Page 72 of My End
Theyhad done it.
And it was finally over.
“...Among the charges brought against Drake and Gibbs,” the anchor continued, “are attempted murder, fabricating physical evidence, conspiracy, and tampering with a witness. Investigators claim the two orchestrated a string of illegal activities aimed at covering up high-level political corruption and silencing those who stood in their way…”
Yarder leaned back in his chair and exhaled like he’d been holding his breath for years. “About fucking time,” he grunted.
“You’re welcome,” Stretch said and tossed a piece of sausage in his mouth with a smug grin.
Yarder gave him a look. “Foryougoing AWOL? You had us all fucking worried with that stunt you pulled.”
Stretch shrugged and was entirely too pleased with himself. “Yeah, but it worked. Boone and Gibbs are behind bars, and life can go back to normal for us.”
Yarder snorted. “Boone and Gibbs are behind bars because of that FBI agent. He spent over a year collecting evidence.”
Stretch leaned back in his chair, completely unbothered. “Yeah, but Ihelped.”
Yarder chuckled into his coffee. “Whatever helps you sleep at night, kid.”
Stretch slid his arm around my shoulders and pulled me in close. He pressed a kiss to the side of my head, and his lips brushed my temple. “Tilly’s the only thing that helps me sleep at night,” he said softly.
I leaned into him. “Well, that sleeping time is about to be sporadic for the next five weeks,” I teased. “I’m going to be painting my ass off.”
Stretch groaned, but it was playful. “You sure about this, sweetheart?”
I nodded. “I know it’s a crazy deadline, but I’m actually excited. Painting all of you and seeing the portraits lined up at theTreadpremiere? It’s gonna be amazing.”
“I still can’t believe you’re Tilly X,” Poppy said from across the table. She set her fork down and leaned forward, her eyes wide with awe. “Last night when you guys went to bed, IGoogledyou. All of your paintings areamazing.”
I blushed and tucked my hair behind my ear. “Thank you…”
Poppy grinned. “And can I just say that I am inabsolute awethat your portrait of Bon Jovi sold for over ten thousand dollars?”
Yarder choked on his coffee and coughed hard and slapped a hand to his chest. “Ten thousand dollars for a painting of Bon Jovi? Was it made of purefucking gold?”
Stretch didn’t even blink. “No. Just pure fuckingtalent.”
I laughed and waved them off. “That was an exception. Most of my paintings sell forwayless than that.”
Poppy laughed. “I mean, yeah, one thousand is cheaper than ten thousand, but damn, honey. You are one talentedpainter. We’re all lucky that you’re painting the guys for the premiere.”
“Wait, wait,” Yarder said, holding up his hands. “I think we need to discuss who’spayingfor these paintings before you do them.”
Everyone laughed.
“Saylor!” Yarder called toward the back hallway. “Who’s paying Tilly X?”
“The network,” she replied as she popped her head around the corner.
Yarder relaxed and wiped his brow in an exaggerated motion. “Thankfuck. I wasn’t about to fork over my savings for a portrait of our ugly faces.”
“I’ve painted worse,” I teased.
Stretch bumped my shoulder with his. “You better not be talking about me.”
I kissed him on the cheek. “You’re a masterpiece.”
He smirked. “Damn right.”
