Текст книги "Truth in Watercolors"

Автор книги: Kimberly Rose

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Текущая страница: 8 (всего у книги 16 страниц)

Much like how I’d gone to bed the last few nights, I’d woken up with a smile. Not much had progressed with Wes and me since he’d shown up at August’s to see me, but at the same time, everything had changed.

Wes and I still only saw each other when we were at the youth center, but now we spent the time between brushstrokes stealing kisses. I still painted him at night, but now his sweet texts and quick phone calls interrupted me. My last text was this morning when he told me to have fun with the boys. I’d replied that I would since the most troublesome of the three would be absent today.

Wes told me a few days ago that he wouldn’t make it in today. He had a meeting at the shop that was going to take up most of the day, so I was on my own with Jordan and Ridge. This could either go amazing or be a complete disaster.

“Good morning, Ms. C.” Ridge strolled in with a familiar swagger holding out a large coffee toward me. So far, amazing.

“Thank you,” I said taking the coffee.

“Oh, it’s not from me. My dad and I had breakfast with Wes, and he sent it with me for you.” Ridge tossed his backpack to its place by the door.

I smiled bringing the warm cup to my mouth but stopped when I saw words scratched onto the side. I held it up and read ‘I hope your day is as tight as your ass.’ Then I snorted. Coffee and a compliment—that was how every woman deserved to start her day.

Almost immediately after Ridge had arrived, Jordan showed. He dragged his feet through the door mumbling under his breath and chucked his bag next to Ridge’s. If that didn’t give away his mood, the fact that his brows were furrowed clear down to his upper lip was a good indication that he was not having the best of mornings.

“Whelp, we’re out of blue paint so hold off on the rest of the water for now, but other than that, the mural is yours.” I opened my hand to the wall, welcoming them to get started.

Each boy began readying his supplies; pouring paint into cups, loosening the brush bristles, and laying out drop cloths. Ridge immediately got to work on the design he had been doing last time. Jordan, however, seemed to be struggling with where to get started.

He dipped his brush into the paint, swirled it, then pulled the brush out and watched it fall from the bristles back into the cup. He did this a number of times before I recognized what was going on.

Just this past New Year’s Eve, the five of us dressed up and went downtown for the night. I stupidly took extra care to try to make myself look just like all the girls I’d watched Wes with over the years. My sequin dress was too mini, the curls of my hair were too big, and my stiletto’s were too high. It worked, though.

I had gotten Wes’ attention and held it almost the whole night, right up until ten minutes till midnight. That was when Wes found me on the dance floor, wrapping his arms around me from behind and moved us rhythmically to the music. When he moved away from me, I turned to face him and found him tangled up with someone else. Another girl. I was just another girl.

I caught a cab shortly thereafter and retreated to my room to paint. The problem was that I couldn’t. I couldn’t own up to that fact I had brought that humiliation onto myself. I didn’t want to accept that Wes would never see me how I wished he would.

“You stuck?” I asked Jordan practically tippy toeing up to him.

“Huh?” he replied but didn’t take his eyes away from the brush.

“I do that sometimes too, you know,” I said turning to look at the mural. For some reason, I thought he’d open up more if I pretended my focus wasn’t entirely on him.

“Do what?” He let the brush go, dropping it into the paint cup.

“I get my drive stuck behind my emotions,” I said peeking over at him out of the corner of my eye.

“What do you mean?” he asked bringing his brows up a smidge. Progress.

“Sometimes life gets in the way. Sometimes it plants itself right in the middle of my purpose. Sometimes life makes my heart bigger than my will, and in those moments, I get stuck. I get stuck behind how I feel, and I have a hard time moving toward what I want.”

“You lost me at life,” Jordan said, and I turned to him laughing.

“Life sucks sometimes.” I put my hands in the air, and Jordan cracked a smile nodding in agreement. “And when it does, it’s hard to do what we love, like paint.” I pointed at his cup.

“For real.” He kept nodding, so I kept talking.

“When I feel like that, I try to allow myself to put those emotions into my art. For some people, it’s not a choice. They naturally paint how they feel, but for others like me, we have to give ourselves permission to let it out.”

