Hailey

The cool November morning ushered in an awakening. My mind and soul were buzzing ever since I’d seen Bryan. My soul felt happier, and my gallery felt brighter. Every single time I thought about how I woke up next to him, a grin crossed my face. Falling asleep in his arms had been like a dream, and it wasn’t until I’d woken up that morning and felt his arms tighten around me that I’d convinced myself it had happened.

Bryan was back in my life.

Breakfast that morning had consisted of us talking over a bowl of cereal. Nothing fancy and nothing show-stopping. We laid in bed and stared at one another, blushing and smiling while our fingertips danced around each other. His body gravitated back toward mind as he rolled me over onto my back, and that morning, we reprised our chorus from the night before. My presence sang out for him as tears crested my eyes, falling down my cheeks while my orgasm had ripped through my body.

I couldn’t believe he was back.

I felt a new breath of life filling my lungs. My walls were covered in seasonal paintings that had been inspired by Bryan’s life-giving kiss. Cornucopias of acorns and leaves and mountain scenes with dying trees and animals bathing in the cold autumn sun lined my walls. I felt as if my soul had taken flight and was slowly levitating up toward the clouds. It couldn’t get any better than this.

It simply wasn’t possible.

The lunch rush came and went, so I meandered over to the cash register and pulled out my lunch. This was the routine I’d slowly sunken into with the gallery. Mornings were spent rearranging and restocking, and the lunch rush took up most of my energy. I’d be able to eat once they were all gone, and then there was always a rush before I closed down at seven. I sat down on my stool, pulled out my sandwich, and started to take a bite.

But I sighed when the bell over my door rang out, signaling someone had entered the store.

“Don’t mind me,” the familiar accent said. “Just looking around.”

It was Max. Again. He was coming by more frequently to check in on his paintings. I took a tentative bite of my sandwich, watching him while his eyes flickered along the new paintings I’d hung up. I could see his eyes fluttering over the brighter pictures from the woman who painted out of her home, but the moment his eyes fell onto his painting, I knew I was in for a treat.

Because his most recent painting had been hanging on the wall since mid-October.

“I don’t understand,” he said.

“Like I said, these things take time.”

“But the brushstrokes are perfection. Not choppy, like yours,” he said.

“Uh, yes,” I said. “Your brushstrokes are more languid.”

“And the colors blend more cohesively than yours. The smoothness should call to people,” he said.

“Sure,” I said.

“And this woman, with her bright colors and her little dots, how in the world does she paint all her paintings with little dots? You can still see part of the canvas.”

“Max,” I said as I got up. “Some people just enjoy different things. Yes, we all use different brush strokes and different methods of blending color, but that doesn’t make one better than the other.”

“It does when you’re talking about how it appeals to the eye.”

“Then I suppose what’s being purchased would answer that question for you.”

His gaze slowly panned toward me, and in an instant, I regretted my choice of words. I took deep breaths, trying to calm the anger and hurt I felt rising in the pit of my stomach. I was freely giving him this space without charging him a monthly fee so he could hang his paintings that weren’t doing well, and this is how he talked to me? Did he think he could just come in and insult the other artwork that surrounded his in hopes of feeling better about his failures?

“Max, I honestly don’t know what to do. I’ve tried centering it on the wall and displaying it in the window. I’ve tried giving it an entirely decorated corner all its own as well as dispersing it within my paintings. You just need to be patient. The subject matter of your paintings does tend to bring out the sadness and the hurt in individuals. It takes a special person to purchase that type of painting to keep in their home, but they do exist. We just have to find them for you.”

“For me,” he said, snickering. “Like I’m some child who can’t find his favorite toy.”

I wanted to tell him the description was apt since he was acting like one, but I decided to sit back down and pick up my sandwich.

“If you have any other paintings you’d like to switch out, maybe try a different subject matter or something more relatable to the seasons, I’m more than willing to try anything to find your audience,” I said.

“You’re very kind, Miss Ryan.”

“And you’d do well to remember that.”

