Chapter Eight

One month later

 

“Beautiful, Jaymerson. You have a keen eye.” My art instructor strolled behind me, leaning over to study my sketches. Drawing wasn’t my favorite part, but this assignment gave me joy and excitement.

Our class descended on the breathtaking, mystical town of Fiesole, right outside of Florence. A place full of old ruins, red-roofed houses, rolling hills, and mystery that floated in the air like the sunbaked vineyards. About a dozen of us students scattered around the site. We drew what was no longer there, filling in the remnants of what time had stolen away over the centuries. It was a great assignment for someone who wanted to restore art. We had to absorb the surroundings, understand the history, the time period, and show others what was possible, what was there, hiding from the unseeing eye.

Art history and science had been subjects I loved in school, but Dad always pushed me more into the physical therapy area of science and health, following in his footsteps. But with each passing day, I knew it was not what I wanted to do. Restoring artifacts brought my two worlds of science and art together. And being in the land of the great artists like da Vinci, Raphael, Michelangelo, and Giotto, only affirmed what my heart and soul wanted. It filled me with excitement, joy, and wonder. I was still new to the art world, but I was insatiable, spending most afternoons after class in art museums, reading everything I could.

I lifted my head and took in the gorgeous vista of the Italian town, the green lush trees and smell of roasting tomatoes and olives soaked into my senses.

“Seriously, Jayme, you have a gift.” She leaned in closer.

Mrs. Colleen Russo was a young American teacher who came abroad and ended up falling in love with the place and staying. She was an incredible artist and one of the warmest people I ever met. She and I really bonded. One night over a glass of wine, she told me how her life before had been completely different. She said when her mom died, she looked up and realized how miserable she was, in her life, her job, her relationship. She broke up with her fiancé, quit her dead-end job, and flew to Florence to take a job as an art instructor for the American college. She instantly fell in love with the people, the city, the life they lived here. She met her husband a year later and was still blissfully in love.

“When we met I was happy with my life, who I was. We met and it was magic, like both our paths had been leading to each other, waiting for us to work out all our problems so we were both ready to really be in a relationship. To let love in. He wasn’t the reason I was happy, but he added to it.”

I had downed the rest of the bottle after that, not wanting to let anything in. Especially love. It had only destroyed me.

“I’ve never met someone with such a developed eye who has never studied before.” Her voice brought me back to the present. She ran her finger down the side of my sketchpad, shaking her head. “I think I’m going to recommend you for the internship this year at the Accademia Gallery.”

“Wh-what?” I sputtered, whipping around to her. “The museum that holds Michelangelo’s David? And Botticelli’s Madonna of the Sea? That Accademia Gallery?”

She laughed, standing up straight. “Yes, that one.”

“Oh my god, yes… What do I have to do? Do they need a kidney? A lung? I can live without a leg… I need my hands, but an ear is fine.”

She full belly-laughed at my rant. “Calm down, Jayme.” She grinned, brushing her shoulder-length brown hair back, the hot sun making it stick to her neck. Dressed in a flowy, long skirt and tank with a tan floppy hat to block the intense July sun, she looked every bit the American in Italy. The young local Italian women, at least in the city, dressed to the nines and seemed obsessed with shoes that could dent even the most robust credit card. Only Americans believed the local women ran around barefoot in flowing skirts and stomped on barrels of grapes to make wine.

“The internship is highly sought after, as you might figure. They only pick a few, and the application is more competitive than Harvard. But they always take our recommendations seriously because they are through the school. The chances are slim, especially because you’re new, but I still want to add your name.”

“Oh Colleen. Thank you.” On the first day she’d demanded we call her by her first name, the summer course more informal and relaxed. The entire class had grown close and went out to dinner and explored the city together a lot. My roommate, Sammie, had been the quiet, reserved girl back home. She came here and all that changed. Now she was going to bars every night and flirting with the Italian boys. She tried to drag me out, but most of the time I refused, my heart too heavy to haul it to a bar, smile, and pretend I was happy.

