Chapter 24
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
ELLA
“This one has to go to the gallery.”
I slowly turn around to find Remi holding up one of the paintings I finished while Chloe was still a baby.
I found serenity in painting after she was born.
It allowed me the opportunity to escape from the hardships of life.
All my emotional baggage was checked at the door as soon as I stepped inside my little painting room.
Over the course of a few months, I painted until my hand was cramping.
It was always in the middle of the night, after the rest of the world had gone to sleep and Chloe was tucked away in her crib.
Thankfully for me, she was an excellent sleeper.
During that period, we were in the cycle of sleeping a few hours at a time.
I would sacrifice some of those hours to lose myself in my art.
My eyes scan the small square, taking in the angry reds and emotional yellows smeared across the canvas. I remember that one specifically. It was the last one I painted, right before Chloe turned a year old, until I started again a few months ago.
We were nearing Chloe’s first birthday and I was filled with an unsuspecting rage. A rage toward myself for my life ending up the way it did. I wasn’t angry that I left Jacob or that I was doing everything as a single mother. I was angry at that naive young adult who fell for him.
So, I stayed up until the wee hours of the morning, before the birds began to chirp. I painted and cried and mourned and fought the urge to rip it all to pieces.
“I don’t know if that one should go,” I say, half cringing at the thought of showing such raw emotion to other people. “That one isn’t quite like the others.”
It’s still a landscape, but it’s messy. It’s chaotic and unorganized. It oozes pain.
“I think that’s what makes it stand out,” she says, her voice encouraging as she looks at the painting once more. “There’s so much emotional depth to it.” She looks back at me and her lips part as if she’s going to ask, but she doesn’t have to.
She already knows enough to understand where it came from.
“I’ll leave it here, you still have a few days to decide. Maybe you’ll change your mind.”
“Okay,” I agree, nodding as I glance about the room once more.
I pull out my phone, looking at my email once more to see what they are asking for.
Vera, Austin’s cousin, is the one who ended up sending the email, not her assistant.
And she didn’t specify what type of paintings to bring.
She simply said they would showcase whatever I wanted to submit.
“Do you want to take a break?” Remi asks me as she moves away from the stack of paintings. “I promised Chloe we would go get ice cream this afternoon.”
Chloe’s in the other room coloring. I shake my head at Remi. “Can you take her? I want to finish getting this stuff ready.”
Remi looks concerned, but doesn’t comment on it. “Yeah, sure. We’ll be back in a little bit.”
“Take your time.” I force a smile onto my lips as she exits the room. My eyes scan the perimeter again, taking in the various stacks of paintings on the floor and the ones hanging on the walls.
We’ve been at this for two hours and I think there are a total of four sitting by the door. Decisions like this create an unease inside me. Self doubt has already proven to be one of my downfalls and a situation like this is not helping.
I walk around the room, running my fingers over the paintings hanging on the walls. There are two that I think they would maybe like, so I take them off and put them over in the pile we have. A part of me wonders if I should take everything and whatever they don’t want can go in my car.
A wave of nausea rolls in my stomach as I’m flooded with anxiety. I don’t know what to wear. I don’t even know what I’m supposed to do. I’ve never been to an art show before and I’ve certainly never been to an event where there are people in attendance to see my work.
My phone vibrates and I pull it from my pocket, my eyebrows tugging together when I see it’s an unknown number. I don’t have time to deal with telemarketers. I ignore the call, returning my attention back to my work.
Stepping in front of the stack on the far side of the room, I sink to the floor, sitting cross legged in front of them. The front door shuts and I know I’m safe from Chloe or Remi coming in to find me in the middle of breaking down.
My heart picks up the pace in my chest, beating erratically.
I can feel the pounding inside my ribcage and my bounding pulse in my neck.
It feels like my entire body has a heartbeat at this point.
I’m acutely aware of my breathing and I have to focus to keep it steady.
My head swims and the walls of the room feel like they’re closing in on me.
I force my eyes shut, blocking out the now harsh light, dropping my head into my hands.