Jordan pulled the paintbrush from the cup again and watched the paint drip back into it before swiping the bristles against the rim.

“So you’re saying that I should paint my brother just got arrested for selling dope all over this thing?” Whoa.

“Not that exactly,” I said scrunching up my nose and twisting my lips. “I don’t think that’s what August had in mind, anyway.” Jordan let loose a single laugh. “I do think you should let go of some of the things your brother’s arrest makes you feel onto the mural, though. In color, shape, texture, whatever feels right.”

Jordan took a few careful steps to the wall. He looked up at the nearly finished surface and drew the brush from the cup once again. This time, he looked at the paint and watched it drip, but then slapped the brush against the wall. “Upset.”

He dipped the brush in again and pulled it right back out without a second glance, punching the wall with color. “Embarrassed,” he said a little louder, grabbing Ridge’s attention.

“Deserted.” Swipe.

“Angry.” Swipe.

“Sad.” Swipe.

“Damn, Ms. C,” Ridge whispered next to me.

“I know,” I said placing my hand over my heart.

Ridge and I watched Jordan as he let go on the mural, in a form of silent support. Watching him work through his hurt was both devastating and beautiful. I was so proud of him for allowing himself to feel, but at the same time, I was heartbroken that he had to experience such turmoil. Even still, I was thankful that I was there to help guide him through it.

“Can I come in?” I knocked on August’s office door before helping myself to the chair situated in front of his desk.

“Why’d you even ask?” He chuckled as he closed the bottom drawer of his desk.

The boys and I worked on the mural for around three hours this morning before Ridge’s mom came to pick them up. Thankfully, Jordan seemed to have worked to let go of some of what was holding him back and worked diligently for the rest of our time together. Still, I was shaken by what had occurred, mostly because of what he had revealed.

“Did you hear about Jordan’s brother?” I asked August. I knew he was close with Jordan from when he ran the sports classes in the gym.

“Yeah.” August huffed out and kicked back into his chair. “His mom called this morning to let me know. She said he was taking it really hard. I wanted to catch him before he left today, but I just missed him. How was he?” He sat forward and propped his elbows on his desk.

“Awful,” I said. August winced, his eyes closed. “But, I think painting helped. I mean, I talked with him a little, but after he started working on the mural, he really seemed to settle.”

“Good, good.” August nodded. “Thanks for being there for him. I worry about him, and I’m glad he had you there. You have the biggest heart, sis. He needed that today.” I smiled softly, taking my brother’s compliment.

“He did need that but not so much me being there as he needed his art to be there for him.” I clasped my hands together in my lap and fiddled with my fingers. “I was thinking,” I said, feeling ridiculously nervous about bringing up my idea to August. “After seeing how therapeutic painting was for Jordan, I think you should consider incorporating an art program here. Something they can do to both express their creativity and to escape.” I pushed myself back into my chair, letting space ease my vulnerability.

August scrunched his face at me. “That’s a great idea, Capri.” He brought his arms out to his side. “We haven’t had the need for an art program yet, but it’s something to look into. I’ll check out what kind of funding is it out there for one,” he smiled at me.

“So, uh, speaking of the mural and all.” August leaned in toward me. “Whatsa or how’s…” He stumbled over his words, and I swayed a bit in my chair. My brother was a well-spoken guy, so his stumbling had me a little uneasy. “What the hell is going on with you and Wes?”

My back fell back into the chair. I should have expected he would ask at some point, but I wasn’t ready to be asked what was going on with us because, crap, I didn’t even know what was going on between us. I shrugged my shoulders and scrunched my nose.

“Oh, don’t give me that,” August said.

“I don’t know, August.” I shrugged again.

“Well, obviously you two are in the business of making out on your brother’s doorstep.” He gestured toward me.

“August!” I shrieked, feeling the explosion of color tint my face. “You watched?”

“Of course, I watched, Capri. My best friend flew into my house on a mission to see my baby sister. Then you chased after him all flustered, and Kensie immediately started grumbling about owing Lennon fifty bucks.” Oh, my crap.

“They bet on us?” I fell forward, thumping my forehead onto his desk.

“Seems that way.” August chuckled at my humiliation. Ugh.