I did experience some happiness: in class, watching the sunset on the Ponte Vecchio bridge, and exploring other museums and towns. Yet, around people, especially around guys, I felt empty.

“Don’t say thank you yet; wait until you see the application.” Colleen pushed up her large sunglasses. “But I think you can do it. Like I said, you have a gift most take years and years to obtain.” She touched my shoulder before drifting off to the next student.

Excitement pinwheeled in my chest, sparking like fireworks. Holy shit. That would be a dream. To be an intern at the Accademia. Hell, even if my duty was retrieving coffee and rubbing down David with a diaper, I was game. David was beautiful, and you could see Michelangelo’s attention to detail. He had to have been in love with that Adonis. But when I first walked up to it, Sammie dying beside me, I shrugged.

“I’ve seen a lot bigger.”

“Really?” Sammie burst out laughing, peering around nervously, her eyes widening. “You’ve had sex?”

“Yeah.” I sighed. Oh, did I. And I’d be lying if I said it was only my heart that missed Hunter. He opened Pandora’s box and damned if my hormones were going back in. It was severely embarrassing how much I wanted to “scratch that itch” with his image in my head.

When I walked onto the plane, I tried to cut out everything to do with Hunter and Colton. My parents tried to hide their glee we parted ways, almost pushing me on the plane to leave. Stevie ran back to New York, both of us pledging no more supercross riders or even talk of them. She was on an older woman kick now, saying she loved them because they wanted nothing from her except a good time.

I had no idea how Hunter was doing. Most days in Italy, where nothing reminded me of him, I could almost forget.

Almost.

As if he were the one who died, Hunter’s “ghost” haunted me every night, plaguing my dreams. And not all of them were gut-wrenching. It was particularly embarrassing to wake my roommate groaning so loud because my dreams were that vivid. Poor Sammie.

Funny, I’d always seen myself as naive, but being around her, I felt like I was “her Stevie.” After the accident, I looked at things differently, and being here only opened my world up more.

“Okay, class, let’s head back!” Colleen yelled to us. Collecting my supplies, I hooked my bag on my shoulder, strolling down the crumbling steps. My sundress clung to me in the hot afternoon sun.

“Jayme?” Sammie waved, jogging up to me. She was short and curvy, with a round face, and curly short hair, which she had “daringly” dyed red the second week we were here. Every day was like watching a caterpillar blossom into a butterfly. She told me she’d had a horrible time in high school, picked on for her weight and looks, making her feel worthless. But here men hit on her all the time; her happy smile, curves, and bright green eyes were enticing. “You’re going out with us tonight, right?”

“Uh.”

“Come on, pleeeeaaasse.” She pressed her hands together, pleading. “I feel so much better when you’re there, and you know Grant is dying for you to come.” She shaded her eyes at the tall blond strolling our way. I tried to not sigh. “He has it bad for you, girl. Not like anyone wouldn’t.” She snorted loudly, waving her hand over me. “You’re like a freakin’ Abercrombie model.”

“Jayme.” Grant’s slightly British accent was always stronger when he was either drunk or talking to me. He grew up in the States, but his mother was British. Since our first class, he’d been after me. Grant was cute and nice. Any girl would find his attention thrilling. But I was dead inside, except for the brief moments Hunter entered my dreams.

“You coming with us tonight?” He smiled, showing off his beautifully white teeth. “Actually, I’m not taking no this time.” He chuckled. “We’re going to this American sports bar to watch the game. Come on, you have to come with us.”

“Pleeease.” Sammie hopped around in front of me, begging.

“I don’t think so.”

“Pleasepleasepleaseplease,” Sammie repeated until I thought my ears were going to bleed.

“Fine. Okay. Just stop, please.” I laughed, waggling my head, my ponytail snapping against the backs of my bare arms. “I give up. You guys win.”

