The Artist's Touch (The Gentlemen's Guild Book 1)

by Dr. Rebecca Sharp

  Ellie groaned; the one side of her head was killing her. She heard noises around her, people talking, and then silence for a while. The sound of a door opening and closing had woken her again, though.

  Why was her head killing her?

  She tried to pull up the last thing that she remembered, but it was so painful. Even though her brain protested against the onslaught, she forced her heavy eyelids open, determined to figure out just what was going on.

  The bright light from the room seared through her head, the pain bringing tears to her eyes. She shut them quickly and almost gave up when she heard it – when she heard him.

  “Ellie? Gorgeous? Are you in there?” She heard Tristan’s soft and strained voice moving closer to her. “Can you hear me? Can you open your eyes?”

  For him, she could do anything.

  Steeling herself for the pain, she slowly opened her gaze to the invasion of light. The room a blur for a second until her eyes adjusted, allowing her surroundings to come into focus – allowing Tristan to come into focus.

  “Hey there, siren,” he rasped, a relieved smile spreading over his face, one hand coming up to cup her cheek, the other still holding her hand that was in her lap, attached to the IV.

  Oh, no.

  Her eyes widened, panic setting in as she realized her surroundings. The IV, the bed, the room.

  She was in the hospital.

  “What—” she began, breaking off to cough from her throat being so dry. Tristan grabbed the cup of ice water on the table next to the bed and held the straw up for her to drink from. The cold water an icy salve on rough lining of her throat. “Sorry,” she tried again, still raspy, but better. “What happened?”

  “You don’t… of course, you don’t,” Tristan laughed to himself. “I’m not entirely sure what happened. One minute you were fine getting out of the shower, or at least, I think you were. The next I hear you say my name, I look over and see your eyes roll back in your head and you start to fall over. I went to catch you, which I did before you hit the ground, but not before your head slammed into the shower door and shattered it.”

  “Oh, no, Tristan. I’m so sorry,” she managed to get out, embarrassment flooding her as her hand gingerly raised to feel the side of her head.

  “Don’t, you have stitches,” he interjected harshly, clenching his jaw and pausing to calm himself, “And don’t you dare apologize to me, gorgeous. I don’t give a fuck about my shower door.” His hand returned to her cheek, making sure her gaze stayed locked with his. “I don’t care about the goddamn door, all I care about is you. Got it?”

  She swallowed hard and painfully, nodding at the intensity of his words.

  “Fuck,” he murmured, bringing his face down to hers and kissing her dry lips ever so tenderly. “You scared me so bad, siren.” He kept kissing her, relief palpable in every touch.

  Ellie melted right into him, the throbbing in her head completely forgotten as his lips comforted hers. He was here, she would be ok.

  “Everything is fine; you’re going to be just fine,” he continued to whisper. The pad of his thumb rubbed over her cheek, his words seeping into her skin, a balm over the stress of the moment. “They’re just running a few more tests to figure out why you passed out and then I’m going to get you out of here, ok? God, you scared me so badly, sweetheart. I l—”

  His words cut off short as she jerked her head back away from his, her eyes shot open, bile rising up her throat. She knew what he was about to say, but it was too late; what he had already said put her on high alert.

  Why she passed out? She knew why she passed out. She needed to tell Tristan. She needed to talk to the doctor –.

  Tristan looked at her with confusion in his eyes, about to ask what was clearly wrong when they both heard someone clear their throat from the doorway. The moment was cut short as they realized the doctor had come into the room.

  “Sorry to interrupt,” he said, as Tristan moved away from her, giving her a clear view of the older gentlemen who was speaking. “Ellie, I’m Dr. Marks. Glad to see you’ve come around, you did quite a number on your head there.” He introduced himself a compassionate smile lighting his face.

  “Yes, I…ahh…I guess so,” she replied sheepishly, still struggling to remember all of the details of the incident. She felt Tristan squeeze her hand reassuringly.

  At least he hadn’t let go.

