by Kat Bastion
“You’re into art, right?”
I blinked, suddenly aware there were others in the room. “Yes. I’m a sculptor.”
Darren broke eye contact, closing his eyes once more as he played.
“Ever teach a class?”
“A class?” I glanced at her, confused about the topic changeup, wanting to be sure I hadn’t missed something during the seconds I’d been entranced while staring at her brother.
“Yeah. Art.”
“No.” I’d only graduated in the last year myself. “Why?”
She gave a one-shoulder shrug. “I go to meetings on Tuesday and Thursday mornings at the community center.”
I didn’t follow. “Meetings? Don’t you have school?”
After a deep breath, she glanced my way, then stared hard for a few beats. “SSL. Survivors of Suicide Loss. And yeah, I go to school in the afternoons on those days.”
“Oh.” Made sense. I would be a wreck if someone I’d loved died, let alone by suicide.
“My therapist made me go. At first it was horrible. Total nightmare having to listen to everyone else’s stories. Then I’d go home and relive my own. Eventually it started to help.”
I put a gentle hand on her arm. “I’m glad.”
“Anyway, art is supposed to help. Their budget from donations allowed for art supplies. All the stuff was bought, and they’d lined up a teacher and everything. But he was transferring in from out-of-state for his paying job and his move got cancelled.”
“What kind of supplies?”
“Not sure. It looked like a case of metal boxes of colored pencils. Another case had paints, I think. Drawing pads and about a dozen small canvases.
Drawing and painting were different than sculpting—and each other. It had been years since I’d done either: high school and first-semester art school. “I’ve never taught art before.” Or anything, for that matter.
“No biggie.” She glanced back at her brother. “Just thought I’d ask.”
My heart ached for her. For them. “Well, I suppose if there’s no judgment, I could learn as I go.”
“Really?” Excitement buzzed in her tone.
“Hey, now. I’m not promising amateur to Monet, or anything.”
She snorted. “I suck at all things on paper. You keep me in the lines? You’re a success.”
“When? How often?” Then a thought occurred to me. “Any pay involved?”
“After our meetings. And no. I’m pretty sure it’s volunteer. That okay?”
“Yeah.” I leaned over and looped my arm through hers. “It’s totally okay.” And it was.
After all, I’d sought something outside of my art to brighten my spirit and had found trail running. Darren had gifted me that. The least I could do was give them something in return.
As I sat in the posh hotel lounge, arm in arm with Logan, Darren glanced my way. Only this time, instead of my body responding with a sexual heat, a different kind of warmth surged through me. And instead of spreading outward toward erogenous zones, it flowed inward, settling into a heaviness right in the center of my chest.
Love.
Incredibly, I didn’t fear the emotion. I welcomed it.
I tightened my hold on Logan as I stared intently at Darren. I watched as his expression transformed into something that resembled pride.
And for the brief moment in time, while he immersed himself into his passion for music, in front of those he cared about and sought to protect, a part of me began to believe he could protect me—that he was my miracle.
Darren…
We wrapped up the second set by 10:00 p.m. I stowed my gear, then led Dino and Gordie, our sax player, to introduce them to Logan and Kiki.
Pumped from one of the most surreal experiences of my life, I couldn’t wipe the shit-eating grin off my face. I’d been cool and relaxed while playing; the music took me there.
Now? My hands began to shake. My mind still couldn’t wrap around it.
I’d played with Dino Mathis.
And we’d been awesome. Like we’d jammed for years.
To ground myself, I stared at my girls who had nothing but pride all over their faces. “Logan, Kiki, this is the great Dino Mathis.”
Nervousness buzzed inside of me, only for a new reason now: I hoped Kiki liked the music. And that she felt comfortable with my new crew—guys I’d be working with for months on end.
A throat cleared beside me. “And his lowly sidekick, Gordie.”
I blinked. “Oh, dude. I didn’t mean it like that.”
“Don’t sweat it.” He arched his brows. “You’re now the lowlier sidekick.”
