Chapter Eight #3
the things you’ve done for me over the years, but you’re wrong. I don’t think
the way other people think. My brain is always running, but not on the everyday
things,” Bay admitted.
“Because you’re an artist.” Brooke turned so she could get
her hands on Bay, too.
“Or maybe I’m an artist because I can’t be anything else.
Maybe my brain is why I have to do these things,” Bay replied.
Brooke understood. “You make it sound like it’s hard. I feel
like I need to work, too. I always have. Even as a kid I would make clothes for
my dolls and later for myself.”
“It’s not exactly the same. I would bet you can write down
your ideas and come back to them later,” Shane explained. “Bay’s mind doesn’t
work that way. If he sees something that sparks him, he has to sit down. Mostly
right then. It’s why he carries a small sketchpad at all times. Well, when he’s
not on top of a horse working he does.”
“And Shane makes sure to replace it when I’m getting close
to it being full.” Bay sighed. “I don’t function well on my own. I sometimes
wonder what my life would have been like if I hadn’t had Shane. If he’d been my
full brother and there had been some years between us. He likes to talk about
how he’s the one who doesn’t have talent, but my talent means nothing without
Shane around to balance me. I just… You should know I’m not whole.”
Her heart constricted. They were both broken and yet there
was something so sweet about them. Had they survived because they had each
other? Her brothers had been born as halves of a whole. They were those twins
who could sense what the other felt, could finish each other’s sentences,
couldn’t be apart for long.
Bay and Shane weren’t twins, but they functioned a lot like
Max and Rye.
Was that why she was so deeply attracted to them? Because
they reminded her of the men who raised her? Because they offered the
possibility of the odd stability she had as a kid?
“You are whole,” she whispered, touching Bay’s face. “And so
is Shane. I am, too, but I feel like there’s a hole in my life.”
“Because you lost your job?” Shane asked.
She thought about it for a moment. Honesty. How could she
figure out what was wrong with her life if she wasn’t honest? “I don’t think
I’ve been happy for a long time. It’s more than the job. I feel adrift. I like
the city but I miss being here. When I’m here I miss the city. I loathed so
much about my job. Not the design part but the work part. The company. And yet
when I lost the job I felt like I lost part of myself. I think I’m a little
fucked up.”
“I feel that way all the time.” Shane’s hands moved on her
skin, like he needed the contact. “I think what you’re trying to do is find
your place.”
No. That would be ridiculous because she’d gone to college
and did grad work at Parsons and lived in the greatest city in the world. She
knew who she was and what she wanted.
Didn’t she? It wasn’t like she was a teen anymore. She’d
made decisions a long time ago. She’d set herself on a path. This whole thing
with the firing was nothing more than a speedbump. She would find another job
and go back to New York and back to working fifty plus hours a week in a
too-small apartment she wouldn’t be able to afford. She would design fast
fashion T-shirts that would end up in a landfill.
“Hey, it’s okay.” Shane drew her back. “You don’t have to
know everything right now. You should just be glad you don’t have his brain.”
She realized Bay had gotten up. She glanced around and he
had grabbed a small sketch book from his kit and had a pencil in his hand. He
moved it across the page.
“What’s he doing?” she asked.
“He found something interesting in the way you look. I told
you sometimes he can’t help it and he needs to work. It gets hard when he’s out
on the range or driving somewhere. It’s why I have to make sure I’m around him
most of the time,” Shane admitted. “I would bet that book is getting another
not-safe-for-work drawing.”
“He’s drawing me?” Brooke sat up. It felt weird. Like he was
taking a picture of her naked. “I don’t know that I like that idea. I don’t
want naked pictures of me.”
“Could you show her? I know you’re in the middle of a flash,
but your genius can wait for a second so she’ll feel comfortable,” Shane
requested. She noticed he’d sat back. He didn’t cover himself but there was a
definite withdrawal.
Bay frowned but passed her the book. “It’s kind of new. I
started it right before we left the last job, so it’s not quite full yet.”
Brooke took the book and flipped through the pages.
There were drawings of dogs and horses, a ranch she didn’t
recognize. A young woman with tears in her eyes and a man watching her from the
shadows. There was an odd menace to the work at the beginning of the notebook.
Like no matter how sweet the subject was, there was a darkness surrounding it.
