Page 13 of The Secrets We Built Together

Traveling around Europe was never going to be the answer for me. I might be doubting myself nearly every moment of every day, but something inside me resisted the idea of running awayagain. Maybe it was time to plant my own roots, see what might grow.

Even if that pink-haired distraction was going to make it a whole lot more complicated.

Chapter 5

Blake

Istared at the blank page of my sketchbook, pencil hovering an inch from the surface, frozen in that familiar paralysis. My small bedroom at Delaney and Trace's farmhouse was comfortable enough, but today it felt like a prison of my own memories. The afternoon sunlight streamed through the gingham curtains, dust motes dancing in the golden beams, but I couldn't find any beauty worth capturing.

Madison's face kept pushing into my thoughts.

Twelve years. Twelve years of silence, and then she appears out of nowhere right here at the farm, looking at me like a startled deer before bolting. She hadn't even stayed long enough for me to process that my sister—my only sister—was standing in front of me.

I sighed and set my pencil down, closing the sketchbook with a defeated thud. The blank pages mocked me, just as they had for months now. This creative block had been strangling me long before Madison showed up, but her sudden appearancehad only made the drought worse. My gallery opportunity was five months away, and I had exactly zero completed pieces. Six months of staring at empty pages and canvases with nothing to show for it.

"So much for the famous Blake Reynolds inspiration," I muttered to the empty room.

I wandered to the old cedar chest at the foot of my bed and flipped open the lid, digging into the bottom to the things I rarely acknowledged anymore. Inside was a worn shoebox tied with twine, a time capsule I both cherished and avoided. Taking a deep breath, I carried it to the small desk by the window and sat down as I untied the knot.

Inside were the few remnants I had of my past with Madison. Most of our childhood photos had been left behind when my parents had kicked me out, but I'd managed to grab a handful as I hastily left my life behind. On top was a silver picture frame, tarnished and damaged from being thrown into a bag with not enough care. The glass was cracked diagonally across Madison's smiling face. We were maybe ten and thirteen, arms wrapped around each other at some lakeside vacation I barely remembered.

I ran my finger across the crack, tracing the jagged line that separated us. It felt too symbolic to be coincidental. I'd kept meaning to repair it but somehow never found the time—or maybe I just couldn't bring myself to touch it, as if fixing the frame might acknowledge something I wasn't ready to face.

Other mementos filled the box: a friendship bracelet Madison had made me when we were kids, a chipped seashell from our last family vacation, a birthday card with her flowing script that read "Sisters Forever." I almost laughed at the irony.

Sisters forever. Until she left me to navigate the world alone.

I'd been sixteen when Delaney and her Aunt had taken me in. Madison was three years younger than me, but we'd still goneto the same school. We should have been able to see each other every day. But that was where the cruelty of my parents really shined through. Because she wasn't at school the next day. They moved her to a private school and made sure I never saw her again.

I picked up a polaroid from the bottom of the box. Madison at twelve, her hair wild and free, as she kicked her legs trying to make a swing go higher. Her head was tipped back as she laughed. So much joy lined her face. I remembered that day so clearly. A rare escape from our parents' constant oppressive surveillance. They'd gone to one of my father's work events and rather than staying at home to do our schoolwork like we'd promised, we left the house and spent the whole day at the park. Being kids like we rarely got the chance to be.

A year later, everything fell apart.

The familiar ache bloomed in my chest, the abandoned child inside me still wondering what I'd done wrong, why I wasn't enough to make her fight for me. It was a ridiculous thought, she’d only been a kid herself. But still it was a thought that had constantly haunted me for years. I twisted a strand of hair around my finger, an anxious habit I'd had since childhood. Round and round, tighter and tighter, until my scalp stung with the tension.

Delaney had once joked that I could be bald on one side if I kept it up. I released the strand and pushed the memory away.

I propped the damaged frame against my closed sketchbook. Maybe this was what I needed to face—not the perfect landscapes combined with abstract emotions I'd been forcing, but this broken piece of my past. A raw, gritty look at a broken past. It would be unlike anything I’d ever done before. Or maybe it was a sign I should stop forcing it altogether. Maybe my time as an artist was over.

The thought sent a cold wave through me. Who was I if I wasn’t an artist? But six months of nothing... maybe it was time to accept reality.

"Blake?"

I jumped at the sound of Delaney's voice from the hallway.

"In here," I called, hastily wiping at the tears I hadn't realized I'd been crying.

Delaney appeared in the doorway, her face brightening when she saw me. "There you are. You weren't answering your phone, and I got worried."

"Sorry, I was..." I gestured vaguely at the desk, not really sure how to explain what I was doing.

Her eyes caught on the damaged frame, and her expression softened. "Oh, Blake."

"I haven't looked at these things in years," I said, the words tumbling out.

Delaney crossed the room and settled on the edge of my bed across from the desk. She picked up the frame gently, studying the photo within.

"You two look so much alike," she said quietly.

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