Dino shook the girls’ hands. “Ladies, it’s an honor to meet you.” His southern drawl oozed charm. “Darren didn’t tell us how beautiful you both were. Which one’s Logan?”
“I am.” She crossed her arms. “But don’t be getting any ideas, Dino. I’m jailbait.”
“Me too.” Gordie batted his eyes at Dino.
Everyone burst out laughing. Because even though Dino was closer to my age—twenty-five to thirty tops—Gordie had to be pushing sixty. Not that anyone cared. Music knew no age.
When the chortling died down, Dino clapped his hands. “Who’s hungry?”
“Me!” Logan thrust both arms in the air.
Kiki’s jaw dropped. “You polished off—”
“Shhh!” Logan shot Kiki a glare. “No one needs to know the details. I had a tiny appetizer. Growing girl. High-speed metabolism.”
Dino gestured forward with the broad sweep of his arm. “After you, my lady. This swanky establishment has offered us dinner on them. And I am famished.”
I grinned, then roped an arm around Kiki, whispering an educated guess about Logan’s appetizer, “Danish?”
“Cake.” She wrapped an arm around my waist as Dino and Gordie flanked my sister on the way to the restaurant.
“Chocolate?”
Kiki gave a nod.
“I bet she had two.”
Kiki glanced at me, then Logan. She pressed her lips together, but amusement twitched the corners. “Not telling.”
“So what did you think?” I had an amazing time, but jazz wasn’t for everyone. A split second after I asked, anxiety pinged in my gut. I wanted her to like our sound, my playing, more than I’d realized.
“I loved it.” Her face brightened with a wide smile.
I blew out a relieved breath, then nodded with a grin as warmth spread through my chest. “Good.” Fantastic, actually. Meant we had yet another thing in common.
She moved in front of me, following our group as the hostess led us toward a more private table on the back patio. Before we made it out the doors, we paused while an older couple got up from their table, her with a walker, him with a cane.
“Sir” —I reached down to pick up a dark coat still draped over the back of his chair— “I think you forgot something.”
The old man turned, then smiled, weathered face crinkling. “Oh, thank you, my boy. I’d have been mighty sore to lose that.”
The woman appeared by his side and nodded. “I gave that to him on our fifth anniversary. Sixty-five years ago.”
“No problem.” I held out the coat, helping the gentleman put it on.
We watched the couple as they carefully negotiated their way through the tight tables of the dining room until they disappeared.
When I turned, Kiki stared at me with a dumbfounded expression. “Do you rescue everyone you come in contact with?”
“Nope.” I corralled her into my arms. “Only the destitute and the elderly.”
She poked a hard finger into my ribs as we stepped through the open french doors. “Ow! Okay, okay. I do have a soft spot for gorgeous metalwork sculptors who mistakenly think they need one-night stands.”
On a heavy sigh, she leaned into me. “Sooo…I need more than a one-night stand?”
I stared down into her eyes. A tender vulnerability shone back at me. And I wondered what I did to deserve her. I
gave her a tight squeeze, then dipped down, brushing my lips over hers. “You need the whole enchilada.”
Laughter erupted against my lips. “Do not talk about sex and food in mixed company.” She sighed as we walked to the table, joining the others. “Great,” she muttered as I pulled out the chair beside Logan for her. “Now I’m thinking about a very big enchilada.”
“Ooo…” Logan flipped a page in her menu. “Do they serve Mexican?”
Kiki glared up at me.
I kissed her temple. Then hovered my lips over her ear, whispering. “You started it, Flash. Sex on a stick…”
That quieted her down. But all through dinner, between the jokes and laughter among old friends and new, she kept darting secretive glances at me loaded with heated innuendo. Like even though we were in mixed company, her thoughts kept straying to when we’d be alone—when we’d put something else altogether on the menu.
My attention drifted toward Logan as the servers began clearing the plates. She wore an easy smile and had engaged in razor-sharp banter several times during the meal. And yeah, we were out late on a school night, but taking a rare break out together and seeing her enjoying herself was worth a few hours of missed sleep.