  “Not to worry, aside from some stitches and a lump on your head for a few days, everything on the scans checked out and you should be fully recovered in no time.”

  “Wonderful, thank you so much,” Ellie thanked him, praying that he wouldn’t continue on about the reason for her fainting while Tristan was in the room.

  Unless, because he was in the room, Dr. Marks assumed he was family.

  “Now that you’re back with us, I was wondering if I could go over some questions about your medical history with you since we weren’t able to get that information from you when you got here.” The smile he gave her sunk like a stone of dread into the pit of her stomach. “Syncope is not uncommon and can happy because of a variety of reasons, some very simple and harmless, others more serious and worth exploring. I want to make sure that you don’t leave her with a bigger issue unresolved. I think the best place for me to start is to ask you if you have any idea why you passed out?”

  “Of course,” she smiled weakly, feeling the tears start to well in her eyes. “Well, I think it was a combination of things. I had just gotten out of the shower, so I remember being very warm and I know…umm…that well, my heartrate was up just before.” She paused, heat flushing her cheeks as she glanced quickly at Tristan, the doctor getting the gist of what she was saying. “So, there was all that.”

  “She also hadn’t eaten anything all morning,” Tristan interjected.

  “Yes, that too. But, I think it was mostly caused by the medications that I’m taking.” She tried again to swallow the lump in her throat, feeling like she was about to vomit. “They have changed over the past few weeks and I’ve been having similar instances of dizziness and nausea; this time was just worse because of the other factors.”

  She met Dr. Mark’s gaze, taking a deep breath, hearing in her mind his next question before his lips even began to move.

  “And what medications are you taking?”

  “I was recently placed back on maintenance therapy doses of vincristine and prednisone.” She kept her gaze focused on the doctor, watching Tristan’s perplexed stare only in her periphery. She didn’t expect him to know what those drugs were for.

  Maybe prednisone, but it didn’t matter because he was about to find out.

  “I see,” Dr. Marks responded, his face softening even more as he heard her words. “And, how long were you in remission before they decided to put you back on those meds?”

  At the word ‘remission’, Ellie felt Tristan’s hand go slack around hers. The “r” word only even accompanied the “c” word. “Almost a year,” she replied, quietly.

  “And what type of cancer do you have?”

  “Recurrent acute lymphoblastic leukemia. I had it twice,” Ellie responded, her voice dulling by the moment as she felt Tristan pull his hand from hers, pulling himself farther and farther away from her. “My oncologist is Dr. Sion. I’m supposed to see her tomorrow to go over the results of my most recent bloodwork, if you want to give her a call I have her number.” She stared at Dr. Marks, because if she didn’t, she would burst into tears.

  This was not how she wanted him to find out.

  “That won’t be necessary, we have it on file here —” he stopped as his pager began to beep frantically. “I’m so sorry, I have to go check on another patient. I’ll be back in a little, however, I think you are correct; most likely the fainting is from the medication and nothing to be overly concerned about.” With a nod, he stepped back out of the room, shutting the door behind him.

  Ellie watched the dawn of comprehension continue to rise on Tristan’s face as he process
ed her answers to the doctor’s questions, explaining about her cancer diagnosis and the current medications that she was taking. She’d seen how each word that left her mouth was like a knife, stabbing Tristan in the heart; his face draining of color, his expression shifting from shock to hurt to rage.

  And that’s when she realized…

  After a diagnosis of cancer, everyone you meet suddenly falls into one of two categories. The first, which is most people, are those who treat you with sympathy and pity, like her father, her friends, Marge and the other nurses who helped her. They put on a brave face, tell you to stay strong, stay hopeful that the next round of medications or treatment will work; overwhelmed with their pity, they treat you like you’re made of glass, the slightest touch able to make you shatter, physically and emotionally.

