Silk

by Heidi McLaughlin

  But it isn’t until her solo when it hits me. She stands center stage as the curtain goes up, and chills prick along my arms. She’s perfection, wearing black with a short, full tutu, pale pink tights, and her pink toe shoes. Her skin is a striking contrast to the black, and she looks amazing. She isn’t someone you simply look at; she’s someone you admire.

  I know her music by heart from all the times she played it at my place. It’s a dark and intense piece that she struggled with for so long, but watching her work the whole stage, she’s nothing but a natural as she bares her heart up there, making me feel the haunting pain of the piece. She gives it all, up on her toes, gliding through her movements. It almost hurts to look at her because I know this will be the last time I will probably ever see her. I can’t take my eyes off her. I don’t ever want to.

  I’d hide back here forever if it meant I wouldn’t have to stop looking at her. As tiny as she is, she made the biggest impact on me. I’ve never loved as hard as I did with her. I don’t know how anyone could ever love her more. With everything we went through to get to the point we were at, knitted so tightly together, I never thought there could be a possibility of us unraveling like we did. But we did.

  I don’t blame her though. She hasn’t made a wrong choice yet. I know she left me because it was the best thing for her. I talk to Jase often about her, and knowing how hard she’s working in therapy, I know she wouldn’t be doing that if she were still with me. She needed to be on her own. To do it for herself and not just because it was something I wanted. I’m proud of her, and even though it hurts me, I know she’s doing everything right to try and pull herself out of the darkness that was consuming her.

  The crowd is deafening when the music stops, and I finally see it. Her big, gorgeous smile with that cute dimple in her cheek. She soaks up the standing ovation, as she should, because she deserves every second of this. She’s elated. I can see it in her eyes, even from this far away. Her instructor walks out with a huge bouquet of roses and hands them to her as she takes her final curtsey before the curtain drops, taking her away from me.

  The pain hits hard as I blink back the tears. I’ll never want to see her any other way than what I just did. That’s the image I want in my mind. My girl, not a tormented thought in her head. Happy, free, and on top of the world. Filled with nothing but joy. She has a couple more numbers to dance, but I take what I just saw because nothing could possibly be better. She gave me perfection, and I decide to leave with that as I walk out, leaving a huge piece of my heart in that theater.

  And now I start over because I can’t look back. She’s happy, and I have to be content with that, no matter how much I wish I could be a part of it.

  ***

  I wake up the following morning to the smell of bacon and eggs. I lie in bed for a while before getting up to see my mom in the kitchen, fixing us omelets.

  “There you are. I was starting to wonder when you would drag yourself down here,” she says as she stands over the stove.

  “Sorry. I didn’t get much sleep last night,” I respond as I walk over to fix myself a cup of coffee.

  “Wait. Before you do that, you should open your birthday gift,” she says with a smile as she nods her head to the dining table where a large box sits, wrapped in gold paper with burgundy ribbon. Tearing the paper, I note the store name on the box and question, “Sur La Table?”

  “Just open it,” she says as she fixes our plates.

  Opening the box, I pull out the De’Longhi cappuccino machine. “This is perfect, Mom.”

  “Yeah? I figured you’d get good use out of it,” she says as she walks past me and sets our plates down on the table.

  “It’ll give me something to do today, figuring out how to use the damn thing,” I joke as I sit down.

  “Happy twenty-ninth birthday, darling.”

  “Thanks.”

  As we start eating breakfast, she looks up and says, “So, I never saw you last night.”

  “Yeah, I crashed early. Sorry about that.” After I left, I was too upset to even think about seeing my mom, so I spent the evening upstairs.

  “Did you go?” she asks.

  “I went.”

  “Do you want to talk about this?”

  “No.”

  I get up and walk into the kitchen to fix my coffee, and when I return to the table, I tell her, “It’s done with, Mom. I’m walking away, so there’s no point in ever bringing her up again.”

  Nodding her head, she responds, “Of course, dear.”

  But I’m not completely walking away because her canvas is still in my closet, and a bottle of her perfume still sits on her side of the sink. It’s pathetic, but even though I know I should, I’m not entirely ready to let her completely go just yet.

  ***

  Another week passes, and while I’m cleaning up my home office, I come across the sheet of paper where Candace wrote down the information for the woman we met at the gallery showing. It’s funny that I should run across this now because this past week, I started working more on some of the photos that were stored on my camera. Albeit photos of Candace, but the thought of trying to find someone else to photograph turns my stomach.

  Needing to step out of the monotonous routine I have going, I pick up the phone and give this lady a call. She once mentioned being interested in seeing more of my pieces, so why not?

  “Henry Gallery.”

  “Is Stacy Keets available?” I ask.

  “One moment.”

  The line is picked up after a few seconds. “Stacy here.”

  “Stacy, this is Ryan Campbell. We met at Thinkspace a few months back.”

  “Yes. I remember. ‘Nubile,’ right?”

  “Right.”

  “What can I do for you?”

  “I have a few pieces that I’ve been working on if you were still interested in taking a look,” I say.

  “I’d love to. My time is a bit limited, and I’m about to go on vacation, but I’m free this afternoon, if that isn’t too soon?”