“Look,” I said, lifting my head just enough to see August. “We’ve been spending a lot of time together, and we’ve gotten a little closer than we were before.” I let my head fall back down. This was so embarrassing.

“Clearly.” August laughed. “Capri, I don’t mean to embarrass you,” he said, and I looked up again pointing to the heat on my face. He smiled. “I just want to make sure you’re good. That he isn’t, you know, being Wes.” He raised his eyebrows at me expectantly.

“He is being Wes, August. He’s more himself with me than he’s ever been,” I said softly. August’s eyebrows fell along with the shadow of a smile.

“Oh.” He tilted his head and squinted at me. “Be careful okay, Capri? You’re my sister, and he’s my best friend. Just be careful.”

I nodded. “I am, August.”

“Crap,” I mumbled, jiggling my bag. I threw my hand in and tossed it around, searching for the keys. I closed my eyes as I felt around. I didn’t know why. I was sure I would have recognized the feel of my Sephora lip-gloss, my pocket sketchbook, and the bag of Skittles with my eyes open, but my desperation had my eyes squeezed tight begging for the feel of cold metal against my fingertips. They had to be in here. Wait. Is that?

The deep rumble got closer, followed by the turn of the world’s shiniest Chevy into the parking lot. I dropped my arms to my side, and my bag sloshed against my legs with the strap still gripped in one hand. I think my mouth fell open, judging from the coolness and sudden absorption of all saliva.

The car approached me in a slow, steady roll, sauntering up to the curb where I stood. Wes grinned at me with his decorated arm propped out of the window, sunglasses on, and fedora pulled down over his forehead. “Hop in, Capri. We’ve got errands to run.” He tossed his head to the passenger door, and I scurried over. When Weston Monroe rolled up radiating sex, a girl followed.

I flopped into the seat and pulled my bag in over the doorsill, leaving it in a heap on the floor. Sitting back on the leather seat, I let out a huff.

“Rough morning?” Wes asked, handing me a cup of coffee. I finished buckling my seatbelt and took it from him eagerly.

“Thank you,” I said bringing the cup in for an anticipated long, soulful sip. I had my attention directed elsewhere, though. Specifically on the curl of Wes’ long and slightly tatted fingers on the steering wheel. I admired a second too long and missed my mouth entirely, pouring the hot liquid all over my white tee. “Crap, crap, crappity, crap.” I dove for my bag, pulling out a wad of napkins, and started dabbing. “First, I lose my keys, and now, I’ve spilled my coffee. What’s next?” I grumbled to myself ignoring Wes’ sniggering. I stuffed the napkins back into my purse and sat up sharply. “What? What’s so funny?”

“Nothing, I’m sorry. Did you want me to take you home so you can change?” His laughing subsided, and his hand went back to my knee with a gentle tickle of his fingers.

“No.” I softened. “It’s not a big deal.” I sighed. “Where are we going today anyway?”

“We need to get some more supplies to finish up the mural, but I have to run by Blue’s first if that’s okay?” His eyebrows pulled in when he peered over at me.

“Of course.” I smiled and leaned back into my seat. “Where does he live?”

“In the trailer park off Balboa,” he said looking away from me. “It’s okay if you aren’t comfortable going. I can go by later.” He rushed out the last part.

“Why wouldn’t I be comfortable with going to Blue’s? It’s fine, Wes. Really.” It was my turn now to reach over and squeeze his knee.

“It’s not the best area. I promise you, though; you are completely safe with me. I won’t let anything happen to you.” Wes grabbed my hand in his and held it tightly.

“I know you will.” I nodded and squeezed his hand in return. “And I’m not worried. Let’s go visit Blue.” I ended with a grin looking forward to seeing his boss again.

Wes smiled back, but it wasn’t his usual full-scale grin. This one was soft, touching just the tips of his eyes and leaving a thoughtful shadow cast over them. Then he blinked, and they popped back open with their usual sparkle. “Gas first.”

While Wes was inside to pay to pump, I pulled my bag onto my lap to see if I could find my stain remover. I always carried it with me, seeing as I almost always exclusively wore white. When I couldn’t find it, I tossed the bag back onto the ground and reached for my coffee. This time, something caught my attention.

