The Darkest Part (Living Heartwood 1)

Stepping out of my boots, I kick them near the door, then toss my coat over the couch along the wall. Above, a collage of framed paintings showcase black wiry trees. Sam and my paintings from high school.

I coast across the hardwood floor, drawn to her like a magnet.

She drops the paintbrush to the tarp and holds up her hands. “Wait. I’m covered in paint. You’ll get all—”

I strip off my jeans and yank my shirt over my head by the back of the collar. In under five seconds, I’m in my boxers—which I could give a damn about—and I’m pulling her against me. The chilly paint on her skin and smock touches my skin, and it only heightens my need to feel her.

She laughs, linking her arms around my neck. “I could get used to you coming home early.” Her eyes sparkle as they meet my gaze.

I sigh, mock heaviness in my tone. “And I’m really going to miss coming home to you in nothing but a smock.” I press my lips together. Since she’s nearly destroyed all her clothes with paint, she’s taken up painting in the nude. Which you will never hear a complaint from me about. Ever.

Her eyebrows pull together. “What do you mean?”

Bringing my hand between us, I open it, the key resting in my palm. “It’s early,” I say, my nerves strung tight. “But I couldn’t wait. Here’s your present, Sam.”

“Holy shit,” she says, and I chuckle. I couldn’t have asked for a better reaction from her, until she jumps into my arms and wraps her legs around me. “Are you serious? How?”

I shrug. “It’s not much . . . yet. It needs a lot of work. But I figure that just means we can turn it into our own studio.” Her eyes brighten with every word. She doesn’t hear work, or any other word, just studio. That’s my girl. “And it’s all yours. Leased for one year.”

“Ours,” she stresses. “It’s all ours. And now, as I’m officially your boss, I demand for you to take at least two days off from the shop and put time in with your real work.” She narrows her eyes, trying like hell to intimidate me.

I feel a smile curve my lips. “And if I don’t?”

She bites her bottom lip. On fucking purpose. I groan and trap her lip between my teeth, and then inhale her sweet scent as I cover her mouth with mine. She pulls away and shakes her head. “No. You don’t get to do that or anything else until you promise you’ll at least spend two days there working on your art.” Now she’s serious.

I’d already planned to take time off and work there with her, but I just like seeing her fired up. “I promise,” I say. “And you have to promise to wear this”—I drop my gaze, taking in her cleavage popping over the top of the smock—“at least . . . hell. Fuck that agreement. I want you in nothing at all every day. And right now”—I lower us to the floor—“I want to peel this smock off your hot ass.”

I guide her back to the tarp and run my hand over the material, finding the belt tie, and pull.

SAM

“Wait.” I trap Holden’s hand over my smock belt. “I have to tell you something.”

His face pulls together and he pins me with his blue eyes. “Nope. I’ve been dying to get you out of this—”

“For all of five minutes?” I laugh. “You can wait five more.”

He groans and falls beside me on the tarp, resting his hand on my stomach. “You have no idea how painful those five minutes were.”

I roll my eyes and turn on my side to face him. Then, with a determined breath, “Dr. Hartman cleared me to come off my meds.”

His face doesn’t change. Holding its playful expression for a moment longer until my words sink in. Then his facial muscles reveal the hesitance creeping over him. “Are you sure?”

I nod. “Yes. You know how hard it is for me to focus on my art and school at the same time while taking them. They just make me so tired.” His brow furrows. He’s seen me battling the side effects for months. “And I haven’t relapsed, Holden. I’ve been cleared. She said she thinks it’s time.”

This gets a smile from him, and I know he’s relieved. I hate being on the pills. I never felt I needed the antidepressants, but I stuck with the antipsychotics. Even though I accepted my condition, and through therapy was able to understand why it happened, sometimes I’d still see glimpses of Tyler out of the corner of my vision. Just a quick flicker. Him there, and then gone. I’d hear someone laugh, and it would sound just like Tyler’s laugh. I’d see a movie we watched before, and it’d trigger a memory. I’d feel his presence, if only for a moment.

Dr. Hartman continued to work with me via Skype, and said that it was expected. That the mind takes time to heal, and the heart takes even longer. Beneath all that stuff I’d thought of as psychobabble, she’s actually a romantic. And she said when my mind and heart were ready, they’d release me from the psychosis. The meds helped, but I want to have my life back now. I want to be able to do everything I want with the energy I need.

“How long has it been?” Holden asks. His hand roams over my hip, comforting.

“Three months.” I eye him seriously. “I haven’t had any episodes in over three months. So I should be able to come off the meds safely now.”

He pulls me to him, anchoring his strong arm around me. My chest presses against his, to the dark ink of the dead tree tattoo covering his warm skin. “Then yes,” he says. “It’s time. You know what you need.”

I drive my fingers through his hair. It’s longer now, and I love the way it falls against his pale eyes. “I do. Come here.” He doesn’t hesitate, crushing his lips to mine.

He moves on top of me, his hand working to unrobe me from the smock in hurried, impatient movements. “Did you double knot this thing?” He grunts and yanks the tie loose. Pushing it off my shoulders,