Page 17 of If You Never Come Back
I bury my face in my hands. “I did, like, six drawings and paintings of him. I didn’t tell him about it because I didn’t want to look like a creep, drawing him in my spare time. So I hid them behind the canvas on my easel.” I heave a breath. “He came over to surprise me with lunch the other day, and I bumped into the easel, knocking over every single one of my drawings. They landed face-up all over the floor. And he saw them. All of them.”
Remy makes a wincing noise through his teeth. “Yeah, that’s…”
I jerk my head up, my hands falling to my side. “Something a maniac would do, yes. I know.”
He grimaces. “Maybe he thought it was flattering?”
“I was standing there, watching him look at all the pictures. He was definitely not flattered. Shocked and horrified is more like it. He muttered ‘wow,’ then left. I haven’t heard from him since.”
Remy stutters for a good five seconds.
“The look on his face.” I groan. “He thinks I’m nuts, no question.”
A group of businessmen barges in, cackling loudly while making their way to the bar.
Remy gives my hand a squeeze. “We’ll talk more later.”
I nod at him before taking a breath so I can make it through the end of my shift.
* * *
Remy wrapshis arm around me as we close in on our apartment building after our shift.
“Don’t beat yourself up about this whole thing. What you did was sweet. If he can’t see that then…”
Remy stills in his tracks. I look up to see what’s distracting him and immediately lose my breath. There’s Wes, standing at the door of our apartment building.
“Oh damn,” Remy mumbles.
When Wes looks up, his gaze locks on mine. He offers a soft smile that reads more apologetic than anything. I take a breath, steadying myself. This must be it. He’s finally coming to end it.
We walk up to the door.
“Hey,” he says, his eyes darting between me and Remy.
“Wes. How’s it going?” He pulls me into a hug. “Stay strong. Call me later if you need anything.”
I nod into his shoulder. Remy walks into the building to his first-floor apartment. I turn back to Wes.
He flashes an unsure expression. “Can we talk?”
“Sure.”
The walk upstairs to my place is silent. When we’re inside, we shed our coats and shoes, then he settles on the couch.
“Something to drink?” I ask while walking into the kitchen.
“Um, okay.”
I have to close my eyes and grip the counter. Wes’s voice sounds so shaky. He must be so nervous about what he’s going to say to me. But then I swallow, open my eyes, and stand straight. This is just the way things go sometimes. I need to be an adult and accept it.
I grab the nearly full bottle of Dulce Vida tequila from my cabinet. It was a gift from Remy when I decided to go full-time with my art business. We took one shot together in celebration, then I stored it away.
With two glasses in my other hand, I carry it all to the couch and set them on the coffee table. When I sit down next to him, I make sure I’m giving him enough space. Even though everything in me aches to cuddle into him, that’s not appropriate. Not if he’s going to break up with me.
He stares down at his lap, his eyebrows knit. “I wanted to talk to you about…” He gestures to the space under my desk, where my drawings and paintings of him sit in a neat stack. Worst hiding spot ever.
“Right.”
