11. Arden
11
ARDEN
My truck’s engine purred as I slid to a stop at one of the three traffic lights in Sparrow Falls. I remembered Boston traffic, not well, but it was there in the recesses of my mind. How my dad would complain about getting stuck in it for hours on his way into and out of the city. And now I complained when there were three cars in front of me.
I liked the simplicity of life here. The way no one seemed to be in too big of a rush. My gaze flicked to a man walking down the street, a camera around his neck. He wasn’t familiar. My brain automatically tried to place him, attempting to flip through memories to see if he was someone who’d tried to hurt me or worse.
I was constantly playing that game. It got harder during the summer months with the influx of tourists. Instead of recognizing a good seventy-five percent of folks in town, it went down to fifty at best. And I was left assessing every new face I came across. The only problem was that the man who’d pulled all the strings was still a faceless ghost. Only his voice haunted my nightmares.
A short honk sounded behind me, and Brutus let out a grumble of annoyance. It was the polite version of honking because the light had most definitely changed. I eased off the brake, giving Mrs. Peterson behind me a wave of apology.
My stomach twisted. Just one more thing to add to the pile of evidence that my brain was a messed-up place. Always playing tricks on me. It was the same reason I’d bolted from having sandwiches with Linc like a scared doe.
The twisting sensation shifted to annoyance and then anger. That wasn’t me. I didn’t run away. Not since that night almost fourteen years ago. That was the point of the endless training with Kye, the reason I had Brutus, so I didn’t have to be afraid.
I drove past Sutton’s bakery, The Mix Up, and my stomach rumbled. I’d be stopping there on the way home, even if it would feel a little bittersweet now that she and Luca were in Seattle with Cope. I passed The Pop on my right and made a plan to get a burger tomorrow. It was good to know what food was coming next.
Just before I reached the edge of town, I flipped on my blinker and turned left. The Collective was set back two blocks from Cascade Avenue, but it was still close enough for tourists to meander into the gallery. And that two-block distance from the main street meant it had been a hell of a lot more affordable, even for such a large space.
And we needed large. A gallery space with plenty of natural light. Studio space for the artists. Studio space for classes. And I had a vision for making it even larger, but we needed an influx of cash first. I was fine funding the lion’s share of it from my art’s proceeds, but to be sustainable on a larger, community-wide scale, we needed more donations than I could provide. I just hoped the fundraiser was the start of that.
As I turned onto the side street, I saw that most of the parking spots were already full. Tourists. I hoped like hell they were at least purchasing some things from the gallery to offset my parking issues.
I fist pumped to the drumbeat of the song blaring from my speakers as I spotted someone pulling out of a spot up ahead. I quickly snagged it and hopped out of my truck. Turning to face Brutus, I held up the leash. “You know the rules, buddy.”
His head dropped as he gave me a disdainful look.
“I’m sorry. But you know Trace will write both our asses a ticket if we don’t follow the rules.” As if I’d summoned my siblings by words alone, my phone buzzed in my pocket. Kye has changed the group name to We Know What You Did.
Kye
Spoiler alert. Not only did Arden almost slice Linc’s carotid, she also threatened to have Brutus rip off his hand.
I scowled at the screen.
Fallon
Uh, A? Do we need to go over those play-nice-with-others lessons again?
Jesus. My siblings would never lay off me now. I was going to kill Kye.
Kye
Oh, she wants to play REAL nice with Linc-y Linc. Especially when he’s sparring shirtless.
Oh, hell. A flurry of texts appeared all at once.
Shep
Is he making you uncomfortable, Arden?
Trace
Do you need me to talk to him? Explain things?
Cope
I’m going to kill him.
I opened the camera app, took a picture of myself flipping the bird, and sent it to the group chat.
Me
That was for Kyler and Kyler alone.
Rhodes
Shit. She formal-named you. Duck and cover.
Me
For the rest of my 82 million big brothers, I can take care of myself. Big dog, brown belt in jujitsu, always has a knife or Taser. Remember?
