The perspective of the painting from that unseen man, casting the viewer in to the role of the person putting that look of rapture into her eyes while drowning in them.
It was painted from the viewpoint of the phantom lover, directly from the memory bank of the artist.
His.
Colors erupted in a kaleidoscope from her soul, to envelope her like an aura. The woman’s heart was the event horizon, ground zero, and the hues shooting in every direction were pure unadulterated love.
There, in oil, was a truth Walker missed because of the pain that immediately followed that moment. The significance of which he just immortalized on canvas. A flash in time when Erika surrendered herself to the love she possessed for him. And when she did, the beauty she released into the cab of her truck, into his world, was cosmic, and it was all for him, or it had been. She allowed him to see the face of God, to kiss the sun, and he failed to appreciate it. How many men can say they touched infinity and tasted a universe?
Not many, hell, probably not any, but he was looking at the proof of his experience. It was in the planets and stars that exploded into existence in the prism around her slowly-drying image. It was in the purity and sincerity of her gaze.
It was in her.
How could something that absolute be tainted? It couldn’t, and the realization sent his tacky brush to the ground and him to the edge of the bed. No matter what else applies to the two people in that painting, wrong isn’t even a remote possibility.
What they shared was anything but corrupt.
He glanced over at the folder he carelessly tossed on the pillow. It didn’t matter. Whatever was or wasn’t in there, it didn’t matter. He would do everything he could, spend his days clawing to get back to the importance he stroked onto canvas. That painting would hang over their bed from this day forward, and if luck was on his side, act as a mirror—a reflection of his vivid dreams for their future and not just a colorful tribute to their muted past.
Now, he just had to figure out how to make that dream a reality.
***
ANDY
Andy was beside himself. On one hand, he wanted to storm up to Walker’s house and bloody his friggin’ nose. But that would disappoint both Marco and Erika, and let’s face it, he’s visited that particular plague on them enough. On the other hand, he wanted to shake him until he saw the truth and accepted Erika’s love and his baby, and then spend holidays with him because it would please Erika to do so.
Neither was an option, and that was killing him. The feeling of impotence wasn't a familiar, nor pleasant, one for Andy. He couldn’t help his one best friend with her troubles, and he couldn’t marry his other just yet because of it. No, if he was honest with himself, because of him. It was his own unwillingness to live true that was the first domino in this cascade.
It had been four hours. That’s how long he rode around the city before he calmed enough to entertain another option, deciding at least meeting Walker face to face was a must before he went back to North Dakota. They were irrevocably connected, after all. If they could talk about things, and Walker might see how much Erika needed him, loved him, Andy thought maybe that would help soothe his restless spirit.
Once his destination and approach were decided, he spent the rest of the ride justifying his pending actions. He never promised not to meet Walker, nor talk to him about Erika. The only promise he made was not to share any more information he obtained through his PI with her.
He knew he was skirting a fine line, exploiting a loophole, besides, Walker had ample time to have read the contents of the folder Erika compiled for him ten times over by now. He possessed all the information he needed to come to a decision, at least start leaning toward one. Andy was simply going to get a feel for where his head was at, and maybe give him a gentle push in the right direction, depending on the vibe Andy got from him and this Augusta person. There was no escaping the fact their lives would still be connected, the only variable was how. A tangled mess or neatly tied, that was the relevant question.
Tangled or tied.
***
GUS
Gus woke to the sensation of falling backwards. As soon as her head contacted the floor, she realized she must have fallen asleep against Walker’s door. As she rubbed her head and gained her feet, she realized she heard no banging or screaming coming from his room. He must have handled this hurdle without violence or alcohol. She was turning to congratulate him, when she was captured in a bear hug that robbed her lungs of precious oxygen.
“You fucking rock, I mean you rock hard Gus. You’re the fucking best and I love the hell out of you.” Realizing a little late she had actually hit her head when she fell, Walker stopped spinning her around, placed her on the floor, kissed her chastely on the forehead and rubbed her bump. “Shit, sorry about the noggin. I was just so excited, I couldn’t resist sharing with you.”
Placing her hands on his chest so she could shove him back far enough to see his face—for the second time in a matter of seconds—Gus couldn’t breathe. The look on Walker’s face was astonishing. Her hands absently cupped his cheeks and she stared at his face in wonder.
She had seen him healthy and in a really good place before, but this? This was a whole new Walker. His face beamed and his eyes sparkled. His spirit, which had been shrouded and suffocating in darkness, had suffered and finally struggled into the light. It was a truly remarkable sight.
Gus was fascinated. They stood there for minutes, just basking in the other’s essence. Gus in Walker’s light, and he in her pride of him.
Gus realized her lips were slowly getting closer to his. Shaking off the haze that infiltrated her at his recovery, she admitted she could get lost in this Walker. She knew it would be crossing a line she could never come back from. Walker didn’t love her, not like that anyway, and she didn’t love him that way either. They had a sibling bond, that’s was all. It was just such a raw moment, one of pure unadulterated exposure. The kind that happens once in a blue moon, and if you are honored with being a witness to it, you drank it in.