And then it changed. There was a picture of Jennifer Talbot standing in front
of an easel, little Logan playing with toy cars at her feet. Somehow he brought
light to a black and white pencil drawing. There was a drawing of the Christmas
trees at the town hall where they’d had the annual holiday party. She
recognized her niece. Mel was holding her up and letting Paige put the star on
the beet tree.
Tears pierced her eyes because there was so much sweetness
in the drawing.
He was a master. He brought more than simple pictures to
life. He’d caught Paige’s grin, her shining light. He captured Mel’s softness,
his willingness to open his heart to all kids.
She turned the page and stopped.
It was her. She stood in the middle of town hall, a glass of
wine in her hand and a brilliant smile on her face and yet…she felt her
aloneness. She was beautiful, but a little lost. Lovely but damaged.
He saw her. He knew her. Somehow without spending hours and
hours, he saw the basic truths of her life.
She turned the page again, and now every other picture was
of her.
“Uhm, some of those obviously didn’t happen. They were in my
mind or sometimes I sketched the pictures you posted on social media.” Bay
sounded embarrassed.
But the pictures were gorgeous. There were pictures of her
staring at him like she wanted to eat him alive, desire stamped on her
features. She held out two hands, seeming to offer herself to them both. There
was a picture of her lying back on a bed with big hands on her body. One of her
with her head thrown back at the moment of orgasm.
He had a vivid imagination.
Then she’d obviously come to this point in the timeline of
his book because it was her sitting in the booth at Stella’s, the sun on her
face as she studied the menu.
The loneliness was back, the feeling that the subject of the
drawing was hiding something.
He saw way too much.
She stared at that last picture. Odd how she was far more
disturbed by that piece of art. And yet he’d made her beautiful. He’d made her
warm, her softness a base for the work. It was the sorrow he managed to
capture. And… “Max does not have fangs.”
Bay grinned. “Of course he doesn’t. That’s Rye, baby.” He
sobered. “I can try to not draw you if you don’t like it. Or I can at least
promise no one will ever see them.”
Did she want to hide such gorgeous artwork? Was she so
horrified that someone had seen her, acknowledged her pain, and still thought
she was beautiful and worthy of drawing?
The truth of the matter was she kind of liked the version of
herself that Bay caught. She looked back at a couple of the ones he’d drawn
from her socials. In the photograph version, she’d carefully controlled the
image, putting filters on and cleaning up the imperfections. He’d somehow put
them back. Like he knew her face well enough to give her back her laugh lines
and the wrinkle she got on her forehead when she smiled.
“Are you okay?” Shane asked, and she noticed he hadn’t
moved.
He was worried. He thought she would think it was weird.
It was. It was weird and wonderful and Bay had the kind of
talent that echoed past the artist’s own age. She looked up at him. “Am I your
muse?”
Bay’s expression tightened as if he was trying to control
the emotion he felt. “I’ve never drawn anyone the way I do you. You should
understand that I’ve painted a couple of those, and I have the deepest desire
to sculpt you. You take up space in my head and in my hands.”
“You take up space in my soul,” Shane said quietly.
Could she ask for more? It was overwhelming because she
wasn’t sure she could give them what they needed. Not long term, but she could
be what Bay wanted tonight. She closed the sketchbook and handed it back to
him. “Where do you want me?”
Bay’s eyes widened. “What do you mean?”
She leaned back against Shane’s chest, letting her arm drift
up. “Draw me like one of your French girls.”
She felt Shane relax behind her, his lips kissing her head.
“That’s our girl. You might be his muse, but you’re mine, too.”
His to take care of, to think about, to center his life
around.
It wasn’t so bad.
“I don’t think I drew any…” Bay stopped and flushed
slightly. “Is this a random pop culture reference that I don’t get?”
Shane chuckled, and she felt his cock against the small of
her back. “It’s only one of the most popular films of all time. It’s okay,
baby. I’ll watch all the things with you. She’s telling you she wants to be
your muse. She liked the drawings.”
“I liked how he saw me,” she admitted.
“Then lay back against him.” Bay changed positions, his
pencil in hand. “I wish I had charcoal, but this will do. Give me a minute.
Shane, wrap your arm under her breasts.”
She laid back and let Bay do his work.