by Isabel North
“Maybe you should have. Then she wouldn’t have wrapped it up the way she did.” Alex groaned as he continued with glee, “‘What a pity it is that this god of metal and fire who has the ability to transform the forgotten and the discarded into soul-wrenching art seems content to diminish into obscurity, a creatively impotent monk.’”
Alex waited for him to stop laughing. “I’m hoping there’s a point behind your visit. And your performance. And that you’re going to get to it sometime this week.”
“Sure. There’s a point. Wanted to know if you’re okay with me going after her. Think it’s time.”
“Who, Stephanie? I don’t mind. Told you, we were never together.”
He waved this off. “No, not like that. Legally. Want me to sue her for you? Bit of revenge might relight your fire.”
“You’re not a lawyer.”
“But I keep lots of the little darlings as pets, and they need their exercise. You’re too much of a gentleman to do it, I know. You might look like a backwoods serial killer, but I know you’re a marshmallow underneath.”
“Serial killer?”
“It’s the beard. Doesn’t work on you.”
“I don’t even… Why do you think I should sue Stephanie? It was a year ago. And didn’t you say you liked her?”
“Oh, I do. That would make it extra fun.” He opened his eyes wide. Then all traces of humor faded, and for a moment he looked like the determined, resourceful man he in fact was, when he wasn’t being a hyperactive jerk. “But she called you an impotent has-been, in print, and you’ve been sliding downhill ever since. I’ve had a year of watching my best friend lose it. I’m done.”
“I don’t care what she wrote. I don’t care what people think. I haven’t lost it.”
Gabe pointed out the window to the overgrown backyard. “Have you actually looked at that? Have you seen it? Because you told me that’s your soul, Alex, and that makes me very fucking nervous. What’s it gonna take to get you back on track? Asking for help is the first step.”
Alex considered him for a moment. What the hell, may as well say it out loud. “I lost my muse.”
“Did you check under the couch cushions? Kidding. Easy fix. Hunt her down, bang her again, get back on track.”
Alex gave him a revolted look. “I can’t bang her!”
“Is it the impotence?”
“I’m not impotent. It’s the principle.” His muse was sacred.
“See, that’s where you lose me. Morals, principles. Not my strong suit.”
“Doesn’t matter anyway. She’s not here.” He’d asked around.
“Here-in-Emerson here? Ah. Local chick, is she? That why you bought the old bastard’s house and came back to lick your wounds?”
“No.” Primarily, yeah. “And she moved away about ten years ago, I heard.”
“You know, that’s what Facebook’s for. Stalking your ex. Should have looked her up before buying a damn house in her hometown.”
“I wanted to buy this house anyway.” To get back at his asshole of a grandfather, who’d died and left it to some third cousin he’d never even met rather than let Alex have it. To come back to the place where he’d become the artist he was today. But yeah. Mostly because he wanted to see her again.
“All right, then. Forget this girl. Find a new muse.”
“She’s the only muse I’ve ever had. I can’t go out there and pick another woman. I can’t choose.”
“You ever try?”
“No.”
“Then give it a shot. Let her go.”
No. His muscles locked tight at the thought. “I don’t think I can.”
“Why’s she so special? Oh. Did she make you a man, Alex?”
“It wasn’t like that. She wasn’t my girlfriend. We kissed once. Well, I kissed her. That’s about it.”
“Huh.” Gabe stared at him. “Must have been a heck of a kiss to have powered your career all this time. Okay. Alex.” He snapped his fingers in Alex’s face. “Come back to me. Come on. Snap out of it.”
“It was a hell of a kiss.” Chaos. Creation. Everything. “Gabe. Do you believe in—”
“If you ask me if I believe in soul mates, I’m leaving. And I’m taking your husky with me, because he may be a scaredy-cat but he’s still too badass for a dude who’s hiding in the woods crying about soul mates.”
“He’s only part husky.” Alex scowled. “I’m not hiding. Do you think I’m hiding?”
“Buddy.” Gabe reached over to clasp his shoulder. “I think you’re having a midlife crisis.”
