by K. L. Jessop
But what has me grinning is the note that’s on the inside. The little yellow, square stick-it note on the top of the box.
Happy Belated Birthday, Blue.
Now get to work.
Dex.
I run my finger over the handwriting and look up towards the doorway he just left through. Just sex? Is that really all it was to him or has Dexter Wilson gone soft?
Like he’d promised, Dexter comes down from upstairs at exactly midday, and within minutes, we’ve locked up the gallery and are climbing into a taxi. It eventually pulls up alongside a row of houses just outside of Camden, and we pay and get out. The street is quiet, and without a word, Dexter heads up some steps to a door. To say the journey here was intense is an understatement. Neither of us had said a word and I’d kept my eyes firmly on the streets of the city, trying to control my racing heart with being so close to him.
“I take it this is Emmet's place?” I ask as I reach the top step.
“How did you guess?”
“Because he has a key to yours, so it makes sense that as part of your bromance you have one to his.”
He cocks a brow, amusement dancing across his face. "There is no bromance between us."
I hold my finger up. "Hmm. I'd rethink that."
He shakes his head, and we step inside, a smile gracing my lips. This place is the complete opposite of Dexter’s: it’s light, warm and homey, making me relaxed as soon as I walk in.
Pictures of Emmet in uniform and other people I can only assume are family line the walls. One is of him and Dexter, and the smile on Dexter’s face say a thousand words. It’s the first time I’ve seen him look so happy—where there is no shadow under his eyes. The realism of the different households and the fact Dexter has no pictures in his home makes my heart feel heavy. I know he and Emmet and have a close bond but where is Dexter’s family?
“Is that Emmet’s sister?” I point to a picture of a blonde woman in a black dress that’s placed on the side table.
“No. She was a close friend of his.”
Was?
“Why are they not close anymore?”
“Not my story to tell. Now, back to why we are really here.”
He heads down the hall and I follow. Stopping at the closed door, Dexter holds the handle and looks back at me.
“I want to show you something that I think will shock you.”
“Is this the part where you tell me that Emmet has gone all fifty shades and has a secret playroom on the other side?”
His deep chuckle radiates between us and my stomach tightens at the sound. “No. Nothing like that.” Opening the door, he outstretches his arm for me to enter. “You can thank me later.”
The smell of spray paint and acrylics engulfs me before I even enter, and when I do I’m left speechless from the sight I see before me, and I walk around in circles unsure where to look first.
“Oh my God, Dexter!”
Hundreds of canvases in all shapes and sizes are stacked against every available surface while colours fill the space between us. He’d said he had work stored, but I’d never thought he’d have this much.
“So, this is where they’ve been hiding?”
“Told you I had work to sell.”
“So why are you not selling them already?”
He leans against the door, his arms folded. “I used to spend all my time when I lived with Emmet, working. Getting my own place kinda threw me off course a little, and I haven't done so much since.”
“Why not?”
He shrugs. “I guess it felt like I’d lost the stability.”
My brows narrow, unsure what he means. But what I also don’t know is that for whatever reason he feels this way, my badgering clearly hasn’t helped. “So, me pressurising you for work hasn't helped either?”
“Not really, but you weren't to know. It pissed me off that he hired you quicker than I thought he would. It was a lot to get my head around.”
“That's understandable. But you could have made it easier for everyone and said how you felt instead of being an arsehole.”
He nods, a smile tugging the corner of his mouth. “But then you wouldn't have gone all bat shit crazy on me.”
He holds my stare and the air in the room instantly turns thick. I bite down on my bottom lip before turning to escape his gaze. “Are we here just for you to show me, or here to transfer them to the gallery?”
“Both. I just...”
I look back at him.
“I don't know where to start regarding getting them transferred.” The look in his eyes and his genuine admission makes my heart ache, another question that adds to the mystery that makes him, him. Why doesn't he know how to do the simplest of things like organising transport?
“That's fine. I can arrange something.” Like my body has a mind of its own, I reach out and place my hand on his bicep, making him straighten instantly as if my touch has scarred him. His jaw is locked tight, a reaction I haven’t seen in days, and that look is back—the one that fills his eyes with shadows and complications—and I know I’ve stepped too far.
He’d clearly found the way my body had reacted to him this morning amusing, but reverse it and his reaction to me is ‘wrong’. It tells me that what we shared the other night is not as cut and dry as ‘just sex’ like he is trying to tell himself.
Taking a step back, I look back over the rainbow of colours. “So now that I have an idea of what work you have, are you good to have them available to sell?”
“Yeah, I mean, we can try.”
“I think they'll fly out. I'll bring my camera and we can take pictures of them so I can upload them on the website.”
“How are you getting on with that?”
“It's almost done. I just have to add a few things to finish it off.”
“Would you mind if I take a look?”
“Of course not. It’s your site after all.”