Dino took a long pull of his beer after his plate was taken. When he put the bottle down, he glanced at Kiki. “So, tell me about your art.”
She snapped her head up from staring at the spot on the white tablecloth where her plate had been. “My art?”
“Sure.” He gave a nod toward me. “Your boy tells us you forge metal?”
She glanced at me, her eyes sparkling and smile widening. And although her art did that to her—made her glow from the inside out—I got the feeling it had more to do with Dino calling me her boy.
And damn, if that didn’t make my chest swell.
“I do.” She fingered the corner of her napkin, staring at it a moment. “Some are sculptures made of found metal objects. Originally, I forged botanical sculptures out of bronze. On each piece, I add a mineral pigment to the molten metal, turning one small element a color.”
In the relative quiet around us, with no other guests seated on the patio and everyone at our table listening to her, her voice softened as she spoke, clear passion about her art coming through in her tone.
Dino tilted his head a fraction to the side. “Why don’t you work with bronze anymore?”
“Oh, I do.” She took a deep breath, expression growing serious. “I mean, I will. I’ve just finished one. Money’s tight. Need to sell a few pieces in order to buy more of the good stuff.”
“Hand me your phone.” Dino reached over the table, palm up.
Kiki’s brows furrowed. “My phone?”
“I’ll put my number in there. When you have time, text me pictures of some of your pieces. I’m closing escrow on a pad in that new downtown skyscraper next month. Penthouse takes up the entire top two floors.”
Kiki’s eyes remained wide as she pulled her phone from her purse. “You like art.”
Dino pushed a button on her phone, then typed as his expression grew amused. He handed her phone back, giving her a pointed look. “I’m a musician, Kiki. Of course I like art.”
Gordie made a disgusted face. “I’m a musician, but I don’t like art.”
The entire table fell silent. The last weighted word hung in the air, like it held judgment. Everyone darted glances at everyone else, but for several seconds, no one said anything. Maybe because they couldn’t tell if there had been some private joke we’d all missed.
The longer the silence dragged on, the heavier an irritation uncoiled in my gut. He’d just insulted my girl. Brand-new bandmates or not, I didn’t give a shit about my lowlier sidekick status.
I sucked in a deep breath, ready to rail on him, but someone beat me to the punch.
“What don’t you like about art, Gordie?” Logan’s words oozed venom as she shot a pointed look at him.
I stared at my sister, shocked she’d jumped into the minefield.
Gordie blinked, suddenly looking uneasy under the heated scrutiny. Then he glanced at Kiki. “I didn’t mean any offense.”
I leaned back and crossed my arms over my chest, narrowing my eyes at him. “Then what did you mean?”
“Yeah.” Dino turned to fully face Gordie. “What’s wrong with art?”
Gordie swallowed hard. “It’s just all the…nakedness.”
“Nakedness?” Kiki’s voice squeaked. The corners of her lips twitched, her expression incredulous.
“On the sculptures. David hanging his junk out there. Not even sizable junk either. And those warped paintings of women with their eyes in the wrong place on their faces.”
“Michelangelo and Picasso.” Kiki folded her napkin, her gaze never leaving Gordie’s as amusement sparked in her eyes. “Total opposite spectrums of style. But those are only two examples of many of the greats. You should expand your horizons. Maybe we’ll go to the museum. I’d be happy to show you around.”
“Uh…” Gordie shifted uncomfortably in his seat, then cleared his throat. “No, that’s okay.”
Dino shoved his shoulder hard enough that Gordie had to plant a hand on the table to prevent himself from toppling out of his chair. “Clear your ears out, Gordie. And straighten out your head. Kiki said she sculpted botanicals. You got a problem with her making naked flowers?”
Kiki finally burst out laughing.
Then everyone joined in but Gordie, whose cheeks reddened with embarrassment. “Sorry, Kiki. Didn’t mean to insult you. I’m sure you make pretty flowers.”
