Page 67 of Mine for a Moment

I’m shaking as I walk through my front door, desperate for a glimpse of her and knowing I won’t find it. She removed every trace of her, of us, and I finally understand why. She was giving me a blank canvas, not realizing I don’t want it. I want her, and her kaleidoscope of colors.

“Archer,” Tyra says as I walk into the living room, her voice trembling. I find her sitting on the floor wearing her old pointe shoes, pain written all over her face. Guilt grips me hard and fast, and I kneel beside her, trying my hardest to set aside my own feelings, so I can be the man Serenity believes I am. It’s harder than ever before, and even as I stare at the tears in Tyra’s eyes, I fight the urge to tell her all about Serenity, and how much I fucking love her.

“Hey,” I gently murmur instead, taking in the way she’s cupping her ankles, unsure what to do or say. I’ve learned that often she just needs me to sit with her, so that’s what I do, breaking my own heart in the process. I try my hardest to clear my mind, giving her the support she deserves. “I see you’re trying on your old shoes. These were your favorites, weren’t they?”

She raises her face to look at me, tears in her eyes. “There were only two things I thought of every time I needed my mind to take me elsewhere—you and dancing again.” She sniffs, her breathing uneven. “Whenever I could, I’d practice in secret…until one day I got caught.”

She buries her face in her hands, a sob tearing through her throat. “He broke my legs, telling me not to even dream of dancing in front of an audience again, showing off my body onstage when it should only be for his eyes.”

Fuck. Tyra’s therapist has been visiting every day, but Ty hasn’t said much about what happened beyond telling us that she was taken by a stalker and held in his basement all that time. I had an idea of what she must’ve gone through, but hearing it makes me feel like the biggest fucking asshole for ever even dreaming of leaving her to find Serenity. Before anything else, Tyra was one of my closest friends, and I need to remember that.

I carefully take her into my arms, and she throws her arms around my neck as I try my best to console her. “I’ll kill him myself the second he’s found,” I whisper, fury rushing through me.

“You don’t need to,” she whispers. “I pulled the trigger myself. The man you sent…Elijah…he offered me his gun, and I took it. They’ll never find him.”

Shock courses through me, and I tighten my grip on her as she cries her heart out for everything she lost, everything she’s endured, everything she had to do. All the while, I can’t believe she’s here with me. I can’t believe her strength and her courage, and fuck, I can’t believe my own goddamn selfishness.

“I can’t dance anymore,” she cries. “My legs didn’t heal right, and it hurts too much. I lost one of the two things I loved most, Arch. You’re all I have left.”

“Ty,” I whisper, my heart aching. “I…” My eyes flutter closed, and I sigh as I hug her tightly. “Yeah,” I tell her, swallowing down every other response. “You’ve got me, Ty. For as long as you need me.”

Fifty-Seven

Serenity

The edges of my lips turn up as I place my easel on the balcony of my room in an adorable bed-and-breakfast in Rome. It isn’t quite a smile, but my heart feels a little less heavy today. It’s been weeks, and still, I haven’t stopped thinking about Archer for more than a few moments. Everything I do reminds me of him, and little pieces of him are in every painting I’ve created. He’s become my muse, and he doesn’t even know it.

My heartache eases just a touch as a familiar scene begins to take form on my canvas. The memory makes my stomach flutter, and I sigh as I paint yet another piece for my popular Lovers collection. I started creating videos of my painting process, and they’ve gone so viral that all my work sold out quicker than I could’ve imagined, and the demand is higher than I ever thought would be possible.

This time, I’m painting silk sheets, red tulips, and messy hair, laughter and playfulness meeting bold provocation and sensuality. It’s us. The very best parts of us.

My hand slips when my phone begins to buzz, and I take asteadying breath as I reach for it, bracing myself for what I know I’ll find.Tyra. I paste on a smile before accepting the video call and placing my phone on the windowsill, so she can see me easily.

“Hi, sweetheart,” she says, smiling across my screen. “How is my favorite girl doing?” she asks, positioning her phone on the edge of Archer’s sofa. I’ve gotten a bit more used to it, but her familiarity with his home still hurts every single time. “Tell me all about Rome.”

It’s odd how I’m filled with both joy and sorrow at the sight of her. Seeing how well she’s doing now makes it all worth it, but I’m trying my best not to think too hard of the implications of it all and what Archer is doing to make her look like that. “Rome is wonderful,” I tell her, genuine delight in my voice. “Truly the best ice cream I’ve ever had. Honestly, I might just stay here for the ice cream alone.”

She laughs, and I stare at her in disbelief. It took weeks for her to even start smiling, and I wasn’t sure I’d ever hear her laughter again, yet here she is, the same honorary older sister I thought I’d lost forever. I knew leaving was the right thing to do, but it hurts to wonder how Archer put that smile back on her face.

“You can’t stay,” she says, grinning. “I already miss you too much as it is, and I think both Ezra and Archer might actually cry if you so much as joked about it. They miss you too.”

My smile slips a fraction at the sound of his name, and I look down. I don’t miss the possessive tone, and it hurts more than she’ll ever know. When I first left, Archer tried calling me every day, but gradually, those calls and texts started to come every few days, until eventually, they stopped. I knew they would, and I knew it was for the best, but even so, I find myself startling a little each time my phone buzzes, in hopes that it’s him.

“Anyway, tell me about your paintings. I want to hear everything!”

I glance back at my canvas, debilitating shame coursing throughme when I realize that I was painting someone that never should’ve been mine, not even for a moment. I have no doubt that it’s all in the past for him, a sordid affair he’d rather forget about. Yet here I am, painting our secrets for the world to see. What is it I’m trying to accomplish? Is it truly just a form of therapy, or was I looking for a reaction I’ll never get?

“I sold every single one of them,” I tell her, my voice trembling. “For far higher prices than I ever thought possible and far quicker than I expected.”

She gasps excitedly, and I take in the pure pride and joy on her face. Her love for me is clear as day, and it’d kill me if she ever looked at me with disappointment and betrayal. I never should’ve done what I did.

“Did you tell your mom about that?” she asks carefully.

I smile ruefully. “No,” I murmur, unable to hide my disappointment. “She still won’t speak to me. I just…I just don’t get it. I’m making more now than I would have as a junior at any firm. It’s not like I’m a starving artist, like she thought I’d be, so why can’t she—”

“Give it time,” Tyra says, her tone reassuring. “Sometimes it’s hard, you know? To admit that you were wrong without your pride getting hurt. Maybe that’s all it is, Ser.”

I nod and pick up my brush, suddenly unable to paint. The same scene that soothed my aching heart just moments ago now sickens me. What was I thinking, painting Archer and me together like that? No one would know it’s us, but he would. He’d know, and he’d hate it. He wouldn’t want any reminders of us to exist, and that’s exactly what this is.

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