“I’m thirty-five.”
“Congratulations, you’re ahead of schedule. Come back to San Francisco. Forget your muse, forget your work. Stop forcing things. You’ve been running hot your whole life. Why not cool it?”
“What if I never heat up again? What if I can’t sculpt again?”
“Then I’ll teach you how to knit, and you can become a yarn artist.”
“Right.” He laughed. Gabe’s expression remained serious. “You knit?”
“No. I know how to knit. I don’t do it. But I could.”
Alex was struggling to get over the image of Gabe Sterling knitting. Why the fuck would he…? “You learned to impress a woman, didn’t you?”
“And yet, for some reason, she remained unimpressed.”
Their thoughtful silence was broken by the mournful squeak of a well-used bear as Gargoyle, who’d been standing unseen behind Gabe for the last ten minutes, got up the courage to reach out and mouth his beloved toy against the back of Gabe’s knee.
Gabe froze. “He’s behind me, isn’t he? Shit, always wanted to say that.” He turned and crouched to let Gargoyle importantly give him the bear.
“Told you. Patience is all you need.”
Gabe took the bear, said, “Eww,” when it squished, then manfully squeaked it a few times before throwing it for Gargoyle. He wiped the drool off on his jeans and directed his sharp green gaze at Alex as Gargoyle snatched up his bear and came bounding back. “Then be patient, Alex. Things will take a turn sooner or later. Trust in— Oh God, how? How can he drool this much?”
Once Gabe had driven away at his usual old lady cautious speed—seriously, why buy an Aston Martin if you’re going to drive ten miles under the limit?—Alex wandered out to the backyard and gazed at his hellscape. The abandoned carcasses of five pieces that he’d lost his grip on halfway through their creation arched up in the fading light, taunting him. He stomped through the overgrown grass toward the barn, tripped, and swore. Six. Six fucking pieces he’d stalled on. He’d forgotten this one. He glared down at the wretched little hulk. Did it even count? He’d made, what, three welds before he’d given up on it? Using the toe of his heavy work boot, he kicked it out of his way.
He slammed into the barn, scattering dust down from the rafters. The fall of particles glinted gold in the last fiery gasp of the sun, and Alex watched it somberly. Was this it? Had he reached the end? Had the fire that had burned in him since he was a kid burned out? He rubbed his hands over his face, felt the beard scrape rough against his palms, and swore again.
His muse had deserted him.
Once, she’d been his guiding star. A fixed point of light in the darkness. Untouchable, unreachable, and unchanging. Or so he’d thought. Slowly, so slowly that he’d never noticed it, she’d faded into a ghost. And then one day, he’d tried to work and even her ghost had been gone.
A bitter roar of anger flared up. She couldn’t desert him. She belonged to him, had since he’d first seen her. Never in reality; always in his heart.
He remembered how everything inside him had stopped the moment he’d seen her on his very first day at Emerson High. All the grief over his parents’ deaths, all the anger at his controlling asshole of a grandfather who’d gotten custody, all his turmoil had quieted in a soft, dead stop. When everything started back up, she’d been a burn in his blood he’d never even tried to put out. It was that sudden, and it was that simple. This girl who
hadn’t known his name, hell, hadn’t even known he existed, was his muse.
Of course, his high artistic ideals aside, Alex at eighteen had still been an anger-fueled hormone-high teenager with no idea how to handle his emotions. Her blissful ignorance of his existence had continued only until the day he’d lost all semblance of control and kissed the crap out of her.
Alex sat on the floor, bent his knees up, and rested his head on his hands.
Elle Finley.
She’d been just sixteen. He’d been two years ahead of her in school and had felt a bit of a creep about it but until that moment, he’d told himself it was fine, it was romantic and pure, like a medieval knight worshiping his lady, passionately and—key point—from afar. After all, you weren’t supposed to defile your muse. He winced.