  “No, that works for me.”

  “Great. How about three o’clock?”

  “Sounds good, Stacy. I’ll see you then.”

  After running up to the bar for a few hours, I head over to the Henry Gallery.

  Sitting down in Stacy’s office, she says, “I’m glad you called. We actually just had two wall openings become available yesterday.”

  I hand over my samplings and while she studies them, she keeps her eyes down as she casually says, “Your girlfriend was brilliant last week. You must be so proud of her, huh?”

  She says this not having a clue that we’re no longer together, but for the moment, it feels good, so I don’t correct her, saying, “Yeah. She’s amazing.”

  “She’s more than amazing. Sergej has always considered her a prodigy,” she says as she flips to the next photo. “Has she gotten many job offers?”

  “Umm, I don’t really know,” I answer honestly, and when she looks up, she says, “Well, I have no doubt that she’s gonna have quite a few companies to choose from.”

  “I’m sure she will.”

  “And these,” she continues as she takes her sleek glasses off and sets them on her desk, “these are really beautiful.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Are you being displayed anywhere else at the moment?” she questions.

  “No. Didn’t really think all too seriously about pursuing anything with these photos until this past week, to be honest.”

  “Well, I’d be interested in these two, if you’d like to discuss further,” she tells me as she sets two of the samples aside and stacks the rest. “Are you optioning a sale?”

  “No. I won’t sell these,” I respond. All these photos are of Candace, and I don’t want any of them hanging in some random person’s home. They’re mine.

  “Well, then. Let me look at something really quick,” she says as she starts clicking away on her laptop. “I can do a six-week spot showing. It’s a good slot
because they will be on display during one of our invite-only showings next month. You’ll have a lot of eyes on these that could help jumpstart some work if that’s a direction you’d like to go.”

  “That sounds great.”

  “Perfect, then. Let me go grab all the necessary paperwork, and we can get everything secured for you right now.”

  Feeling like I’ve been needing to do something different, have a little more focus, this couldn’t have come at a better time. Although I would never sell these particular photos, I’d love to have an opportunity to expand this and possibly take on some work. So we spend the next half hour getting everything set up before I head out, feeling good about this new door that could be opening for me.

  Chapter Forty-Three

  After Stacy selected the two pieces for display a few days ago, I went to have them canvassed and just got back home from dropping them off at the gallery. The wall had already been prepped, and they should be up by tomorrow. It’s a good feeling to be doing something that will hopefully bring me some opportunities.

  When I start heading back to my office, there’s a knock on the door.

  “Are you Ryan Campbell?” a guy questions when I answer it.

  “Yeah.”

  He hands over several papers and says, “I’ve got some legal documents here for you. Are you active military?”

  “No.”

  “Okay. Well, there’s no signature required. Have a good day,” he tells me before walking down the stairs.

  Closing the door, I unfold the papers to find that I’ve just been served a subpoena, and when I see who the plaintiff is, anger that I haven’t felt in a while kicks up. This fucker has a lot of nerve, and I’m about to put an end to this shit, pulling out my phone and calling Jase, who’s out of town with Mark right now.

  “Hey, Ryan. What’s up?

  “I need to know where I can find Jack,” I demand.

  “What?” he asks as I take him off guard.

  “I just got served a subpoena, man. Tell me, or I’ll just get on the computer and find him myself.”

  “What are you gonna do?”

  “What should have been done months ago,” I tell him as my annoyance builds inside of me. “Don’t make me ask again,” I nearly threaten.

  Jase huffs out a hard breath before responding. “He lives at the frat.”

  “Which one?”

  “The Lambda house on nineteenth.”

  I hang up without saying anything else and grab my keys.

  My heart is racing when I pull up in front of the large brick house. There aren’t many cars around, and with classes over for the summer, everything is in my favor when I knock and he’s the one that answers. The preppy son of a bitch stands there in his white polo as my fist clenches around the court documents in my hand. Looking at his face, you can still see the slight greyish-yellow bruising around his nose and muted pink rings under his eyes where I beat the shit out of him nearly two months ago. There is no doubt that I seriously fucked this guy up.

  His eyes are wide as he looks at me in shock, and I don’t say a word when I push my way inside, kicking the door shut before I fist his shirt and slam him up against the wall, pinning him with my forearm square across his neck.

  I’m seething, and the fear in his eyes is prominent.

  “Candace Parker, you know her?” I grit out in pure hate. My muscles tense as I keep him locked against the wall.

  He doesn’t speak as all the blood drains from his face at the mere mention of her name.

  “Yeah, you know her.” Backing my weight off, I slam my arm into him again, causing his head to pound against the wall. “You’re lucky I didn’t fuckin’ kill you at the bar.”

  “Dude,” he faintly gasps out in distress, and his voice just adds to my rage.

  “Don’t think that I’m not still considering it because I’ll kill you with my bare hands, and there’s not a goddamn thing you can do to stop me because I know you don’t want your dirty secret being exposed.”

  “I don’t know what that bitch told you, but I didn’t do shit,” he spits at me.

