Painted On My Heart

Honestly, in the sacred space of this studio, with no one else around, Kellus had let his mind go. Now, staring at the canvas, he saw all the little things that he’d refused to consider while in Arik’s presence. The guy had the most amazing eyes, framed by thick, dark lashes—a complete contrast to his blond hair. He’d even gotten the strong angle of his jaw, and the full pout of his tempting lips. Kellus was pleased at the progress so far. It would take a few days to finish this portrait, but at least he could focus on something else now that he’d gotten all the subtleties down on canvas.

Intending to move on to another project, Kellus ignored the large clock on the wall that read two forty-five in the morning. A yawn he’d been holding back escaped as he continued to stand there, staring at the unfinished canvas of Arik Layne’s face. It had been a while since he’d been compelled to paint anyone just out of his own interest. The last time had been when his family and closest friends had surprised him with their impromptu intervention. He’d spent hours afterward painting their concerned yet frustratingly resigned looks when he’d explained in all finality that he wasn’t going to give up on John, no matter what they wanted. Of course, they had been right in everything they’d said. There had been no way to make them understand the much larger picture and that it had nothing to do with the right or wrong decisions he had made. Kellus hadn’t been able to give up on the guy who’d been the most important person in his life for most of his life.

Back then, he’d been convinced family didn’t do that to each other.

At the time, he hadn’t quite reasoned that was exactly what they were doing to him. He wasn’t sure he even understood that to be their message until he’d studied the picture of them sitting in his living room. His family had cut him off that day, and in return, he’d given John the power to control him. John had been a leech before, but after that meeting, he’d taken it to a whole new level. He’d broken Kellus and left him there to pick up the pieces all alone.

Now, after all this time, he was trying to do everything in his power to remove John from his life and his ex wasn’t going easily. He’d also used his art to document John’s decline, but he’d never finished some of those drawings. They remained partial sketches, showing the emptiness in his gaze, the substantial weight and muscle he’d lost, the dirtiness that now represented his ex. He’d documented that until he couldn’t stand the images staring back at him any longer.

Honestly, it had been years since he’d painted a smile from his heart until tonight. It seemed Arik Layne’s cocky grin was addicting. He had no idea what that might mean. His eyes darted up to the handwritten check he’d received tonight. He’d placed it at the top of the easel as he’d worked. Who would have ever thought Arik would pay so much for that sculpture?

Reaching for the check, he scanned the payer information. Arik Layne’s personal account. The fluid, masculine penmanship seemed to suit Arik perfectly. The sculpture had been one of Kellus’s favorites, so when Arik had asked the price, he’d named an exorbitant figure, assuming he had overpriced it. Arik hadn’t batted an eye at the cost and had given him payment for the full amount before he’d left. Arik’s eye for art impressed him. He had studied the pieces and saw the works for more than what they were intended to be to the public. Kellus had been a little shocked when Arik had guessed the sculpture had been of him.

Another yawn broke free, pulling Kellus from his musings. He pushed those thoughts aside, turned, and gathered his supplies. He needed sleep more than he needed anything right now. He’d start on his list of projects in the morning.

Chapter 7

How the hell the sculpture had ended up inside the bathroom of his personal suite at his Dallas resort, or why he’d spent his last few precious moments alone staring at the piece while drinking his morning coffee, Arik had no idea, but the reason didn’t really matter. He was so taken with this particular work of art that he didn’t want it out of his sight. He swore the sculpture mystically centered him and brought him a strong sense of peace.

He studied the piece sitting on his countertop. How could something with such an aura of sadness help relieve his stresses and calm his natural state of angst? Anxiety had always plagued him; that was just one of many secrets he’d kept hidden from everyone for years. He had gotten really good at pretending to be happy. So, the sadness of the sculpture may have drawn him in after all.