He still didn’t know what had made him snap. The line of her throat when she threw her head back to laugh at something her friend said? The swing of her strawberry blonde hair over her shoulder as she turned to put her books away? No. It wasn’t that. His locker was opposite hers, and he didn’t think she’d ever once noticed him before that day. Then she looked up. Right at him. And she smiled. It was uncertain, probably because she was confused by the way he was looking at her, like he knew her. Or like a starving wolf, because he’d been on fire for her for, oh, about eight months. Perhaps if she’d smiled vaguely and let her eyes slide away, he wouldn’t have done it. But she didn’t break eye contact, and she added this goofy little half wave. And that did it.
He had no memory of crossing the hall, although odds were he had to shove people out of his way, since between class the halls were packed. Then he was kissing her. His hands in that glorious hair, holding her still, gasping into her mouth because he couldn’t bear to stop long enough to take a proper breath. And she was kissing him back.
He’d been tall then, not quite his current six foot four, but not far off. His bulk had been more fat than muscle, and she’d felt fragile in his desperate grip. He tried to be gentle but she lit up for him, holding on tight when he lifted her to crowd her against the dented metal locker. She didn’t push him away; she wrapped her arms around him, pulled him ever closer. He forgot about gentle.
And it hadn’t ended well.
Sitting in the barn at sunset, he could remember their kiss like it happened seconds ago. He knew, at this stage in his life, it was something he’d remember forever. It should have been nothing more than a kiss, an adolescent interlude left behind when real life took over. Instead, it was the instant that had re-forged him into a whole new version of himself.
He closed his eyes. He could remember it, but that was all. He couldn’t see her light anymore. He couldn’t feel her anymore.
It made him furious. It made him despair. It made him…lonely.
CHAPTER THREE
Elle turned into Jenny’s driveway at two a.m. and called her from the car to come down and let her in. Five minutes later, Jenny made it to the front door and stood on the step, swaying between her crutches with exhaustion.
Elle examined her sister’s pale face and the dark circles shadowing her half-closed eyes. “Go back to bed. We’ll catch up in the morning.”
Jenny, who’d always been a pushover when half asleep, and only ever then, rested her forehead against Elle’s for a second, mumbled something indistinct, and staggered off.
Elle hauled her bags from the car to the living room, fell face-first onto the couch Jenny had made up for her, and didn’t wake until mid-morning. Since the hospital owed her for all those sick days and vacation she’d never taken, they hadn’t made a fuss when she’d told them she had to go home for a family emergency. In the end, she’d been packed and out of her old life in under twenty-four hours. She was still conflicted about what this said about her as she sat on the granite kitchen countertop the next morning, sipping her second cup of coffee.
She watched Jenny through the window.
Her sister puttered about with one of the many pots clustered in an artistic arrangement on the deck. This one was a round-bellied terracotta, stuffed full of colorful flowers. Jenny had lifted it up onto her lap and was busy picking off dried leaves, keeping an eye on Katie as her daughter dashed around on the clipped lawn, every now and then leaping into the air and tossing her head. And neighing.
Elle took a thoughtful sip of coffee. The deck was new, and by the looks of it hadn’t been through a winter yet. There were no scuff marks or patches to show where furniture once stood, and there was of course no furniture, either, which was why Jenny sat on her butt on the wooden boards, cast stuck straight out ahead, looking much too young to have a four-year-old. Every now and then, Jenny’s head lifted as she tracked Katie, and Elle was hit with a dizzying sense of déjà-vu.
Once, that had been her, watching over Jenny. Once, Jenny had been the carefree girl riding imaginary unicorns across the lawn.
Jenny wasn’t carefree anymore.
The déjà-vu was clobbered by a cold rush of guilt. She’d taken her eye off Jenny, and for a lot longer than a couple of minutes.
Elle’s body jerked as she heard the click of the front door opening, and the hall rang with a cheery voice. “Come right on in, folks, and get a load of this floor. Hardwood. Mmm. Don’t you love it?”
Snatching up a dishtowel and scrubbing at the hot coffee she’d sloshed over her hand, Elle slid off the countertop and strode through the kitchen into the hall. She stopped to stare at a short blonde woman, standing there with arms outspread, inviting the young couple with her to take a look around.