At that moment, Gus realized she was losing herself in the high. Not because she truly felt anything sexual for Walker, but because she wished like hell that she could see this kind of soul rapture in a man that she did.
One last look, a fix if you will, of the bliss beaming from him, and Gus shook off the drugging effect. As she did, she noticed the concern and question in Walker’s eyes. He’d misunderstood her “attraction” to his aura and it would alter their relationship because he didn’t comprehend that she was drawn into what he represented, she didn’t desire him. She would work on fixing that as soon as she could.
Averting her gaze, she glanced into the bedroom. “So, the contents of that folder must have really been…” She trailed off as her eyes encountered the painting on the easel. When she saw the painting, she lost her breath for a third time in a matter of minutes.
Breath locked in her lungs. She approached the canvas in a trance with an outstretched hand, stopping short before her fingers encountered the still-slick oils. Tracing the lines a bare whisper above the canvas, her eyes greedily devoured the image there. Never before had she longed to be another person, another woman, but she did in that instant. The look of rapture on the abstract face, the love that leapt from the canvas was orgasmic. Not only was that one lucky ass woman to feel those things, it was one hell of a man who could see them, be the recipient and capture them so unfettered in paint.
Amazing.
As much as she desired to be that woman, general speaking, not specifically, this painting made everything she had been through with Walker over the years, and the bitter sweet fact he didn’t need a therapist anymore, worth every second of it.
***
WALKER
“I haven’t read the folder Gus. It doesn’t matter what’s in it, I love her and I will fight to make her mine. I’ll read it eventually, because I won’t be able to live without answers. You know me, but no matter wha
t, as soon as I get my shit together, I intend to have her. Her husband will just have to accept the fact he is getting demoted. I will be her husband, or die trying.”
Walker leaned against the door jamb and appreciated the painting over Gus’s shoulder as she did the same from up close. Something transpired earlier just outside the door, it changed the atmosphere between them. The relationship he had with Gus always had a certain ease to it, no tension, no worries—even when he was beating the shit out of stuff. Now, well, that ease was gone, and he was clueless as to why. All he knew was he wanted it back.
“Gus? What happened in the hall? I don’t…” Gus turned, effectively interrupting him with the look in her eyes. Such conflict emanated from them, so much joy, tempered with so much sadness.
***
GUS
“Don’t Walker. It’s not what you think. When people reach a place of spiritual recovery—a soul deep healing—there is a certain euphoria, for lack a better description, they experience. The aura that comes with that is so beautiful, people observing can get lost in it. I don’t want you like that, and I know you don’t want me, but sometimes feelings get confused, wires get crossed in those weird organic moments. I almost gave into the beauty I was seeing, but I didn’t. I’ve dreamed of seeing that deep into a person you know? I just always thought, dreamed really, that it would be a person I was in love with. We did nothing wrong; you did nothing wrong.”
She took a cleansing breath and continued, “However our therapist/patient days are over. We can be friends, and I hope that we are, I’ve always thought of you as a brother and I love you, you know that. But you no longer need Gus the Wacky Therapist. Let it go, and just enjoy your high.”
Moving closer, she chanced touching his cheek, for what would be the last time as his therapist. “Our actions may be flawed, but that does not mean we are broken, you’ve proven that. Walker Reid, you are so much more than your anger and much stronger, you most definitely know that now.”
Gus dropped her hand. “So, I’m assuming over the bed? It’ll be perfect there. I’ll grab the hammer and help you hang this puppy, it can dry on the wall. Good a place as any I say, then you help me pack.”
With that, Gus sighed and exited the room. She was genuinely happy for Walker, even if a twinge of hurt and jealousy tried to take over, she wouldn’t let it. Not jealousy because she wanted Walker, but because she wanted to be loved by a man the way Walker loved Erika. He was one of the few people she was close to damn it, and she would not let some euphoria-induced momentary lapse—that could’ve lead to a mistake but didn’t—taint that. He is happy and whole, and that’s what matters.
***
ANDY
Facing down opposition in a courtroom was nothing compared to this. Andy had battled the fiercest of attorneys and won, yet one ex-con was proving his kryptonite.
As the car rolled to a stop in front of Walker’s house, Andy feared he didn’t have the stones to face him. What would he say to the man who held Erika’s fragile heart in his tattooed hands? How would he react to Andy? Even knowing their marriage was in name only, would the Walker his PI described be able to overcome it without taking a swipe at him?
As the questions peppered Andy’s battered constitution, he looked up and saw the object of his queries hugging a petite russet-haired woman. Both appeared emotional and it looked like a good-bye. Augusta Thorne—her snapshots didn’t do her justice. She was a rare, organic beauty, in a small athletic package. If this is what Erika saw when she came earlier, it’s no wonder she was crushed. However, from this perspective, it didn’t hold the look of a relationship, not a sexual one, anyway, but definitely an ending.
