands went lower, stopping at my hips.
“You don’t have a letterman jacket,” I whispered. “I was there, remember?”
“I’ll borrow Ralph’s,” he retorted, and we both burst with laughter. “Do you like your gift?”
I nodded and stepped back, still holding his hands.
“Hold on.” I ran over to my hall closet, where I kept towels and blankets, and reached for the wrapped box on the floor. I walked back to Dexter, taking my time, watching his smile stretching at the sight of the gift in my hands.
“You didn’t.” He smiled.
“Of course I did.” I handed it to him and laughed as he tore the paper apart. He eyed the box in surprise.
“A camera?”
“A good camera. A really good camera,” I supplied. He opened the box and looked like he had no clue what to do. “I figured, I’m the creative one, the right-brained one. You’re the technical one, the left-brained one. I wanted to bring some color to your world. Also, you have this awful staring problem and you know what they say about pictures lasting longer.”
He set the camera down and lifted me in his arms.
“You’re all the color I need, Blue.”
Chapter 34
The day was spent blissfully. Dexter cooked dinner and served it to me in the bath. Before I could protest, he brought in flutes of ginger ale and took off his clothes, joining me amongst the few bubbles I’d managed to create.
I’d never had a tub beautiful enough or large enough to actually sit and bathe in. So when I could finally afford it, I made sure I had one. It wasn’t extravagant. It wasn’t even that large. But the deep smooth tub was new, and despite my plan to take plenty of bubble baths, I hadn’t. When Dexter heard this, he insisted I run a bath. Then he brought that wonderful smelling food and I knew.
Someone had told him. Some woman down the line told him what women wanted. Food. We wanted food.
When I explained that to him, he laughed, grabbing his plate from over the edge of the tub and stuffing my face so that I couldn’t insist on my half-crazy hypothesis. I was in heaven. I hadn’t had such a great day since….
I told myself not to go there.
“Did you like it?” Dexter asked, wiping sauce from the corner of my mouth.
“I love you. And today. Lots of love.” I grabbed the ginger ale from the floor and gulped it down. “No more. I’m so full.”
He turned to lie against the edge, and I leaned against him. We stayed that way for what felt like hours. I nuzzled my face against his arm. The feel of his slick skin against mine did something to me. I inhaled his fragrance and settled deeper into him. His legs surrounded mine and I looked at his left knee, running my fingers over the edge of his scar. The scar was newer, pinker, when we began. Now it was faded into the rest of his skin, the raised texture the only thing reminding us that the accident had ever happened.
Would the scars I bore ever fade? Even if they weren’t physical?
“When do you leave?” I asked. I wanted to ignore that he’d be gone soon. And when he was gone, I’d do my damndest to ignore that I missed him.
“An hour,” he whispered at my temple. An hour. Sixty minutes. I didn’t know how many seconds, but I knew it wasn’t long enough.
“When am I seeing you again?” I was afraid of this part. The needing part. The ‘I can’t do anything without you’ part. The ‘wondering if he was going to realize I wasn’t worth the trouble’ part.
“Whenever you want. You could even come to Everett. It’s actually easier for you to come than me. I have a boss who wasn’t quite happy with my vacation.” He poured water down my skin, watching as it slid in rivulets down to the rest of the water.
“I have a boss, too. She just understands that I’m an artist. And that I don’t work on her schedule.” I sat up and turned to face him. I didn’t mind when his eyes went to my breasts. “And what would I do in Everett?”
“Be mine. Go to lunch meetings with me. Take away the stuffiness and make everyone fall in love with you.” I picked up where he left off.
“Piss off your secretary, who I’m sure is infatuated with you, thinking of ways to drug your coffee so she can have her mad passionate way with you.” I leaned in close, watching his lips part. “Play house. You can come home to me.”
I hadn’t seen it coming. Water splashed over the edge of the tub, onto the empty glasses and plates. His touch was like the blue fire I’d come to associate with anything
involving the both of us. His hands were everywhere—my waist, my back, my wrists, my face. He blessed my skin with his fingers, always knowing what to do, how much pressure it took to push me. This was what I’d been waiting for. I didn’t want sex with strangers. I didn’t want not knowing someone’s name after having given him my body for pleasure. I wanted that equal transaction. The love that gave sex meaning. Only Dexter could give that to me.
•••
Dexter stood in my living room, looking masculine amongst the very feminine furniture. His coat was on and he still had to grab his things and check out of his hotel.
“Do me a favor and never go back to that hotel,” I murmured, smoothing over the shoulders of his jacket before kissing his cheek. He squatted low enough to look me in my eyes.
“If you need anything at all, or if you’re just missing me too much, let me know. I’ll send my car to you.” He wrapped me in his arms and kissed my forehead.
“I guess I’ll be calling you as soon as you leave then,” I whispered, smiling at his chuckle.
“You could always come with me,” he offered, with that lilt of hopefulness. I shook my head.
“No, I’ve got some work to get to if I expect to be ready for the new showcase. I might be unreachable at times. I love to lock myself away from the world when I work.” I handed him the card on which I’d written the address to my studio. “That’s where you’ll find me.”
It was hard to say goodbye to an extension of yourself, but when Dexter walked out after kissing me sweetly, I leaned against my closed door, breathing deeply. Then I pulled the door open and caught him before he entered the elevator. I didn’t want a sweet kiss. I wanted a kiss that was going to remind him that he was mine and that I was his. He lifted me so my legs wrapped around his waist and we held onto each other.
“You make it hard to want to get into that elevator.”
I smiled against him. That was exactly what I needed to hear.
“Good.”
Crashing Souls Page 25