I held up the cup and read the writing scratched down the side.

Good morning. Can I kiss you?

A flash of a squeal escaped me. I whipped my head around quickly to make sure no one had heard. Then I dove back into my purse hunting for mints because, hell yeah, he could kiss me, and no way did I want coffee breath.

Wes opened his door just as I sat up. My mouth fell open and I covered my hands with it. “What are you wearing?” I muffled through them with puffs of a laugh.

“A shirt. Here’s yours.” He tossed me a white T-shirt. I unfolded it and read: I’m with sexy. Then I raised my eyebrows at him grinning like an idiot.

“I’m sexy,” he said pointing his thumbs toward his shirt that read exactly that.

“What are these for?” I asked having a hard time controlling my laughter.

“I wanted to get you a new shirt to wear. I saw these by the souvenir cups. Perfect, right?” He lifted one shoulder and half grinned at me.

“Perfect,” I said unbuckling my seat belt.

“Yeah?” he asked eyeing my motions.

“Yeah,” I whispered crawling out of my seat and into his lap. I straddled my legs on either side of him and grabbed his face in my hands, landing my lips right onto his.

He grabbed on to my hips immediately and pulled my body into his while deepening our kiss. It was fast, and it was hard, and it was over just as quickly as it started.

I forced myself to push away and climbed back into my seat. Wes sat slack-jawed and hands still up where my hips just were, reflexively squeezing his fingers. “Where’d you go?”

“Let’s go see Blue,” I said breathless half cursing myself for pulling away but applauding myself for it, too.

Wes’ head swung in my direction. “That wasn’t nice, Capri.”

I grinned and sat up in the seat. “Oh, it was nice. Very, very nice.”

“You’re evil,” he said turning the key in the ignition.

“And you’re really sweet.” I ripped my shirt off and tossed it behind me.

“What the?” Wes’ head darted back and forth between my laced covered chest and the windshield. “What are you doing?” His words were panicked.

“Putting my new shirt on.” I slipped the other shirt on over my head and tugged on the hem to pull it down.

“What has gotten into you, woman?” Wes bellowed.

“You.” I blew him a kiss.

“Oh no, C.” He moved the stick shift into drive and leered lazily at me.

“You’ll know when I’ve gotten into you.”

Well, crap. There went my upper hand.

“This is the place.” Wes held open my door.

“It’s very… Blue.” I took in the small single-wide trailer with a Harley parked in the grass. The carport housed an old rusted truck and a wall of well, junk? There was nothing fancy decorating the outside. No flowers or flagpoles, but the lawn was mowed, and the entryway was clear of any clutter.

“It is.” Wes took my hand in his and led me toward the front door. “You should see the inside. It hasn’t changed at all since I met him fourteen years ago, a lot like Blue’s hairstyle.”

“Weston? That you?” Wes’ steps stalled. He turned stiffly, and I swore I heard him curse under his breath.

“It’s me,” he said flatly.

A woman, who looked to be in her mid-sixties, walked up to us. She had on a worn T-shirt with a pair of sweatpants and bare feet. Her hair was shoulder length and under-colored, same as her skin. Something about her seemed familiar to me though I couldn’t tell what. That feeling grew with each step she took toward us, the memory of her seeping in.

“How ya doing, boy?” she asked, and with that one word. Boy. I remembered exactly who she was.

“Good. You remember Capri. My friend August’s sister.” Wes motioned toward me in an introduction, but he took a careful step in front of me.

“Can’t say I do. She sure is a pretty thing though, isn’t she?” Wes’ mom smiled at me, but I didn’t say anything, just gave a single nod.

I didn’t have many memories of her growing up. Not much more than the few times she would drop Wes off or pick him up. I did remember, though, that every single time she referred to him as boy. Each time I heard it, the word splintered into me and slithered down my spine.

“The prettiest,” Wes said placing his hand on my lower back.

“Don’t be a stranger,” she said and turned away. Wes shook his head and scoffed, guiding me toward the garage from the point where his hand fit perfectly across me. I dug my heels into the pavement and threw my hand up in the air gesturing toward him and his mom.

