Page 94 of Hard Rock Deceit
I tried to take heart that August had such good friends, but it didn't stop the worry gnawing in my chest. Who knew what could have happened in the week and a half since I'd last seen him? For all I know he could have overdosedagainand—
I clenched my fists and shook my head. I refused to contemplate those defeatist thoughts. We'd find August, we'd make him see reason, we'd get him cleaned up. And then, as Damon kept saying, we'd figure out what to do fromthere.
I found myself at the art gallery only a few days later. There were a lot more than the few dozen people Ashford had described. The place seemed packed with at least a hundred. I wasn't readyforthis.
But it was too late to back out. People were already chatting about my work, mentioning my name with curiosity, wanting to know more about theartist.
When the gallery owner stood on a small raised platform at the front of the room, my pulse spiked. I had no idea what he said to the crowd up until I heard him say my name. My vision went fuzzy around the edges. Ashford nudged me in the ribs. I walked to the stage onautopilot.
"Let's hear a few words from one of our artists," the owner announced with a smile, gesturingtome.
My fingers went cold. I opened my mouth to speak but nothing came out. I had no idea why any of these people would care what I had to say. Besides, wasn't it enough that I poured my soul into my art? Did they need to know everything I'd beenthinking,too?
I don't know why she thought anyone would care about me. I just takephotos.
I'd said those very words to August after my firstinterview.
Because I'm not the only one who sees passion in your art,he'dreplied.
It's all thanks to you. You're the one who helped drawitout.
Don't thank me yet. I'm not donewithyou.
I could feel the phantom touch of August's hands, his teasing fingers, drawing passion and pleasure frommybody.
I took a deep, slowbreath.
"Hi." My voice came out weak, shaky. I cleared my throat. "I'm Cassie Blake. I'm one of the artists here tonight." I paused, trying to remember what I'd planned to say. All those carefully thought out words fled my brain. "I've never really been sure what I should say about my art. I just take photos and let them speak forthemselves."
I glanced at Ashford. He nodded, encouraging me tocontinue.
"But recently I've been thinking about what drives me. What sort of motivation I have behind my work. What sort of message I want to convey." My breathing was coming easier now. "All artists use art to express ourselves. We use art as a catalyst, as a way to work through our thoughts and feelings. Even feelings we may not beconsciousof."
Avid murmurs filled the room. I ignored it andcontinued.
"We use art to wrestle with our demons, to bring them to light and triumph over them. It's a form of catharsis. It's intimate and it's scary and it's hard. But in the end, we're better artists for it. And I think, through our art, we become betterpeople."
Ashford's expression was one of pride, beaming andnodding.
The owner took the stage again to introduce the next artist to speak. I slowly made my way to the ladies room, shaking hands with a few people here and there who stopped me ontheway.
Leaning against the sink, hands pressed into the counter, I looked at my reflection in the mirror. No wide deer-in-the-headlights look. No flushed cheeks. I didn't look frazzled or terrified. My heart wasn't even pounding allthathard.
I hadn't planned on saying any of that. I hadn't even known I'd been thinking anything like that. But the words I'd said felt true. They feltright.
My phonepinged.
I scrambled in my purse for it, hoping it wasDamon.
Cassie, it read.Please come. Ineedyou.
My heart jumped into my throat as I read the lastwords.
I can't do thisalone.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Iranout of the gallery in a flurry, not stopping when Ashford tried to flag me down. Ignoring all speed limits, I got to August's place as fast as Icould.