  Slamming him down to the ground, head smacking hard against the wooden floor, I grip his neck in my hand, yelling, “I was fuckin’ there, you sack of shit. Who do you think beat your ass that night? I know everything you did to her, and there’s a rape kit with your DNA all over it, so tell me again that you didn’t do shit!”

  Before he can respond, I pull back and hammer my fist into his nose as he screams out, blood running down his face.

  “Don’t worry, I’m not gonna kill you. But I am gonna let you go through your life every day wondering if that’s going to be the day that I show up, because I’ll never let what you did to her go. So you can live your life in fear just like she does every day, you piece of shit.”

  Striking my fist into his jaw, I stand and pick up the papers that I dropped. I step back over to him as he lies there, curled up in agony, and lean over as I smack the papers on the ground next to his face, telling him, “You’re gonna drop these charges today and fuck off.”

  My veins are on fire with vengeance and knowing that I’ve got him by the balls in this, I ram my booted foot into his smug-ass face, listening to him heave in pain as I walk out. All my emotions about Candace that I’ve pushed down these past couple weeks flood back in a matter of seconds. I could kill that fucker, but it still would never feel like enough because even after all this time apart, the hard truth is, I still love her with every part of me. She’s moved on, and I have been trying to do the same, but here I am, back in this.

  Driving home, fueled by rage laced with sadness, I crack. I’ve never hated a single thing more than I hate that sick fuck for what he did to my girl. For what he did to us. I lost it all because he’s the one that gave me the secret that I held from her. He’s the one that inflicted himself on our relationship that no longer is. Without even trying, he continues to cause chaos in our lives.

  ***

  After spending a good chunk of the day taking my lingering aggravation out at the gym, I’m finally able to settle my nerves and calm down. I have no doubt that the charges will be dropped, so I’ll give it a few days before calling to make sure there isn’t anything pending against me.

  I’ve been trying to keep my mind occupied with anything other than Candace and what happened this morning, so when I’m completely burnt out from watching TV, I head upstairs to get ready for bed.

  It’s after one in the morning when I hear a knock on my door after brushing my teeth. When I make my way back down, I peek out the windows to see who could be here this late, but there’s no car in the drive as the rain pours down. I unlock the door, and I swear to God, the whole world stops moving when I open it to see Candace. In an instant, she begins crying and falls into my arms. She’s soaking wet from the rain, and I know she had to have walked here.

  For this moment, I lose my breath in her as I feel the warmth I thought I would never feel again. A warmth that only she can give me. She clings to me as she cries, and I break for her, not knowing what to say because I’m afraid if I speak, she’ll leave. She’s here, and all I want to do is make sure that she stays.

  God, just stay.

  Reaching down, I slip my arm behind her knees and scoop her into my arms as I carry her inside. She keeps her head tucked into me, and I’ve missed this so much. Even with her hurting, for whatever reason, I miss it. The touch, the feel of her skin, the smell of her hair. I have it all wrapped up in my arms, and it’s where I want to keep it.

  I sit us down on the couch with her still in my lap, and I keep my arms tightly banded around her because I just can’t let her go. I listen to her sobs as they begin to soften into whimpers, feeling the soft quakes of her body as she takes in tiny gasps of air.

  “Baby, what happened?” I finally ask, and when she lifts her head and stares into my eyes, I fall for her all over again. It’s in my heart, the heavy weighted emotion that’s nothing but the love I have for this
beautiful girl. Needing to touch her, I reach up and run my fingers down the soft skin of her cheek.

  “Jack died tonight.”

  What did she just say?

  Suddenly my heavy heart takes on a pounding as questions brew inside. What the hell happened after I saw him this morning? Fuck! Did I do it? Did I kick him too hard in the head? I could have easily killed him. Panic shoots through me, cold like ice, but the sudden rush of fear is diminished when she says, “Kimber called and told me he died in a car crash earlier today. Drunk driving accident or something.”

  A hard breath thuds out of my chest. Relief. Maybe I’m sick, but there’s not a single piece of me that feels bad about this. But her? She’s so upset, and I have to wonder where her head is at with this.

  She’s so close in my arms, tears still streaking down her face, and when I rest my forehead against hers, greedy to take every touch I can, she begins to ramble, an emotional mess.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t know where to go. I’m so confused. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

  “Slow down, babe.”

  “Should I be happy? Or relieved?” she asks as she pulls her head back and looks at me, pleading for answers I don’t have.

  “Well, what do you feel right now?”

  “Sad. And hurt,” she admits honestly before dropping her head and adding, “I don’t know why. It’s like all I can think about is Jack when he was good. Or when I thought he was. But I know he wasn’t. I know I should hate him. But, if I’m sad, does that mean I don’t hate him?”

  Lifting her chin to look at me, I say, “I think you’re just in shock. I think you need a little time to sort this out in your head.” She rests her head back on my shoulder, and I feel her body lightly shivering under my arms. “Let me go get you a towel. You’re freezing.”

  She slips off of my lap as I grab a couple of large towels from the guest bathroom, and when I return, I wrap one of them around her shoulders and then pull her back into my arms.

  “You need anything to drink?”