“It’s okay, Gordie.” Kiki’s expression softened at him. “You play beautiful saxophone.” Then she glanced at Dino before her gaze landed on me. “You three have an incredible sound. I’m honored to have had a chance to hear it tonight.”
Pride swelled in my chest again. That she’d loved our music so much. That she and my sister had stood their ground to these guys, and the guys respected them and me enough to fix the awkward art conversation. The night had gone better than I’d hoped.
“You should come to her class.” Logan arched a brow at Gordie.
“What class?” I frowned. Had I missed something?
“Oh, we just decided while you were playing,” Logan continued. “Kiki’s agreed to step in and teach an art class at the community center a couple times a week.”
“Really?” I glanced at Kiki, unable to believe it.
Not that I doubted my sister. Just…I’d been so afraid that bringing any woman into the mix of my chaotic life would spin it out of control. Apparently because that woman was Kiki, my life had not only begun to calm, but the benefits reached out and grabbed hold of Logan too.
“Yeah.” Kiki smiled up at me and gave a little shrug. “They need someone.” Her expression fell a little. “And I might have some free time on my hands soon.” She muttered, “And maybe need a place to stay.”
Determination roiled inside me. I leaned over and whispered fiercely. “You will not have free time on your hands soon. I plan to keep you plenty busy. And you will always have a place to stay.”
Her expression lightened with the tiniest bit of hope and a small smile. But then it faltered.
On a growl, I kissed her. Didn’t care about the audience. Didn’t matter about her worries of the impending deadline she faced.
Something in my gut told me we would figure it all out.
After all—we made it this far.
Kiki…
The next day, when I showed up at the community center for my first art class, it all clicked why the address Logan had given me after dinner looked so familiar. It was the same place where Darren worked out. We’d run for the first time on the track out back, done stadiums together.
Apprehension of the unknown—that had clenched my gut the whole way over—began to ease a bit as I stepped through those outer metal doors. And although Logan had instructed me to take a right at the first hallway, I kept going straight, then took a left, drawn toward the g
ym Darren had been in.
Would he be there now?
It struck me that the time of day was similar: Tuesday morning, 9:30 a.m. Same day of the week, nearly an hour later. Plus I’d shown up about thirty minutes early to take stock of my surroundings and the art supplies I had to work with.
But first, the propped-open metal door at the end of the hall held my interest. On occasion, a heavy grunt would filter out. When I stepped into the room, a guttural growl vibrated through the air, and my gaze shot to a guy on a weight bench who powered through the middle part of a bench press, arms shaking. A spotter above him barked unintelligible words at him until, with a low shout, he pushed the barbell all the way up. Then his spotter guided it onto the rack.
As I loitered in the doorway, my attention drifted toward the far corner. My breath caught the moment I saw him.
Eyes closed, Darren stood motionless, ear buds in his ears, arms extended at shoulder height out to each side, hands gripping the handles of his sand-filled metal pails.
I watched him, mesmerized. This was where he went to push his body, to calm his mind. For me, that was running. Maybe running did that for him too.
After several seconds of standing there, I felt time press in on me. My class was in twenty-five minutes. I turned around and backtracked down the hall, then took the turn toward the rooms Logan had told me about.
On the left, a closed door had a vertical window above its handle. Through the glass, I saw a group of about twenty people sitting in chairs that had been arranged in a circle. Logan sat on the far side with her black newsboy hat on. She faced my way, but a teenaged boy across from her kept her attention.
Breath held, I eased the door open and stepped inside.
“…so I’ll keep on with my journal,” the boy said. “Not sure if the meds are helping. But I’ll stick with ’em until I see the doc next week. And my mom…still trying to get her to come to a meeting. And that’s all.”
“Thank you for sharing, Henry,” the group said in cadence.
Several hands went up. Henry pointed at a man who looked to be about forty. The man lowered his hand and took a deep breath, wiping his hands once down his jeans. “Hi, I’m Will.”