Taking my phone out of my satchel, I type in the URL as Dexter comes in close behind me. Once the site loads, a filter of black smoke clouds the screen before the opening window of Dexter’s website fills the page. The background is black, and the headings are deep red in a graffiti style font. The menu is sectioned out into areas of what works will be available to sell, an area for commissions along with a section where I need to try and gain more personal information about him to finish his bio.
"Blue, this is really good."
I look up at him and my breath catches when I find his eyes already on me. We’re so close. That fire between us he’s trying to fight is burning stronger than ever. I want to kiss him. I want his fingers on my skin, awakening every part of me.
"Why do you call me Blue?” I murmur, dropping my gaze to his lips.
"Why do you call me Dexter?"
"Because that's your name."
"Emmet only calls me that when he's pissed off with me."
"Well, you've not exactly made it easy for me to not be pissed at you." Seriously, this man has no idea how much I love seeing him smile like he is right now. "So, why Blue?"
He lifts my chin with his finger, studying me with those damn eyes of his that make me feel naked every time he looks at me.
"Have you not seen your eyes?"
As if he knows what he’s doing to me, he steps away and changes the subject. "Anything else you need for the website?”
I clear my throat, trying to swallow down the desire that is racing through my body. “Bio information.”
“What?”
“Bio. I know I've got information for your social media page, but with the web, you can give a bit more.”
“Meaning?” he huffs.
“People will want a little more. So, like, where did you grow up? Where is home for you?"
"Here with Emmet and now my place. You know this.”
"Yes, but where was home before that? Who influenced you in becoming a street artist? Do you have any relatives, siblings even?"
In an instant, his body language tells
me I’ve lost him, and the devil side comes back with aggression in his tone. "Why do you constantly ask questions? You don't need any of this shit to sell my work."
"It gives people more of an insight to who you are. What’s the issue?"
"No one needs to know who I am. I’ve given you more than I wanted already, and for that, I’m paying the price.”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“We’re done here. Now get out of my sight or better still, go home.”
I’m stunned by this reaction and the evil in his eyes. I’ve hit a nerve, a very deep one it seems, because the man that had kindness in his tone moments ago has been replaced with that devil once again. And as much as I want to apologise for my actions, I stand my ground.
Grabbing my satchel, I stop in front of him before heading out of Emmet’s house. “Don’t think you can tell me what to do because I’ve somehow pissed you off. I have a job to do, Dexter and under no circumstances am I obeying to your shitty demands. I’ll be at the gallery.”
Chapter Sixteen
Dexter
“I don’t know what she is doing to me, Tessa. I wish you were here to talk me through this because I’m at a fucking loss here,” I say into the afternoon air as I sit on the floor of my rooftop balcony. My head is back as I look up into the ball of white clouds that move with the breeze. My mind is in knots, my heart unsettled for so many reasons, and now someone else has added to the weight that I carry on my shoulders.
Pepper Livewell.
Pepper. Fucking. Livewell.
The woman that drives me every kind of crazy you can imagine and has had me feeling nothing but remorse since she walked out on me earlier. I shouldn’t have spoken to her the way I did, but there she was with her fucking questions and intrusion and when she’d mentioned wanting to know of my family, I’d seen red. I’d had no control over my reaction and the more I’d wanted to stop, the more I hadn’t been able to. No one since Emmet has asked me any sort of questions because I’ve never got that close to another. It had felt so raw: a reminder that even though I have a family, I’ve no idea where they are because I failed in my mission to protect my baby sister.
What is hard to comprehend is that the moment Pepper left, the space around me had felt distant and cold, reminding me that I’d been suffering that very feeling ever since I’d left her house the other night. I’d tried to push the sudden void aside— to convince myself that it had been the sign of another bad day on its way, and that my mind was contaminated with all the shit I’ve had to live with. But that bad day hasn’t come, and the visions of Pepper coming undone under my touch has never faded.
This craving I have to hold her that she seems to have brutally inflicted on me is unsettling. I can’t get her out of my head and I’m unsure if I like it.
Turning my head to the sound of activity in my kitchen, I see Emmet making himself at home. I’ve not seen him in days as he’s been busy working, and the fact he’s now walking towards me with two glasses and my bottle of JD can only mean one thing.
Handing me a glass, he sits down beside me, pours us both a drink and looks out over the city without a word. His face is solemn, his eyes tired and the vein in his neck pulses hard with tension. We’ve built up such a strong friendship that we can read each other like a book, so I give him this time to collect his thoughts as he has done many times for me before.
Emmet is a man of many words, but there are times when his own shadows suffocate him with the heartbreak he once suffered, and judging by his body language, those shadows are very much wrapped around him right now.
We drink our whiskey in silence, listening to the movement of city life as I carry on looking up at the sky that is slowly turning dusk.
“There are some pretty fucked up people in this world,” he grits, breaking the silence.
I sit up to look at him. His jaw is tight as he tries to fight back whatever has him so riled.
“Why does everything have to be a war or a fucking game? Why can’t people have respect and love and appreciate for what they have rather than sabotage it all?”
“Bad shift?”