“Yay!” They high-fived each other, Grant wrapping his arm around Sammie, squeezing her into him jubilantly. The guy was always happy. “We finally broke her!” His hugging her caused a blush to spread over Sammie’s cheeks. She told me one night she had a crush on him but knew he’d never look at her like that and was just happy he considered her a friend. I wanted to tell her differently, but I didn’t know if Grant would. So far he treated her like a buddy, his focus on me. I wasn’t going to be the one who gave her hope if there was none. But I reminded her all the time how beautiful she was and to go after what she wanted. Life was too short and could be taken at any moment.

“Okay, I’ll text you later, but we’ll probably grab something to eat around nine or ten, then head out.” He grinned widely again, excitement dancing in his eyes. It was a culture shock to find most southern European countries ate extremely late, having a large lunch. Then if you were part of the “youth” culture, you headed off to clubs for the night.

“Okay.” Crap, I really didn’t want to go, but I did need to stop hiding. I told Hunter the reason I had to leave was to not become a shell and to live my life. I needed to start doing that.

Could I start on that tomorrow? Maybe next week?

 

 

The bar was packed, the warm evening amplifying the heat rising off the swarm of bodies in the bar. Classic American rock music pumped from the speakers. A group of girls already swayed and sang in the middle of the dance floor to the lyrics of Bon Jovi. This bar was mainly filled with students from the many American colleges scattered around Florence and sprinkled with a few locals watching the multiple American games playing on the TV monitors.

“Come on, girls!” Grant and his roommate and friend, Quentin, stood at the bar, waving us to come join them along with some others from our class. “Tequila time!” Grant motioned to the string of shot glasses running down the bar.

I didn’t even bother fighting it. If I was going to be here, I might as well try and have fun.

“Whoo-hoo!” Grant handed me a pint of cider and cheered as I guzzled mine, the taste always taking me back to the night in the parking lot with Hunter, Stevie, and Chris. “Another!” He handed me a second one.

Sammie was already flushed with alcohol, her cheeks so red they almost looked painful. “Let’s dance.” She grabbed my arm. “Come on!”

“Need at least one more for that.” I laughed, already enjoying the way the alcohol unlocked my muscles, as well as the grip on my mind and heart. It also numbed my emotions along with the stiffness in my hip and leg.

With my new life, my new group of friends, no one knew my past, what I had gone through in the last year, and I preferred it that way. It was like starting fresh. No pity or censor. I could be free to be myself. Nobody here knew I had been in a horrible accident, had to learn to walk again, or been an outcast nicknamed a “brother fucker” for most of my senior year. But when my leg hitched or the pain flared up, I was brought back to reality, reminding me my past was always hovering on the fringes.

After another drink, my blood warmed, loosening my muscles into thinking they could dance. I let Sammie drag me out into the dance floor, pulling Grant and Quentin with me.

Grant turned to me to dance, his smile wide, his blue eyes glinting with so much enthusiasm it made me feel guilty. I would never be interested in him beyond a friend, but the alcohol had me smiling and laughing as he tried to do some awful dance moves while moving closer to me.

More people joined us from our group as we wiggled our hips and loudly sang song after song to the music. Sweat trickled down the back of my neck, my tank sticking to my chest while I waved my arms in the air, a huge grin on my face.

“See, luv?” Grant leaned into my ear, his accent sliding over me like silk. “You’re having a brilliant time, aren’t you?”

I shrugged, trying to hide my smile but couldn’t stop enjoyment from parting my lips.

“Told you.” He moved in even closer, his lips brushing my ear, a hand running up my back. From across the circle, Sammie waggled her eyebrows at me, not sly at all in encouraging me to pursue his advances.

I was young, single, abroad, where I should have been letting go, experiencing life and trying different things. There was no reason, besides my stupid heart, that should stop me kissing Grant. And I had learned my heart was not to be trusted. It was an idiot.

Still, I stepped back, needing a bit of air, not knowing how I felt anymore. “I’ll be right back. Going to the bathroom,” I said to Grant, pushing out of the circle, strolling to the back where the line for the ladies’ room already stretched down the hallway.

I only got halfway when my hazy vision landed on one of the TV screens. My legs turned to cement, pinning me to the floor, an audible gasp erupting from my chest.

