“Morning.” He smiles and kisses me on the top of my head.
“Good morning. Breakfast?” I hold out his plate.
“Nah, I’ll eat when I get back.”
“Back?”
He grabs the key to his motorcycle. “I need a few supplies.”
“O-kay.” I set the plate down. “Trick?”
He stops with his back to me.
“What’s going on?”
“Noth—”
“And don’t say nothing! That’s all I’ve heard over the past week!”
“We’ll talk later.” He continues out the door.
My appetite dissolves, engulfed by my anger. As soon as I hear him speed off, I run upstairs and turn the knob. It’s locked. Of course it is.
I hurry to my bathroom and find a hairpin. It’s a simple push lock so it easily opens. I expect to see an easel, sketch pad, or something, but there’s nothing. Opening the closet, I rummage through everything.
Nothing.
I sigh with my hands fisted on my hips. Dropping on all fours I look under the bed.
Nothing.
Sitting back on my heels, I feel a pang of defeat mixed with anger, until my eyes focus on the corner of something sticking out between the mattress and box springs. I tug on the corner, sliding out a large sketch pad. The first page is blank, and the second, and the third. My frustration grows as I flip through each empty page with impatience.
Oh. My. God.
On the back page is a sketch of a woman … a naked woman and it’s not me. My breaths come quicker as panic and anger overtake my entire body. He lied to me. Why would he lie to me? Who is this woman? This. Naked. Woman.
I’m not sure how much time passes, but I can’t even stand up. My legs feel numb from sitting on them for so long and my eyes are glued to her. The jealousy of knowing he’s been spending every waking hour, and many while I’ve been sleeping, drawing her … thinking about her … fantasizing about her. I think I would feel less cheated on if he’d spent an hour in a cheap hotel with a hooker.
“Darby …” His normal, strong voice floats through the air with an edge of caution—a hint of vulnerability.
I don’t turn to look at him. I can’t. “Who is she?”
“I don’t know.”
I laugh—the alternative is too painful. “Brilliant. You don’t know. She’s pretty fucking detailed for you to not know.”
“I’m sorry.”
Two words that are supposed to be a white flag, a concession of wrong doing, the catalyst to a truce—those two words unnerve me. They are the last two words I want to hear. We haven’t even come close to a surrender. I hate him for thinking he can throw out those two fucking words! One of the worst feelings is when “I’m sorry” feels like a slap in the face.
I glare at him. “What are you sorry for? Lying to me? Ignoring me? Fucking cheating on me!” I heave the sketch pad in his direction.
“I didn’t lie.” His gaze slips.
My eyes widen. “You told me you were drawing me!”
He shakes his head. “I told you I was trying to draw you.”
“You and your stupid semantics.” I stand, blood relieving the tingling in my legs as I point to the sketch pad by his feet. “Has it ever occurred to you that what you don’t say says a hell of a lot more than what you do say?”
“I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
“Then why did you? Why have you spent all this time drawing her instead of being with me? Are you going to sell this? Is this our rent money?”
He shakes his head, defeat written all over his face, slumped posture. “I had to draw her.”
“Why?” I whisper, defeat pulling me under.
“Because she’s part of my past that my subconscious is sharing with my hands. I feel like my brain is trying to remember, but … I just can’t.”
I wipe away a few tears. “Why is she naked?”
He shrugs. “It’s just the image I have of her,” he whispers, head bowed, no eye contact.
I step past him.
“Darby?”
I don’t stop. He can’t say anything that will make this right, not now. When things start to crumble they can’t be put back together until the debris settles. Right now … I’m still crumbling.
I walk up the beach until I see our neighbors catching their morning waves. Declan wades to shore and holds up a friendly hand, heading toward me.
“Good morning.”
I force a smile. “Hey. How’s the water?”
“Amazing. When am I going to get you out here?”
“I don’t surf.”
“Well, there’s always a first time.”
“Maybe.”
“Are we still on for today?”
I nod. “Yeah, same time?”
“Sure, or you can come a little early and we can grill out lunch.”
“We’d love to.”
I freeze from the sound of Trick’s voice as Declan focuses his attention behind me.
“Hey, Trick! Finally came out of your cave, huh?”
“I did.” His words are clipped.
Declan’s forehead wrinkles with confusion. I’m sure he can feel the iciness between me and Trick even with the sun shining on us. “So … lunch for six today?”