I halt in the middle of her studio.
I’m doing what I did all those years ago, I’m running away again. Only this time it isn’t just me and her, there’s two children who have built a relationship with her over the last six weeks.
That mixed with the thought of not seeing her again, not looking into her honey colored eyes or feeling her face in the palm of my hand; it breaks me. I can’t bear thinking of not seeing her again. I may have walked away from her once before, but I know in my heart and soul that I’ll never be able to do that again.
I turn around, my chest rising and falling on erratic breaths as I watch her. She’s so much stronger than she used to be, standing tall with a fierce look on her face but still the softness to her features that has always been there.
“I’m sorry,” I say, for the second time since I got here. “I know it’s not about us, I know that. But I can’t stand here and look at you—be around you—when I know what’s going on here.”
She frowns, tilting her head. “What do you mean, ‘what’s going on here’?”
My nostrils flare and I look away from her, knowing that if I keep my eyes connected with hers that I won’t be able to get out what I need to say. “This game you’re playing,” I grit out.
“Game?” Her voice wobbles and I snap my head back to her. “I’m not playing any game, Tristan.”
I laugh, but it’s not a humorous one. “You think you can pull the wool over my eyes, huh?” I shake my head. “The only reason you’re doing this is because you knew Clay and Izzie are my kids.”
She rolls her eyes, pushing her shoulders back. “That’s exactly what I did,” she spits out, taking a step toward me as her eyes fill with untamed fire. “I came back here, spent all this money to open my own studio, just on the off chance that you would bring your kids here.” She pauses. “Kids I didn’t even know that you had!” Her chest heaves as she gasps for breath, her cheeks flush as she stares at me.
My eyes widen as I watch her, the cogs in my brain finally starting to turn as if they needed the oil to work
again. And that’s what she is, the oil that gets them to turn.
“I...
“You’re unbelievable. I’m going to pretend you didn’t just accuse me of playing your kids off and be the bigger person. We're not those people anymore,” she says, dropping her arms by her side as the anger slowly ebbs away replaced with sadness. “You broke me beyond repair, or so I thought, but we’ve both grown up and moved on. The past doesn’t matter, all that matters is the here and now, and that is me being Clayton and Izzie’s art teacher.”
She’s right, the past doesn’t matter but I can’t stop living there.
She clears her throat. “Today was watching week. Izzie and Clayton missed you there. You’re welcome to come and watch next week if you’re not busy? I’m sure they’d love you to.”
Next week? I’m at war with myself on whether I want them to ever come again, never mind coming to watch them.
But the more I stare at her, entranced by her beautiful eyes, the more the anger starts to slip away and an incessant need to have her in my life rolls through me. I know that I can’t have her how I used to, that it will never happen again, but now that she’s back in my life, in our lives, I don’t know if I can turn my back on her again.
I know that I’ll take her any way that I can; even if that means we’re just friends, because having her in my life in any capacity means more than not having her there at all.
A smile slowly lifts the corner of my mouth as I step toward her, feeling her anger still rolling off her like thrashing waves in the sea.
“You’re more than ‘just an art teacher,’ you always have been.” My arm lifts automatically, my hand reaching out to touch her face, but she stumbles back a step before I touch her, almost as if she’s afraid for our skin to touch. What am I doing?
I shake my head, not quite believing that I was caught in her web again,—the same web that trapped me all of those years ago—before I spin around and storm out of there.
If he could hear my heart beating, I’d be embarrassed. It’s racing at the speed of light as I watch him walk out of my studio and to his car. I don’t even know what the hell that was. All I know is that I was right in what I said, all that matters now are Clayton and Izzie.
I scrub a dainty hand down my face and sit on a stool, staring at the spot his car has vacated. I never thought I’d see him again, never mind have him directly in my life.
Yeah, so he’s not in my life completely, but his kids are.
Thinking about Clayton and Izzie makes me think about their mom, from what I’ve gathered so far, she doesn't seem to be around.
Are they married? Divorced? Were they even together to begin with? They had to have been to have two kids together, right?
I huff out a long breath and walk into my office, picking up my cellphone and calling a cab before I start overthinking things. He was here to see his kids’ painting, not you, Harm.
So why did it seem like he wanted to say more than he did?
I shake my head, picking up my purse and locking up as my cab pulls up, climbing into the back and giving him Mom’s address.