I didn’t wait for an answer, I simply flicked the phone to silent and shoved it into my pocket. I could hear Trace’s warnings about a silent phone being a security risk ringing in my ears. But I didn’t care. I’d left WITSEC at eighteen for a reason: to live. But I wasn’t sure I’d actually done that.
It was time.
Squaring my shoulders, I lifted Brutus’s leash and motioned for him to hop down. He did as I instructed but sent me baleful eyes as I hooked the clip to his collar. “I know, buddy,” I said, giving him a pat. “I’ll give you some turkey when we get home.”
That had his tail wagging and booty shaking. Turkey and hamburgers were his favorite.
Wrapping his leash around my hand, I headed for The Collective. Brutus was great in town, happy to be at ease with new things to sniff and people to see. Unless someone made a move on me, he would behave just like every other happy-go-lucky pet. But some people gave him a wide berth anyway. I got it. He was massive, but he was also the sweetest dog you’d ever meet.
As we walked up to The Collective, I frowned and checked my watch. It was two minutes before noon, but there wasn’t a soul inside. Annoyance flickered when I opened the door and called out. “Denver?”
No answer.
Apparently, I was rocking a murder list today. First, Kye. Now, Denver, for leaving the gallery unlocked and unattended. I moved through the space, checking the walls and spaces for sculptures. Everything seemed to be in place.
I saw Hannah’s beautiful and delicate watercolor landscapes, Farah’s brightly colored, mixed media masterpieces, and Isaiah’s earthy and sultry sculptures. Plus, my pieces. Mine were a mix of mediums: oils, pastels, charcoal, acrylics, metal, and the occasional clay piece. But one thing tied it all together…darkness.
For the first time in a long while, that had me shifting uncomfortably. I’d come to terms with my battle with the darkness, feeling like my art was an honest expression of the human condition. Now, I wondered if I was missing something.
The bell over the door jingled as it opened, and I whirled, suddenly feeling naked at the flash of self-doubt I’d felt. A tall, muscular man just shy of a decade older than me strolled into The Collective, his black hair shaved on the sides but done in twists on top. He grinned, his white teeth flashing against his dark skin. “Ardy.”
It was the mischievousness in the nickname that had me fighting a grin. “Isaiah,” I greeted.
He moved into my space, not worrying about Brutus at all. He bent to hug me, kissing both of my cheeks. “I missed you like crazy. Why are you always breaking my heart?”
I snorted as he released me. “I doubt you’ll be heartbroken for long.” He was too gorgeous, talented, and charming for that.
Isaiah’s grin widened. “You know I don’t like the silence.”
“Or an empty bed,” I muttered.
“You know me too well.”
The bell rang again as Hannah walked in, looking flustered. Her red hair was piled in a wild bun atop her head, and she wore a sundress with spaghetti straps adorned in wildflowers. “Arden, hey. We weren’t sure if you were coming.”
Guilt churned. I’d been in art and family world lately and not all that present at The Collective. “I made it. Where’s Denver? I want to ream his ass out for leaving the gallery unlocked while no one was here.”
A scoff sounded as someone walked in from the area of the back door. Farah’s lips twisted in a wry grin as she entered, her black hair cut in an angled bob and dressed in her usual artist’s black. How the newest member of our crew had ended up in Sparrow Falls was beyond me, but I adored her angry honesty.
“He’s off passing out flyers for the fundraiser and kissing some reporter’s ass,” Farah mumbled, dropping a stack of flyers onto the desk in the corner.
My mouth went dry. “Did you say reporter ?”
The bell jingled yet again as Denver entered, a man with salt-and-pepper hair next to him. Denver instantly winced. “Hey, Arden.”
I scowled at him. “Something you want to tell me?”
Denver’s throat worked as he swallowed. “Yeah. It just all happened so fast. Sam Levine is a reporter for Aesthetica . He’s doing a big piece on community art programs. Came all the way from New York.”
I didn’t miss how Denver had stressed all the way , as if warning me not to be an ass. There weren’t that many print art publications, and Aesthetica was the best of the best. If he wrote a piece about our community program, it could be huge for us.
But it could also put me in the crosshairs. Again.