  The second type of people are fewer and farther in-between. They, by contrast, react on the complete opposite end of the spectrum. They avoid you at all costs, shutting you out completely, and when they can’t, they treat you with a barely-contained anger, cold and curt; they’d cut off their own arm if it would free them from your presence. At first, it’s painful and seems so cruel, until someone explains to you the reason why. The callous and seemingly unfeeling minority push you away because they have lost someone that they cared deeply about to cancer. They push you away, treat you like a leper, because they don’t want to be reminded of the pain; they push you away to protect themselves from the trauma of the memories.

  And that’s when she realized that Tristan’s mom must have died of cancer.

  There was an instant when she wasn’t sure how he was going to respond, when the shock of finding out that she, someone who he cared about, had a life-threatening diagnosis was to be expected; she’d foolishly assumed he would be like the majority of people.

  She should know by now that the unexpected was the norm for her.

  She watched, dying on the inside, as anger etched itself into his beautiful face, a hard mask descending over his features, shutting her out of his mind, his life, and his heart.

  She waited, bracing herself for the words that were to come, knowing that they would not just out of anger for keeping this from him, but from the anger he’d buried down deep inside when his mother had died; she would now get the brunt of both.

  It didn’t matter that she wasn’t going to die, at least not yet; her diagnosis wasn’t terminal, but that didn’t matter. The fear of that potential inevitability was more than this group of people could take. It was fitting that this should happen here, in the hospital; the setting always geared her mind and body up for pain. Even though she’d been on the road to recovery, she’d lost so much from a hospital bed – her friends, her social life, her health, her dreams.

  It was only fitting that she would lose her heart, too.

  The click of the door closing opened the floodgates behind her eyes, tears beginning to flow down her cheeks. “Tristan, I –” she began, her voice thick with emotion.

  “Don’t,” he cut her off sharply. “Don’t fucking say another word.” He turned and stalked over to the door, unable to look at her, running his hands viciously through his already disheveled hair. “You have cancer.”

  “Yes,” she whispered, unsure if he was even asking a question.

  “How long?”

  “Since I was six. Well, when I was six, and then I beat it, but then it came back when I was in college. It took a little longer, but I beat it that time too – or, at least, I thought I had. I…” she trailed off, realizing that she was rambling and that now was not the time to ramble. He needed to get his emotions out.

  “So, this whole fucking time…the reason you hid your arms, the ‘abuse’ you suffered, the past you were trying to forget…” he scoffed, connecting every dot that hadn’t sat right with him previously into a perfectly explainable picture. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “I couldn’t!” she exclaimed, frustration and the need to make him understand raising her voice. “I just couldn’t bear the thought that you would look at me differently. Tristan, no one has ever looked at me the way that you have – especially when they find out that I have cancer. You looked at me like you wanted me, like I was perfect and not some poor, broken thing that needed to be taken care of or pitied or sheltered.” She paused for a split second to catch her breath before she pushed on through his fiery stare that threatened to incinerate her. “I didn’t even know that it might be back when we first met, otherwise I wouldn’t have auditioned. I thought I was finally in the clear, but then I started feeling sick and my doctor put me back on the meds to be safe. I didn’t know how to tell you, especially when I don’t even have all the answers yet. I guess,” she broke, her voice beginning to hurt from her vehemence, “I guess, I thought I would tell you when the project was done, and I had all the answers to give you figured out.”

  “Well, you told me. It’s done,” he spat harshly, his words a clear indication of where their relationship was heading.

  “Please, Tristan,” she begged, her voice cracking with emotion. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. What I have isn’t terminal, I can beat it again. It will be ok, I promise.” Ellie didn’t even know what she was saying; she didn’t even know that she could keep that promise, but she would fight like hell to try if it meant keeping Tristan. “Please, I love you.”

  A dark look spread over his face, and for the first time, her body froze in fear of what he was about to say, instinctively knowing that it was going to crush her.

  “You love me? Perfect, mission accomplished,” he smirked. Just like with Pierce though, she could see the hurt hiding behind and driving the words he wanted to destroy her. “Let your dad know I have your portrait ready for him whenever he’s ready to make the exchange.”