Motorbikes jumped and sped through a dirt obstacle course, flames sprouting from the checkered line as a bike crossed it. No sound came from the TV, but I could see the stands going crazy, signs waving and bobbing in the audience.

Ice licked down my spine, spreading over each bone, my chest heaving out tiny violent puffs. My gut knew before I even saw the results, my soul stretching through the monitor, feeling him. My heart scaled up my throat when his picture popped up on the screen declaring him the winner.

Seeing him tore apart every little wound I’d barely patched together. I soaked in every detail like a starving animal: the dark hair my nails had run through, the strong jaw and scruff my fingers had trailed over, the dimple my lips had kissed, the mouth I had declared as mine… .

The picture disappeared from the monitor, the camera changing to a reporter from a sports channel standing with a smiling Hunter.

My legs wobbled, my hand going to my chest, trying to keep my heart from falling out. The fans were going crazy around him, and his blue eyes shimmered with excitement and wonder as he waved to the crowd while the reporter tried to talk to him. He nodded, his mouth moving, a cheeky grin tugging at his dimple as he spoke. Happiness glowed from him. That joy cut me to the core. He was fine without me. Better. Winning and following his dreams.

A figure moved in next to him, his grin tipping higher on one side as the raven-haired girl wrapped her arms around him, pulling his face down into a deep kiss. And I watched him kiss her back.

A guttural noise shuddered from my chest. The last tiny remnants of my not-quite-mended heart tore into pieces.

Veronica and Hunter broke apart. He chuckled, shaking his head, turning back to the reporter. Something in me shifted in that moment. Watching them obliterated me, but it also woke me up. I had been holding on to Hunter, no matter if it was my decision to walk away. In my heart I still had hope.

He was not pining for me, broken-hearted, waiting for me to return home. He had moved on. And was doing well. Happy. Back on top.

All because I wasn’t there.

This was probably a blessing in disguise for him. All the links to his painful past were gone, letting him start fresh and grow.

My lashes fluttered, and I swallowed over and over, trying to keep the tears from breaking through and flooding the floor.

“Jayme?” A hand touched my elbow, Grant’s voice drifting over my shoulder. “I was looking for you.”

Not trusting myself to talk, I took another shaky breath.

“Hey, are you all right?” He leaned in, brushing the curtain of hair away from my face. I stared at the TV one more time. The interview had ended and now Hunter stood back, waving at the stands, but my attention was fixed on the hand that stayed pressed to his lower back, running over his ass a few times. Veronica lapped up the attention, her face filled with adoration and pride. Everything about her was fake, and I had no doubt her affection for him was more about the attention, but it didn’t matter… They were together again. I knew it in my bones.

“Jaymerson?”

Shutting my lids briefly, I inhaled deeply, then turned to Grant, whose eyebrows bunched up in concern.

“Yeah.” I nodded, forcing a smile onto my face. “I’m good.”

“You want another drink?” He pointed at the bar.

“Yes.” I stepped to him, looking up into pale blue eyes. Nothing like the vibrant blue eyes I used to stare into. Grant was a few inches under six foot, but still taller than me, his blond hair and slight build were opposite of my typical type. Yet I suddenly didn’t care if my stomach didn’t twist with excitement or yearn for his kiss.

The way he looked at me, wanted me, felt good. He was exactly what I needed to help me forget. I had been given a second chance to experience life, and I was tired of not living it.

A skeptical grin hitched up the side of Grant’s mouth as my body pressed into his. His eyebrows lifted, moving even closer, not hesitating a moment at my change of heart.

“And what would you like?”

“For you to kiss me.” I had no qualms telling him. Whatever snapped inside of me obliterated fear. He could agree or turn me down and neither would bother me. Nothing could hurt me anymore.

“Bloody hell, Jayme…” He breathed in, cupping my face. “I’ve been waiting since day one for you to say that.” He brought my face to his, his mouth taking mine. His kiss was nice, and I let myself fall into it, forgetting where I was or who I was.