Page 151 of Beyond the Stroke

“I wanted it.” He gestures toward both paintings. “I’m starting a collection.”

A collection?

I’m about to hyperventilate.

“I can’t explain it, but at the gala, when I saw it, it stirred something inside me. The lone swimmer at golden hour. The colors. The way the paint dried in this 3D effect.” His laugh comes out awestruck. “I guess I fell in love with it. I figured, being an artist, you’d understand it more than anyone.”

Rory wanted the paintings without knowing their connection to me. It makes the flutter of pride surging behind my ribs mean even more. Because it was one thing to find the Covey painting ofhis beach house and keep it, but to spend twenty-two thousand dollars on the painting at the gala? That was insane.

The pride I’d felt a moment ago has given way to panic.

Rory loves my art, but what if he loves it less if he finds out I painted it? I don’t want to disappoint him.

It may not be logical, but it’s those kinds of thoughts that have kept me painting in the shadows. It’s the remnants of hiding myself to please others. Doubting myself because all the outside voices were louder and quieted my confidence.

My chest tightens and I realize I’m not breathing.

When I finally attempt to suck in a breath, it’s shallow and I end up coughing.

“Summer, what—" Rory starts.

As the wheezing starts, I rush into the bathroom and pull open the drawer to grab my inhaler. Rory’s right behind me. A soothing presence as I take a deep inhale of my medication. With the inhaler piece between my lips, I glance up at him to find his eyes full of concern.

Once I’ve taken my medication, Rory lifts me up onto the counter. With his hands on either side of my thighs, he gives me enough space to breathe, but stays close enough to keep a watchful eye.

“That’s it,” he coaxes, his eyes scanning over my face and chest. “Deep breaths.”

I focus on his chest, how calmly it rises and falls.

We stay in this position for a while, until my breathing has evened out.

His hands lift to cup my face, then he lowers his head down until our foreheads press together.

“Talk to me, Summer. Please.”

“I forgot to take my medication earlier. I was busy and I guess I got too worked up. I’m sorry.”

He pulls back to study me.

“You don’t have to be sorry, but I do need you to be honest with me.”

I nod my head.

“Did me buying the Covey painting upset you? I think your art is brilliant. The swimmer painting you’re working on is priceless to me. Me liking the Covey paintings doesn’t mean I’m not obsessed with your art as well.”

But am I ready to reveal myself to Rory?

Haven’t I already?

One more deep breath and I shift Rory backwards so I can get off the counter. Taking his hand in mine, I lead him back into my art studio.

He doesn’t say anything as I move toward the closet.

Then, I open the door and pull him inside.

And for the first time in a long time, I don’t hold my breath.

Behind me Rory is silent, taking it all in. Maybe he doesn’t know what I’m showing him. Or maybe he does and is too shocked for words.

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