“We got a call early yesterday morning to a house domestic. Sounded pretty bad. By the time we got there, some worthless piece of shit had killed both his wife and daughter. And he sat there. Just fucking sat there with this smug look on his face like he wasn’t even bothered about what he’d done. He was covered in their blood and didn’t give two shits. It wasn’t pleasant to witness but as they both lay there...” His eyes close and he doesn’t need to say anymore. “The incident brought everything back.”
He throws back his drink and refills it, the tension in his shoulders solid as he fights back the tears, mirroring my previous position and tilting his head back to look up at the sky.
Hannah had been a close friend of his. I’d never had the honour of meeting her, but judging by the way he spoke of her and the pictures I’ve seen of them together, they were more than work colleagues.
“I miss her, Dex,” he says quietly, and my body sinks with his admission.
I’m at a loss of what to say. How can I respond when my soul is shattered as much. No words I can say will change our pain. So I do the only thing I can and cup his shoulder with a squeeze and let my head drop back for us both to look at the clouds.
Time passes on a little longer and I think about the shit I’ve thrown him over the past few weeks. Even though he takes it on the chin and accepts everything like it’s no big deal, I hate that I take it out on him.
“I’m sorry for being a miserable arsehole these past few weeks.”
“Dex, don’t apologise for something you can’t change. I get it.”
“I know, but you know I hate being like it.”
“It’s fine. I get it. Are you feeling better?”
“I’m not a hundred percent at my best, but I’m better than I was.”
“Then that’s all that matters.”
I’ll never be hundred percent at my best because of this fucking illness, but as much as I feed my demons when the bad days hit, I relish in the times that are good.
“Anyway, how the hell can you sit out here? It’s cold and uncomfortable as shit,” he says, rising to his feet and stretching. His low moment now clearly passed, or he’s trying to hide his feelings to prevent my own from sliding down that tunnel of doom.
I laugh. “Dude, I’m used to it, remember?”
“Well, I’m not. Let’s go inside.”
“Such a little pussy.”
“Fuck off, dickhead. Come make me some food. I want stir-fry,” he says, walking away from me.
I take one last look over the city and silently say a good night to Tessa before heading inside. He’s already got out the chicken and the bag of mixed vegetables and has started preparing the food. After washing my hands, I get the tomatoes and begin to chop everything up ready. When I’d first moved in with Emmet, I’d known fuck all about cooking. Granted I’d used to feed Tessa when we were still at home and made sure she’d eaten, but dried toast and a cold can of soup is hardly top marks for any chef. Emmet has taught me all the skills I need to know when it comes to cooking and learning how to live in the modern world. Having a junkie for a mother who’d cared more for her needles than her children’s education, my skills had been few and far between. Good hygiene had been hard to maintain when we’d constantly lived in dirty clothes. Hot baths had only happened when the boiler was working, and no matter how hard we’d scrubbed, the stench on our drug den environment had been sealed in the cracks of our skin. I’m no pro when it comes to lots things in life, and there are times when I have no fucking clue what I’m doing, but I get through it as best as I can.
“Oh, I was around your place earlier. I’ve decided to start transferring some of my work over to the gallery.”
“Fuck yes.” He fist pumps the air. “About time, dude. I’m proud of you.”
“Don’t take the piss.”
He laughs
as I scrape the mixed vegetables into the wok.
“We should have invited Pepper round to celebrate her excellence in helping you get your shit together.”
Just the mention of her name has my chest tightening with guilt, yet my heart skips a beat at the thought of her in my surroundings. My mind wanders, and I want to know what she is doing right now. Is she out with friends like she was this morning, or is she at home on her own? Why is life as cruel to her as it is to me?
“What do you know about Pepper. Like really know about her?” I find myself asking, and I instantly curse under my breath when a shit arse grin spreads across his lips.
“She got you all hot under the collar?”
“No.” My inner self suddenly can’t cope with this conversation, and I need something to soothe the heavy intrusion I’m about to get from my friend. “Maybe. I need a drink.”
He laughs out loud. “Fucking knew it. You can thank me however you like.”
“I’ll thank you with a smack in the mouth if you don’t watch it.”
I pour us both another JD as Emmet dishes up the stir-fry. Sitting at the table, I dive into my evening meal while the tittering of my friend comes from the other end of the table.
“What the fuck is so funny?”
“Nothing. I didn’t think she’d have been able to begin taming the beast this quickly. You going to ease up on her now and try and be nice?”
“Oh, I’ve been nice,” I say with a mouthful of food. “I’ve been really nice.” I give him a knowing look and his eyes widen.
“You haven’t?”
“This back and forth thing between us was getting a little intense. I went around to apologise and—”
“Wait, what? You. Apologise.”
“I’m not an arse all the time. She was upset about something, and I didn’t help matters so I went to see her. Then she went all crazy at me and the only way to shut her up was to kiss her. And then it happened.”
“I should be pissed at you for doing that. She’s your PA.”
“And the only reason you’re not is because you know the reaction she has over me. Or was that your damn plan all along?”