His gaze locked hard onto mine while I took a bite of my sandwich. I wasn’t going to let some man come into this gallery who was hurt over his paintings not selling and put down the artwork surrounding his. Yes, we were all different artists, and yes, the emotional focus of our paintings were different, but that didn’t mean my sales were contributing to his losses. He needed to understand that.

“Well, I shall leave you to it,” he said.

“You’re welcome here anytime,” I said. “And if you do want to switch out that painting-”

“Won’t be necessary,” he said.

He walked out in a huff from my gallery, and I breathed a silent sigh of relief. I hated being around people who were upset with me, but there was something about him that was slowly growing awkward against my skin. He was slowly rubbing me in ways that didn’t make me comfortable, and part of me wondered if I should still be showcasing his paintings in my gallery anymore.

I ate the rest of my sandwich while my heart continued to race. It was the first time I’d ever truly been uncomfortable with Max around. He was upset, that much was for certain, but there was also a twinge of jealousy there. The way his shoulders pulled taut and the way his six-foot-whatever stature seemed to grow with his anger worried me. The light in his eyes had flickered into a slow-burning ember, threatening to rage as the fire had grown within him. His entire demeanor had darkened and the pleasant, considerate man I’d come to know had temporarily shifted into something that could only be described as darkness.

That must’ve been the same darkness that fueled his paintings, and I was suddenly painfully aware of the morbidity of his paintings.

I took deep breaths and tried to calm myself. I drank my water and reveled in the silence. My mind drifted back to Bryan with his glistening smile and his bright eyes and his chiseled muscles. I thought about all the ways he’d held me close that morning while his body had connected with mine. I thought about all the places he’d kissed and nibbled and sucked, all the places I’d had to cover up with makeup I didn’t know how to wear.

I thanked my stars that Anna knew how to use concealer.

I picked up my bag of grapes as the door opened again. I braced, my gaze whipping up toward the door as every muscle in my body tensed. I was concerned that Max was back. I was concerned he was still going to be upset. I felt this unidentifiable dread waft up my throat that caused me to put my grapes back down on the counter.

But the moment I looked up and saw Bryan coming in, a smile crept across my cheeks.

“Well, hello there, handsome,” I said.

I could tell something was wrong. His face was serious, and his body was rigid. He strode over to me and enveloped me in his arms, pulling me closer and closer with every breath he took. I wrapped my arms around him and tried to calm him down, feeling his pulse quickening against my cheek while I sat there on my stool.

“Bryan,” I said. “What’s wrong?”

“I had dinner with my parents.”

“When?” I asked.

“Last night.”

He didn’t offer up any more than that, so I simply continued to hold him. I got up and turned us around, sitting him down on my stool before I grabbed another chair. I could tell he was rattled by whatever had happened last night, and every part of me wanted to press. But we were still in a delicate stage, and I didn’t want to push him away.

“Do you wanna talk about it?” I asked as I pulled up a chair.

“My parents, they’re just—”

I saw him clench his jaw before he drew in a long breath through his nose.

“I told them what you told me about John,” he said.

My blood ran cold. What had they said to him? What had happened at that dinner? Did they know the two of them were back together?

“Bryan, I should’ve been with you at that dinner,” I said as I took his hand.

“No, I’m glad you weren’t,” he said, sighing. “It was very telling of the people they’re determined to be.”

“What happened?” I asked. “What did they say?”

“They told me you were lying and that I needed to distance myself from people like you and Drew.”

“How did Drew enter the conversation?” I asked.

“He’s thinking of leaving the company to start his own tattoo parlor,” he said.

I reached out and wrapped my hands around his, pulling them to my lips for a series of long, warm kisses that seemed to relax him.

“I’m so sorry,” I said.

“I’m not. I want him to be happy. He’s very talented, and I know he’ll do well.”

“What else did they say?” I asked.

“They didn’t believe John was capable of becoming sober, much less doing what he could to save you. They accused you of moving to San Diego to track me down to get a piece of the other brother or something like that.”

