But then she’d hardly painted a picture of someone who’d endured hell on earth as he had for the last decade. For the first time, anger, something alien to him until now welled in his chest, traced acid to his stomach.
No, she’d been pursuing her dream all the while he had been chasing his.
Gracie.
His dream.
His beautiful, sweet Anna-Grace.
The memories of her that he’d held so firmly in his heart, fearing that they’d dull with the passage of time, eluded him for the first time in twelve long years.
No, he’d never, ever felt anger toward Gracie.
Until now.
It was the bitterest taste in his mouth, one he knew he’d taste at the mere mention of her name from now on. Because now he saw the future—Gracie’s future. And nowhere was Zack a part of it.
EIGHT
ZACK stood outside the Sunshine Art Studio just a few blocks from Joie de Vivre, his fists curled tightly at his sides. He couldn’t seem to catch his breath. Each one seemed torturous through his constricted airway and chest. Had she been this close all this time?
The irony wasn’t lost on him. After he had spent a decade searching for Gracie, had she been in the same city? And for how long? Had she already lived here when he moved to Houston to take the job with DSS? After years of chasing his tail, how funny that he’d come across her in the line of his work.
As good as Eliza was, even she couldn’t make information materialize out of thin air. Information was scarce on the reclusive artist. Quite by luck Eliza had come across an obscure article in an art publication that had mentioned classes being held at the Sunshine Art Studio several blocks down on Westheimer. Three artists rotated through, teaching art to children who showed promise at a young age. One of the artists was the mysterious A.G.
And so here he was, a knot in his throat, his palms sweaty as he stared at the door. Minutes before, the studio had emptied. Smiling, laughing children had spilled from the doorway, all rushing to meet their waiting parents in the parking lot.
Now all was quiet. There were no other vehicles in the lot, which meant if Gracie was here she’d either walked to the gallery, taken public transit, or . . . someone had given her a ride. Boyfriend? Lover? Husband? Wade Sterling perhaps?
It set his teeth on edge to entertain the idea she belonged to another man and was forever out of his reach.
He huffed another breath and berated himself for being such a coward. All he had to do was walk through the goddamn door. Only a door separated him and . . . Gracie.
So why was he paralyzed with fear? Shouldn’t he be eager to confront her and find out what the hell had inspired her epic meltdown in the gallery when they’d come face-to-face for the first time since she’d disappeared from his life?
Or perhaps he was simply coming to terms with the possibility that if she was alive and doing well, working as an artist, it meant she’d chosen to leave him without a word. No breakup. No closure. While he’d been unable to move on, to get over it, she evidently hadn’t suffered the same.
He ran an agitated hand through his hair and then swore under his breath.
Get it together, dumbass. You’ve waited twelve fucking years for this. Just open the goddamn door.
He forced his legs to move, ignoring the tremble in his knees. The door loomed closer until finally his hand grasped the handle. All he had to do was . . . push.
He shoved instead, disgusted by his hesitancy.
Then he was inside. Instantly, he was assailed by . . . hominess. Everything he’d ever imagined of a home with Gracie in it. The colors were warm and soothing and yet light and airy. He sniffed the floral-scented air. Around him papers were strewn on tables or affixed to easels. Paint was splattered over the dropcloths and smudged on the small kid-sized desks.
Nostalgia floated through him as he remembered all the times he and Gracie had talked about children. Their children. Did she have children of her own now? He didn’t think he could bear to see a miniature little Gracie knowing he wasn’t the father. That Gracie had pursued their dream without him.
He nearly turned and walked right back out of the studio. He wasn’t sure he could bear to face the truth. That she simply hadn’t wanted a life with him. But he froze when a familiar voice sounded in the distance.
“Wade? Is that you? I’m washing up, but I’ll be out in a minute.” Zack went stock-still as laughter, beautiful feminine laughter, rose. It sent a chill, a shock, straight down his spine. And only further confirmed his suspicions about her association with Sterling. “The children were rather exuberant today so I’m afraid I’ll get paint all over your seats!”
Gracie.
His Gracie.
He’d know the sound of her voice—her laughter—anywhere, such a welcome change from the tear-stained, barely choked out words of terror from their “reunion.” He stood, frozen, waiting for her to come forward when what he wanted to do was tear down the door of whatever room she was in and demand answers to all the questions tumbling out of control in his mind.
He was tempted to just turn his back and walk away. Much like she’d done twelve years ago. But unlike her, he needed closure. He needed an end to the torture he’d put himself through over the last decade imagining her hurt, dead and a hundred other dismal possibilities. Ironically, none of his imaginings had been good. And yet it appeared she was doing just fine.
“Sorry I kept you waiting,” she said breathlessly.
And then she appeared and he drank in her appearance like a man starving.
She wore a paint-splattered smock that she was in the process of untying when she lifted her gaze and saw him.
After their first confrontation, he should have been prepared for her reaction, but a small part of him had hoped that it had simply been the shock of seeing him so unexpectedly. But he wasn’t prepared, and it hurt his heart to see how she looked at him even now.
She froze. Went so still he wasn’t even sure she was breathing. And just as before, fear—honest-to-God terror—entered her wide, shocked eyes.
She backpedaled hastily, throwing her hand out behind her to find the door she’d just appeared from. She stumbled, righting herself by planting her hand against the now-closed door, leaning heavily on it while scrambling for the handle as if desperate to put that door between them again. To lock herself away from him.
She was terrified of him.
What the ever-loving fuck was going on?
“Gracie,” he said hoarsely. “It’s me, Zack. For God’s sake, I’m not going to hurt you. Do you have any idea what it’s like for me to see you? Alive? Well?”