“What the crap was that?” I squeaked earning myself a small smile from him.

“Not much.” Wes looked over at the trailer and shrugged. “I lived there until I was eighteen. I moved out.”

“But she was so, you two were very, I mean, ugh—” I threw my arms to the side trying to find the right words.

Wes’ hand left my back and grabbed hold of my hand, effectively pulling me along with him. “We’ve never been close, C. I come back only to see Blue,” he whispered into my hair and kissed my temple.

“Well, I’ll be damned. Look at you, boy. Pussy whipped looks good on you.” Blue hacked his way down the steps. “Didn’t wanna ruin that little moment, but I’ve gotta get to the shop. Ya got my shader?”

“Yeah, I got it, Bluebell. Hang on.” Wes jogged back to the car.

“How ya doin’, sweetheart?” Blue tossed his cigarette and scuffed it into the ground.

“Good.” I smiled at him.

“You taking care of Marilyn?” He tossed his chin toward Wes.

“As much as he’ll let me,” I said honestly. I didn’t know if Wes and I were at a point where we could claim one another as someone to take care of, or that we’d ever be there. I did know that I cared for him though, and I always had, and I didn’t doubt that I always would.

“Good.” Blue smiled back at me, and Wes jogged back up.

“Here it is. Thanks for letting me borrow it. I should have a new one by the end of the week.”

“Anytime, Marilyn. You know that. Anytime. In fact, I think I’ve got the one you used to practice on in the garage over there.” He pointed to the carport with a box of cigarettes in his hand. “You find it, you can have it.”

“Really?” Wes asked rubbing his chin in his fingers. I was sure he was thinking what I was thinking. I mean, there was a lot of crap.

“‘Course,” Blue mumbled around a fresh cigarette. “I gotta roll, though.”

“Thanks, Bluebell.” Wes reached out to Blue for what I thought was going to be a pat on the shoulder. Instead, he wrapped tiny Blue up in his arms in a quick hug complete with back pats.

When they pulled away, Blue tossed his hand at me. “Whatcha smiling at, sweetheart? You never seen two grown men hug it out?” he asked with a twinkle in his glazed eyes.

“Certainly not such manly men,” I quipped earning myself a set of chuckles.

“I like her. Don’t fuck it up,” Blue said patting Wes on the shoulder and making his way to his Harley.

“To make sure, C,” Wes bit his lip and motioned his hand between us, “there is something for me to fuck up here, right?”

I scrunched my nose up in a smile. “I think so. So don’t fuck it up.”

“Okay, but there will be fucking, right?” Wes' eyes rounded with his eager nod.

“Wes.” I laughed and shoved his shoulder before heading to the carport.

“Really, though? Yeah? No?” Wes’ voice trailed behind me.

“I sure hope so. I’ve been dying to get my hands on that manaconda,” I shouted behind me and giggled when I heard his gasp for air.

“You coming?” I looked over my shoulder and waggled my eyebrows laughing even harder when I saw Wes bent over with his hands on his knees. He held his finger in the air to indicate that he was catching his breath. Sometimes it was so easy.

“I don’t know how we are going to find this shader thing in here,” I said spinning around and taking in the enormity of the clutter.

“Blue has a lot of junk.” Wes strolled by me with his swagger intact.

I picked up an old snow globe from its wobbly perch on a dusty box. Giving it a shake, I watched the white flakes fall onto the poised ballerina, littering her perfect form. I gave the globe another stiff shake until the flakes detached themselves from her and settled onto the floor of the globe. “I don’t think it’s all junk. I think these are his memories.” I set the globe delicately back into its place.

The prickling sensation across my skin told me that Wes was watching me, but I didn’t look up. I was caught up in the abundance of cardboard memories Blue was holding on so tightly to. Each one packed up and put away as if he hoped he’d forget them but never really could. A lot like a black portfolio hiding deep within my closet.

“I spent a lot of time in here, and with Blue. Worked on my car right there.” He nodded at the rusted truck behind me. “It looked a lot like that truck, too. Blue told me if I helped him fix her up, she was mine. So I fixed her.”

Nodding, not at all shocked by Blue’s generosity or by Wes’ devotion to restoring his car, I took careful steps to Wes. Not careful enough, though, because just before I reached him, I stumbled.