I could see the hesitancy in his eyes, and I knew he’d been dwelling on that statement. I rose up and leaned closer to him, turning his gaze toward mine before I planted a small kiss on his lips. I felt him pucker them, but his body stayed rigid and rooted to the chair like he was spellbound by a curse.

“John and I were never intimate, Bryan, and I did not come to San Diego to track you down,” I said.

I saw him visibly relax as I sat back down in my chair.

“They’re determined to write John out of their life. They are perfectly happy with continuing to think he was a junkie who died by his own damn needle. So, I told them that until they were capable of seeing the monsters they’d turned into, they didn’t have to call me and shouldn’t expect me for dinners.”

I wanted to protest. I wanted to tell him that a relationship with his parents was important. I wanted to warn him about the road he was traveling down, about how lonely it was during birthdays and the holidays without parents to spend them with and without parents to call you or send you cards or get you gifts or wrap their arms around you.

But they had done and said so much to him, and I found it harder and harder to defend their relationship with him.

“Whatever you choose, I’ll support you,” I said.

“Thanks. But there’s one more thing.”

“What is it?”

“I need closure,” he said as tears filled his eyes. “I-I need a way to close that chapter in my life.”

“Bryan, whatever you need, I’ll do.”

“I want you to showcase John’s paintings.”

I felt my blood run cold as my hands tightened around his.

“I want you to put his paintings up on the walls of this gallery and sell them. I want to pay you for the space. Do a special nighttime thing to usher in his artwork before you run normal hours on them. I want to have wine and snacks and low-playing music, the whole nine yards. I want his paintings to see the light of day and find their homes like his cabin painting found me.”

I felt my heart take flight with his words. A small smile crossed my face as my eyes connected with his, and for an instant, I could’ve sworn I saw him grin.

“But I also think I need to do something else, something I haven’t been able to do in years.”

“Name it,” I said.

“I need to go see John’s grave. But I’m not sure I can go by myself.”

I skyrocketed out of my seat and threw my arms around him. His face buried into the crook of my neck, muffling his sniffles while we sat in the corner of my silent gallery. My stomach had stopped making noises, and my lunch had faded into the background. My nerves from my encounter with Max had abated, and the worries I had about continuing to showcase his art were completely gone.

That moment, all that mattered was Bryan’s bravery and strength being recognized as he tried to do the one thing I never thought he would bring himself to do.

“I’ll go with you whenever and wherever,” I said.

“Could we go now?” he asked. “Do you have the time?”

“I always have the time for you.”

I placed all my food back underneath the counter before I grabbed my things. I started turning off the lights and locking up, assuming this would take up the rest of my day. I left a small note of apology on my gallery door, boasting of a small sale tomorrow to make up for closing down early. I felt Bryan’s arm snake around my waist while he walked me to my car, and my eyes lifted to take in the diner across the road.

Max was standing there, watching my every move.

I stood at my car while Bryan continued to talk to me, but I couldn’t hear what he was saying. All I saw was Max’s piercing stare while he folded his arms across his chest. His body seemed taller than normal, and the shadows on his face played sharply across his features. His eyes stayed locked with mine while Bryan opened my car door for me, and it wasn’t until I dipped down into my car that Max moved to get into his.

That was it. I needed to let him know that I was no longer showcasing his artwork in my gallery.

“Do you want to follow me?” Bryan asked.

“Hmm?”

“I said, do you just want to follow me?” he asked.

“Oh, yes. I’ll follow you,” I said

“You okay?” he asked. “Getting another headache?”

“Actually, no. I haven’t had one of those in a while.”

“Good,” he said, grinning. “Because that head’s too pretty to hurt.”

I giggled at his lame attempt at a compliment before he dipped down and kissed my forehead. I cranked up my car and waited for him, following his truck out of the parking lot before we made our way out of town. I looked into my rearview mirror to see if I could spot Max and see if he was pulling out of the diner since we’d finally made our way out onto the street.

But the diner was already around the corner by the time I checked. ­­­I had no idea if he was still sitting there.