Page 38 of Brushed and Buried
Back in my room, I stand at the window overlooking the moonlit beach and try to make sense of what’s happening to me. For years, I’ve kept my life carefully compartmentalized. Football here, family there, everything else locked away in boxes I rarely open.
But Adrian keeps breaking through those walls, stirring up memories and feelings I thought were safely buried.
Outside my window, the ocean rolls endlessly against the shore, and I find myself wondering what it would feel like to let myself be swept away instead of always fighting the current.
I think about getting his number from Trevor, but some conversations can’t happen over text. Some truths require proximity, shared air, and the ability to see each other’s faces when the words are finally spoken.
Tomorrow, I will decide. I’ll find a way to bridge the gap I can’t even fully understand. I’ll try to figure out how to ask the questions I can’t quite form.
I’m still wondering when I finally fall asleep listening to the sound of the ocean, a constant reminder that some forces are too powerful to resist forever.
14
Vince
The resort café sits perched on a terrace overlooking the water, all weathered wood and potted palms that rustle in the morning breeze. The morning sun catches the water just right, turning it into a sheet of hammered silver. A few early joggers move along the beach path below us, and somewhere in the distance I can hear the rhythmic pop of tennis balls. It’s peaceful in a way that makes my shoulders relax.
I nurse my cup of coffee while Holly picks at a croissant and Lance scrolls through his phone, muttering about his ER workmates messaging him about extra shifts when he returns to the hospital.
“Where’s Adrian this morning?” I ask, trying to keep my voice even.
“Still sleeping, last I checked,” Holly says. “He was up late working on something. I heard him moving around the room until like two a.m.”
Lance glances up from his phone. “Working on what?”
“Art stuff. He gets into these phases where he can’t stop drawing.” Holly tears off a piece of croissant and pops it in her mouth. “He’s been sketching constantly since we got here.”
“Must be all the inspiration,” Lance says. “New faces, scenery, that whole artist thing.”
Holly laughs. “Something like that. Though I think he’s got a particular muse these days.”
She gives me a pointed look that makes heat creep up my neck. I take a long sip of coffee to cover my reaction. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Oh, come on,” Holly says, grinning. “Half of his sketches here so far have been of you. It’s nice to see him excited about his art again.”
My stomach does something complicated. “He’s been drawing me?”
“Constantly. And before you get all weird about it, they’re really good. Like, he’s brilliant. You should feel flattered. Adrian doesn’t usually…” She trails off, something shifting in her expression.
“Doesn’t usually what?”
Holly shrugs, but there’s something careful about it now. “Nothing. Just that he’s picky about his subjects.”
Lance sets down his phone, suddenly interested. “How long has he been into art? I mean, professionally?”
“Since college, I think. He’s done some work in the community where he’s from, something to do with boostinglocal art in the city.” Holly fidgets with her napkin. “He’s always been talented, but he went through this rough patch a few years back where he barely drew anything. It kind of broke my heart, honestly. He shifted into other forms of art. Digital art books for kids and adults, murals for local businesses, and some freelance illustration work. But not his usual thing, which is drawing people.”
“But he’s back to it now?” Lance asks.
“Oh yeah. Like I said, he’s been sketching nonstop since we got here.” Holly grins at me again. “I wonder what changed.”
I feel my face heat up again. “It’s probably the vibe of this place.”
“Maybe,” Holly says, but there’s something knowing in her tone that makes me uncomfortable.
I find myself only half-listening to the rest of the conversation when it shifts away from Adrian. I think about the careful way he holds his pencil, the confident strokes when he draws. The quiet pride in his expression when people praise his work.
After breakfast, Holly declares her intention to go to the resort spa, and Lance heads off to call a colleague at the hospital. I’m left alone with my thoughts and the urge to walk off the restless energy that’s been building in my chest all morning.