Wes reacted quickly, catching my elbow in one hand and my waist in the other. “You okay?” he asked helping me to get steady on my feet.

“Yeah, I tripped over something I think.” I scanned the floor behind me, and then I saw it. “A guitar?” I bent down and pulled it from the ground, holding it in the air. “It looks like it’s in really good shape still.”

My eyes went to Wes and narrowed at the look across his face. His smile was soft, wistful even, brushing up slightly on just one side of his mouth. His eyes though, they seemed to crouch behind the veil of his lashes.

“A memory?” I spoke softly.

“Yeah.” He reached out and removed the guitar from my grasp. His eyes darted from top to bottom, and his hand brushed along the grain, fingers plucking at the strings. I’d lost him to his memory.

He searched around him and dusted off a nearby crate to take a seat. I didn’t dare ask him what he was doing or why. He was so deep in his thoughts, in the past, and something told me to let him rest there for a little while before I pulled him back.

Propping the guitar on one knee, he tuned the chords with shaky hands and rapid breath. Then he began to play. At first, it was a soft and stumbled sound, but when his eyes fell shut, he allowed himself to immerse. The song became strong and steady.

I stood silent, completely captivated by this gorgeous man. A man who could bring life to an empty room with a laugh. A man who was always the center of attention, be it with jokes or pure sex appeal. A man who, right now, had vanished into his past. This introspection, this vulnerability that I was witnessing in Wes was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen from him.

“I used to play out on Mission Bay Drive.” His ragged words startled me from what I’d recognized as an Incubus song. Drive, I thought.

“You peddled?” I asked holding my hands to my cheeks imagining the Wes I knew playing music for a little money. It hurt.

He stopped abruptly. “I don’t beg. I never begged.”

“Of course not. I’m sorry.” He nodded and went back to playing.

“For the longest time, I took the money people gave me and dropped it into an old milk jug of the guy who played the keyboard a few blocks down from me. Blue is the one who convinced me to start saving the money for myself and for my future. It took a while for me to change my way of thinking, but I eventually was able to see the bills in my guitar case as a thank-you and not a hand out.”

“You’re really good,” I said honestly. He played effortlessly, and even though I reminded myself that this was a serious moment, I couldn’t stop myself from openly checking him out as he played. His fingertips plucked and pulled at the strings rippling the muscles in his forearms to the beat. It was lovely. Lovely in a you can play me like that any time you want sort of way. “Where’d you learn to play,” I asked mesmerized by his movements.

“When I was a teenager, Blue taught me how to play this guitar, and as soon as I could carry a tune on it, I hit the streets.” I pressed my thumbs into my jaw. “I didn’t have a lot growing up, almost nothing of my own.”

“My parents would have helped you out, Wes. We would have helped you,” I said lowering my hands from my face, and Wes abruptly stopped playing.

“That’s not what it was about,” he said sternly but didn’t meet my eyes. He sighed out a deep breath and set the guitar aside, then flashed his eyes to me. Then it was my turn to sigh.

His eyes were haunted. Dark. Shaken. Desperate. “I needed to make the money on my own and prove that I could take care of myself.”

“Did you?” I asked sitting on a dusty box across from Wes.

“I’m still working on it.” He leaned forward placing his elbows on his knees and took my hands in his. “The thing is C, how can I ever take care of someone else if I can’t even take care of myself?”

I winced at the physical tear of my heart, understanding what he was saying. How could he ever have a serious relationship? How could he ever be with me if he couldn’t take care of himself?

“Wes.” I whispered his name and squeezed his hands in mine. “You already take care of the people you care about. You were there for August better than any of us when Ella died. You’ve taken care of me these last few weeks in a way no one ever has because I’ve trusted you too like no one before.”

Wes pulled his hands from mine placed them on my face. His fingers brushed my jawline briskly and almost frantically. “We don’t need money, Wes. I don’t need money or things. Just you.”

His fingers stopped. Then he pulled my face to his and softly kissed my lips. That was it. Lips to lips, nose to nose, breath to breath. I couldn’t help but feel he’d just given me what I asked for. Him.