“I’m okay. Everything is okay.” The words become somewhat of a chant or a mantra and I attempt to calm myself. This isn’t the first anxiety attack I’ve had, but it’s been a while since I’ve had one. The experience is jarring.
My phone vibrates again and irritation prickles my skin for a moment before relief washes over me when I see a message from Cole on the screen.
Cole
Do you need any help getting your stuff together for this weekend?
My forehead creases and the thought of him sends another jolt to my heart.
He’s going to be there this weekend, looking at every single painting, every single emotion I’ve felt over the past few years.
It’s a vulnerable feeling, one I’m not familiar with and my stomach suddenly feels like it’s going to fall out of my butt.
Cole
I’m sure you don’t, but in case you do, I’m here.
I suck in a shallow breath, unable to get my lungs to expand enough to inhale deeply. Emotion washes over me, mixing with the anxiety, and my body shakes as I let out a rush of air.
“I’m okay.”
I’m not okay.
I can’t do it.
Cole
Is everything okay?
You shouldn’t have said anything to Austin.
Cole
Ella, what’s going on?
I just can’t do it.
When Cole doesn’t respond, I lock my phone and set it back down on the floor.
I close my eyes, burying my face in my hands once more.
I stay in this position for at least ten minutes, trying to get myself together.
Agreeing to this show was a mistake. My paintings are garbage.
I’m not good at being the center of attention. Nothing about this was a good decision.
“Ella, are you in here?”
My head springs up, instantly feeling a rush of dizziness as everything feels distorted from the adrenaline overload in my body. I didn’t hear a knock or the front door opening.
“Ella?”
What the hell is he doing here?
My eyes are wide and I stare at the half open door, completely mortified about him finding me like this. Cole Wild steps into my line of vision and I want to crawl into a hole and pretend he was never here.
His eyebrows pull together, his head tilting to the side as he pauses in the doorway. “Hey.” His voice is soft and gentle and he quickly steps into the room, closing the distance between us. He bends his knees, crouching down in front of me on the floor. “What’s goin’ on?”
“This was a mistake, Cole.” I shake my head, my voice quivering as I half laugh. “My paintings aren’t what they’re looking for. The thought of being the center of attention has me so nervous already. I don’t know what I was thinking, agreeing to something like this.”
“Ella, darlin’, look at me,” he says in a hushed voice as he reaches for me.
“You are amazing. Your paintings are exactly what they are looking for. You can do this.” He moves into a seated position, spreading his legs as he pulls me between them.
I don’t fight him as he guides my body closer to his. “Tell me something you can feel.”
I focus on his words, feeling my hands on his forearms. His skin is soft and warm beneath mine. “You.”
“Tell me something you smell.”
I swallow hard, inhaling his familiar scent through my nose. Leather and cedar. “You.”
“Tell me something you see.”
Emotion washes over me as my heart begins to steady. My breathing is more controlled. I look into the depths of his blue eyes. “You,” I whisper. “It’s you.”
“Good,” he says softly, his eyes burrowing through mine as he pulls me flush against him. “If you don’t want to do this, you don’t have to. No one will be mad if you decide to change your mind.”
My body relaxes into him as conflict momentarily engulfs me. I know this is a great opportunity, but the thought of failure is paralyzing. Jacob used to tell me that being an artist would never be a viable career. That it was only ever a hobby.
And there was a part of me that hung onto that. No one wants to be a starving artist. No one wants to put themselves out there and deal with the rejection that comes with it.
But, I know deep inside that I will be okay if it doesn’t work out the way I’m hoping it does. Cole grounds me, giving me the opportunity to look at things clearly.
“This isn’t something I should pass up.”
“I agree, but it doesn’t mean it can’t happen another time.”
My eyes bounce back and forth between his. “I want to do it. I don’t want to keep second guessing things and myself. I don’t want my self doubt to continue to hold me back.”
Cole stares at me. “So, what happens next?”
I let out a ragged breath, still feeling the aftershocks from my anxiety attack. Cole was able to distract me enough to get myself under control. He didn’t make it go away, but he helped me through it.
“Will you help me decide which paintings to take?”
A tender smile spreads across his face.
“I’d love to.”