Page 60 of Everything We Left Behind

“Which is what?”

“You’re not ready to paint.”

“Well ...,” he says, rising and brushing off his shorts. “Send me a memo when you figure out when that’ll be.” He means it jokingly but the crass undertones are unavoidable.

“Oh, I already know.” Her tone matches his. She stands and takes his empty bottle. “You’ll start painting again when you stop hating on yourself and your life.”

He tenses. Carlos didn’t write anything about Natalya’s bluntness. Other than telling her last December he didn’t need her help, he can’t figure out what he’s done to deserve the icy attitude she keeps tossing his way.

“You’ve got me all figured out.” He crosses his arms. “What’s your story? Who the hell are you, Natalya?”

“Didn’t Carlos write all about my deep, intimate secrets?”

James clicks his tongue. “Ah ... so you know what he wrote about in the journals.”

Her face turns crimson in the pale light. “I’ve read some parts.” She takes a deep drink of beer and he doesn’t have to guess about the parts she’s referring to. Like his paintings, Carlos’s writing was very detailed.

“Awkward.” The word echoes in her bottle. She looks sad and he can’t help feeling like an ass.

“I don’t remember anything about, um ... us.” He motions between them.

She presses her lips tight and nods. Her eyes glisten. “Maybe it’s for the best. It’ll make tomorrow easier.”

“What happens tomorrow?”

“I call the attorney so he can start drafting the adoption papers.”

CHAPTER 18

CARLOS

Five Years Ago

August 15

San Jose, California

A muffled noise echoed through the room. It sounded like a hammer pounding nails into walls, but felt as if it were happening inside my head. White-hot pain shot across my scalp.

Thump, thump, thump.I peeled open sleep-crusted eyes to a dark room. I blinked and blinked again, trying to adjust to the pitch-blackness.

Thump, thump, thump.“Carlos!” My name came through the walls.

Memories from last night, or lack of them, scattered inside my brain like tumbleweeds on an empty road. No direction and completely at the wind’s mercy. At some point in the morning hours, I’d closed the privacy shade to block the sunlight. I couldn’t see shit.

I ground the heels of my palms into my eye sockets.

Thump, thump, thump.“Open the damn door, Carlos, before I call the front desk and demand they do it for me.”

“Coming,” I croaked. I rolled out of bed, stumbling to a knee. The migraine that burned like a forest fire had waned during the night, but my body ached, muscles stiff from sleeping hard the last few hours.

I pushed to my feet and felt my way to the door, hands in front of me seeking walls. I jammed my big toe on the desk chair and swore. The impact radiated up my shin. I shoved the chair I didn’t remember leaving out back under the desk.

Thump, thump—

I fumbled with the lock and opened the door.

Nat’s eyes rounded like a cat caught off guard. She gasped, then the tension melted. “You’re here. Thank God.” Her gaze lowered and her eyes went buggy again. “You’re naked.” She slapped palms against my chest and pushed me back into the room. The door slammed shut behind her.

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