  Wait, what?

  His words stopped her cold. Confusion blossoming in her pounding head. “I don’t understand…” she said softly, tears creeping down her face.

  “Your portrait. It’s for your dad. He asked me to make it of you. Well no, not asked – blackmailed. He has the portrait of my mom that he is only willing to return to me in exchange for one of you; that’s why you are here. That’s why I picked you,” he explained coldly, his words completely devoid of all empathy. Anger punctuated each thought as the promise of revenge prompted him to drive his point home. “I picked you, I drew you, I fucked you, and now I’ve broken your heart; tell him to think twice before blackmailing me again.” He stormed towards the door.

  This couldn’t be happening.

  Her hands came up to cover her mouth and the sob that stormed out of her.

  Her father…Tristan…portrait…blackmail.

  His words swirled around in her mind, but it wasn’t the pain in her head that made it hard to focus on them, it was the pain in her heart. She could have understood his anger when she thought it’d been coming from the hurt of losing his mom, but this, this was much more than that. This was planned, premeditated; breaking her had been his aim from the start. Everything between them, every word, every touch, every kiss, had just been part of his strategy.

  Loving him had brought her back into the world of the living only, he’d never been falling for her in return, he’d just been using her, which mean the world of the living was just a world of lies.

  “Tristan,” she managed to choke out through her tears, her hand reaching towards him just as his reached for the handle on door.

  And, at that exact moment, her dad burst into the room exclaiming, “Ellie! Oh, my God, are you ok? I got over here as soon as they called me. What—” he stopped short, seeing Tristan in the room. “What are you doing here? What have you done to her?” Jack asked him harshly.

  “Leaving,” Tristan responded, his voice completely devoid of emotion. “I did what you asked me to do, and now I’m leaving her.” With those final words, he turned and walked out of the room, taking her heart, her hope, and her life with him.

  Chapter 30

  Tristan stormed blindly out of the hosp
ital, needing to get out of that room, away from Ellie, and all of the feelings that had started to suffocate him. He couldn’t believe what he’d been hearing; the names of the drugs weren’t familiar to him, which meant that whatever she was taking them for wasn’t common. Those were the first stones that had started to roll out from underneath his feet, but when the doctor had asked about remission, that was when the avalanche had started.

  He felt like the floor had dropped out from underneath him, her voice telling the doctor that she had cancer sounded like it was in a vacuum, like he was watching a TV show, one that was a horrible re-run of his life. His mother’s face kept flickering back into his mind, her beautiful loving face, torturously withering away from the God-forsaken disease. His heart had stopped, too painful to keep beating, even as she sat there begging him for compassion, begging him to hear her.

  Begging him to love her.

  “Fuck.” Nothing had come through. After hearing her admit to having cancer, nothing after that had registered; her words hitting the last remnants of protective barricade he’d built around himself. Everything that he had done to prevent himself from being in this exact same situation again, everything had failed him. She’d crashed into his heart, effusing into every piece of him, and not once did he think that this is how it would end.

  Of all of the endings he’d imagined. Of all of the endings that even Pierce had imagined. This was not one.

  Tristan became aware of his surroundings as he put his key into his apartment door; he had no recollection of the blocks that he’d walked back from New York Presbyterian Hospital to his building. Shutting the door behind him, he struggled to breathe for the third time today.

  Every time he’d come before and Ellie wasn’t there, he’d felt it – felt the loss of her. This time, her absence almost brought him to his knees as he leaned back on the door for support.

  Her absence and the full knowledge that she would never be back.

  Only now, everywhere he looked, he saw her. He saw her portrait left up in the living room. He saw the faint marks on his windows from her hands on them the first time he’d made her come. The kitchen was covered in leftovers from their dinner last night, his spatula still on the floor from where he’d dropped it this morning, unable to resist her seductive tease. Pulling out a bottle of liquor, not even caring which one it was, he chugged down several very healthy mouthfuls in an attempt to dull the painful ache inside of him.