Exiting the car, Andy realized if this was, in fact, the “good-bye” it appeared to be, then she was just his therapist, because a more heated parting would be called for by lovers, or a cooler one for ex-lovers.
That was a good sign, right?
As he approached the now-curious twosome, he was at a total loss once more. He was, again, not a position he was accustomed to, nor one he cared to make a habit of. Andy had no choice but to approach things in the only way that was prudent when at such a disadvantage, professional—like a client or case—personal would come later.
***
GUS
Gus cautiously studied the approaching man sporting a designer suit, perfect hair, and chiseled features, which were all displayed in the optimum light by an award-winning smile. This guy was either a lawyer or a male model. No one else would look and dress that way, not in Walker’s world.
As he neared, hand extended in a gesture of greeting, Gus did a double-take over the car and driver. Recognizing both, she whipped her head nervously in Walker’s direction.
Oh shit, this had to be Andy.
The man whose name Walker could barely utter without throwing up, and whose title he coveted.
Could Walker handle this now? Well, if he could, that would be conclusive proof she was undeniably no longer needed.
***
WALKER
“Walker Reid, I presume? I’m Andrew, Andrew Wellington.”
Walker extended his hand, but there was no recognition at the name. He felt like this guy was reading him, like a fucking lawyer.
It was obvious that he was reading him as he amended his introduction. “The Andy.”
Still nothing. He adapted again. “Erika’s Andy.”
A flair of loathing sparked deep in Walker’s heart, and his grip on Andy’s hand became punishing for a split second before he pumped once then dropped the offered appendage. Gus looped her arms through one of Walker’s.
“Do you need me to say?” she whispered to him while studying the set of his jaw surreptitiously.
Walker brought his other hand, the one that had just come in contact with his nightmare, to Gus’s looped arms and gave a reassuring squeeze. “No darling, but I thank you for your concern. I’ll be fine. Besides, Mr. Wellington and I have a lot to discuss.”
Turning his body toward her, lifting her off the ground, and hugging her again, he brought his mouth to her ear. “Thank you so much Augusta, I owe you my life, but because of you, I got this.” He kissed her on the cheek, setting her feet back on the ground.
Looking to Andy, Walker announced, “Give me just a sec.” With that, he walked Gus to her crossover and saw her off.
After she pulled away from the curb, he took a fortifying breath, counted to twenty, and returned to where he left Andy on the front walkway.
***
ANDY
“Inside.” Walker barked.
One-word commands were not something Andy normally responded to, but it was painfully obvious the tightrope Walker traversed, so he obeyed. Reminding himself Walker wasn’t the opposition quashed his need to strike and exploit his weakness, just barley. Reaffirming the need to open communication between them overrode his own male need to be alpha dog right now.
Entering the home, Andy looked around, observing and absorbing everything he possibly could: the plastic drapes down the hallway, an obvious result of the flooding Erika mentioned earlier; the living area with nothing but a table with a comforter thrown over the top. The “sex gym” she saw must have left with Augusta.
Walker dragged the couch and a chair from the hall, and haphazardly placed them opposite each other across the covered coffee table.
Andy quickly analyzed the rest of his environment. Rapidly processing the holes in their various sizes and age, he saw them as a visible testament to the digression and progression of the house’s owner since the month of May. Through the sliding door, the waterfront view was visible just off the generous deck, and the smell of oil paint permeated the air.
The last observation brought Andy’s attention to Walker. He had oil paint on his hands and shirt. Scanning the room again brought a new realization. Walker was a painter, and a damn good one at that, not just the tattoo-style art that would be expected. Observing the art that graced the walls with a new eye, Andy had to
let go of some of his preconceived notions about Walker.
Yes, even Andy, who thought himself above judging others, accepted he was only human, and prone to the folly of such. Once the repairs were finished, this wouldn’t be a bad home for Erika and the baby, as long as they were loved.
***
WALKER
“Sit. Drink? I don’t have anything alcoholic, but I have almost anything else.” Walker was beside himself. He didn’t have a fucking clue about how to talk to Erika’s…husband.
There, he thought it without getting sick. How do you ask a man to divorce the woman you love? Hell, how the fuck do you tell him you slept with her and love the hell out of her? Shit, did he know? Of course, he did, why else would he be here.
First, Erika visits, now him. It couldn’t be a coincidence.
What the fuck?
Walker’s mind was going ninety to nothing. The shame of being the other man was creeping back into his brain, and the guilt was assaulting him.
How could he ask this man to divorce Erika?
Shit, looking at him now, he didn’t think he could. This was the type of husband she deserved, one that's respectable, ink-free, closer to her own age, and obviously loaded. The kind of life he could never give her, or could he?
Looking into Andy’s handsome face, Walker decided, right there in his living room, that he could give Erika all those things if he just let her go. She had it all, and he would be damned if he selfishly took that from her. His final act of love would be to give her the life she deserved, the life with Andy, a life without him.
Indelible You (Imagine Ink) Page 9