Page 35 of If You Never Come Back
“None of that matters anymore,” I say. “Can you just tell me one thing?”
Colin’s face twists in hesitation, but he nods anyway.
“Is he okay? Like, I know he’s not my business anymore, but…if you’ve heard from him, it would just be nice to know that he’s, you know…not dead.”
I hate how meek and pathetic my shaky voice sounds, but it’s the best I can do while battling this wave of nostalgia and emotion.
Colin sighs. “I’ve spoken to him on the phone. He’s doing fine.”
Relief courses through me. Wes may have hurt me, but I still care about him as a human being. I still want him to be okay.
“Good.” When I say it, I truly mean it. But this one thought, this one mention of Wes is all I’ll allow myself. I need to keep focusing on moving forward, on continuing to be the driven, career-focused person I’m working so hard to be.
Colin and I turn back to watch Mari work her magic on her turntable, her hands moving in a graceful symphony.
“Damn, she’s something,” Colin says. “The way she moves, the kind of music she’s making, the way she works a crowd…it’s incredible.”
I pivot to him, noticing something extra in his gaze. He’s not looking at her in awe like the rest of the concert-goers. His stare is of pure admiration. And I recognize it immediately—it’s the same way Wes used to look at me.
Colin is more than just a hardcore fanboy of Mari. Something about Mari Dash sets him off in the best way.
An idea pops in my head. “How would you like me to put in a good word for you to Mari?”
Colin’s eyes light up as he seems to understand exactly what I’m saying. Pink colors his cheeks, and he shoves his hands in the pockets of his trousers in an adorably bashful move.
“I don’t know if I’m her type. She’s a celebrity. I’m just a guy who rehabs crumbling buildings.”
I smile at him. “She appreciates a down-to-earth mentality more than you’d think. How about I give her your number?”
A wide grin splits his face. “Seriously?”
“I’d be happy to.”
Chapter Twelve
Ihunch over on my knees on the floor of my apartment, laying out a handful of paintings so they can dry. A loud knock at my door jerks me into a sitting-up position.
“Shay! You in there?” Remy booms.
I stand up and answer the door. He stands, takeout bag in hand. “You didn’t answer my text, so surprise lunch delivery it is.”
“Sorry, I’ve been slammed. I haven’t had a chance to look at my phone all day.”
We side-step around random piles of boxes and paintings until we’re at my couch, and plop down.
Remy crinkles his nose. “Have you had a chance to take an honest look at your apartment at all?”
I shove his shoulder, then swipe the food container from his hand. The sweet and savory smell of pad thai hits my nose. My stomach grumbles.
Remy stands up and walks the few feet to the kitchen for two glasses of water. “Damn. I can hear that all the way up here. Have you eaten at all since I saw you last week?”
“Of course I’ve been eating.” I rip open a pair of chopsticks and dig into the noodles. “Just not regularly.”
Ever since Mari’s concert, I’ve been busier than before. She took a photo of me signing my artwork in her dressing room, then we took a selfie together after her concert. When she posted those photos on her social media accounts, my orders flew through the roof once more. I spent all of December and January working twelve-hour days to keep up with the orders, only taking Christmas Day and New Year’s Eve off to visit my family for a few hours.
“You’re looking a bit scrawny these days.” Remy settles back next to me and places the glasses on my coffee table.
I roll my eyes while chewing.