“What the hell?” Elle said.
The blonde’s attention swung to her, but her big smile didn’t slip an inch. With the grace of an air stewardess, she rearranged her arms to direct the hovering couple into the living room and said, “Be with you in a minute. And check out those windows, will you? Was I right? Yeah, I was right.”
The couple wandered into the other room, and the blonde turned on a stiletto heel to face Elle. They sized each other up for a long moment, then she grinned, and this time the smile was real. “Elle Finley. Looking good, girl.”
Elle squinted. “I know you?”
“Awesome! You don’t recognize me!” She put her hands on her hips, fabulous mauve manicured nails a startling contrast to the pale gray pencil skirt. “Imagine a couple of extra pounds, and glasses.”
“Uh—”
“Try a hundred extra pounds, glasses, and brown hair.” She pointed to herself, miming an explosive puff around her head.
“Lila?”
Lila Baxter, Jenny’s best friend and partner-in-crime since kindergarten, danced over on her shiny shoes and flung her arms around Elle, squeezing her in a hard hug.
“Holy shit, I can’t believe it,” Elle said when she got her breath back. “How’ve you been?”
“Oh, you know.” Lila flipped her long hair. “Amazing.”
“It’s great to see you. It’s a bit weird to see you, though. Here. In my sister’s house with strangers. What are you doing in my sister’s house with strangers?”
“Elle, I’ll be honest with you. I screwed up. Didn’t realize you were here. I promised Jenny I’d hold off as long as possible, but these guys, they were super keen to see the place, and you know how it is. Work’s work. Am I right?”
Elle just shook her head.
“Huh.” Lila blew out a sigh. “Jenny didn’t tell you yet, did she?”
“Nope. Let me guess. You’re a realtor, and she’s selling the house?”
“Close. Dean’s selling it, the prick. All part of the shitty divorce agreement. I told her to fight for half, but all she wanted was to get free of him as quick as she could. You know Jenny. When that girl’s done, she is done.”
It was a struggle, but Elle managed not to let the shock show. Divorce? Jenny was divorced?
“Let me tell you, whoever puts an offer on this joint, I’m going to make sure they get a bargain.” She winked at Elle and, as if she had some kind of extra-sensory perception, tur
ned to face her clients the exact moment they came into view in the doorway behind her. Eerie. “Be right with you,” she called. To Elle, she said, “Great to chat, but I’d better get over there, work my magic.”
“Sure. Go ahead. Wait, Lila.”
Lila glanced back. “Hmm?”
“Once you’ve worked your magic and sold the place, how long do we have?”
Lila grimaced. “You’re kind of supposed to be out already. Don’t worry, though. I’ve got some fantastic listings for you guys. We’ll catch up!”
Right. Elle marched back to the kitchen.
She couldn’t see Jenny through the window, knew even before she stepped outside that they’d disappeared. Still, she walked down to the bottom of the garden, peered up into the treehouse—she wouldn’t put it past Jenny to get up there even with a broken leg, considering the motivation—glanced over the fence into the neighbor’s garden in case they were hiding on the other side, and wandered back toward the house and along the side to the white-painted wooden side gate that had been left wide open. She closed and fastened it, then rested her folded arms along the top rail and stared down the street. Jenny must be able to really shift on those crutches, because they weren’t even in sight.
Divorced?
Elle was still outside when Lila ushered her clients out the front twenty minutes later. She watched Lila lock up behind her, stand chatting with the couple at their car, then wave them off with her big professional smile. As they reversed into the street and drove away, Lila swung to face Elle and picked her way over the lawn.
“How’d it go?” Elle asked.
“Eh, this couple, I’ve shown them a hundred places. They’re wafflers. They love the yard, though. Jenny’s got a gift. You know she did it all herself?”
“I didn’t.”
“Yup. She did. Shame she had to drop out of her landscape design courses, what with the divorce and the debts and the house and everything.”
Jenny was taking landscape design courses?
“Seeing as you’re here, Elle, you mind helping me out?”