14. Sloane
Chapter fourteen
Sloane
During my picnic with Cade, inspiration struck me like a lightning strike in the middle of Florida. I immersed myself the next day in a slew of colors and brushes, covered head to toe in smudges of red, blue, orange, and sweat—pure, salty sweat. It wasn’t that it was hot outside. Far from it, actually, as the crisp autumn air wafted in through my open window.
For once, I was working this hard on my collection because I finally understood what Cade meant when he said, “Art is a feeling.” For years, I took it as using art to get out my feelings, and, yes, that was the initial meaning of his words. But my new collection touches on that, and more.
I stare off to the side at the old painting I made of Cade when I was pissed off at him. Every color I used told a story of who he was, like scars marring his past and shaping his personality. The truth is, I didn’t really know him then, and I still don’t know him now. But what I do know is that the person I painted isn’t the Cade I’ve gotten to know.
Yes, he’s guarded and prickly around the edges, but underneath all of that is a good heart and a passionate soul. Each of those colors was chosen for the bitterness I was feeling. Yet, now they’ve managed to embody the complete opposite meaning.
Which is what my collection is going to represent.
It still needs work, of course, but the end result is in sight. I can finally see who I plan to showcase, and what I plan to represent. Each person has a story to tell, and each one of these people holds a significant place in my heart for different reasons. I want to be able to build upon who they are and what they’ve brought to my life, and share it with the rest of the art community.
I step back from the new painting of Mike, considering it as it begins to take shape. It isn’t nearly close to being done, because not even I can put onto a canvas all I see in Mike in under eight hours. But the vision is shaping itself, though, and that’s all I can ask for.
I walk into my adjoining bathroom, washing my hands clean from the residual paint. Then I start cleaning up my painting space. My new collection is off to a good start, and I’m happy with the process of where it is heading. I just hope it is perceived well. The art community has a habit of being rather smug and highly critical. One false step, and your career can be over in a matter of moments. Still, I’d be lying if I didn’t find peace in that now.
Before, I was worried about pleasing everyone in the art scene. Conforming to the norms and the technicalities of it so that I aligned with everyone else. But I think I’ll remove myself from that with this new collection. It’s a risk, because many of the collectors I’ve met are not collectors of portraits. They enjoy abstract paintings, landscapes, or anything devoid of reality. Something tells me that Lori and my contact at the gallery will be surprised by what I’m planning.
As I return to my room, I sit down at my desk and open my laptop. It’s been a while since I’ve checked my emails, so I figure now is as good a time as any with the downtime I have. As I scan each one, I come across one from Janet, the gallery curator for my next exhibit, asking about my new collection. I keep scrolling and see she’s also sent a few emails requesting follow-up, all of which have gone ignored by me.
Oops.
I quickly tap out a reply to her, expressing my apologies for the delay, blaming it on the wedding preparations when really it’s been mostly Cade. Despite how distracting he has been, he’s been helpful with getting me out of my artist’s block, so that’s something at least. I write to her that my collection is coming along well, and it’s risky, but I feel confident in the pieces being created.
I send that email and move to another one, stopping short as I read it over. The email address is encrypted, so it doesn’t show who it’s from until I reach the bottom.
My blood runs cold, and anxiety fills me to my core. How did they get my email? This is my private work email. Only Lori and various curators and collectors have it. Could this person be someone from the art scene?
I let out a shaky breath as I read the message.
Miss Bennett,
I hope you’ve taken my advice to heart and are now fueling your next collection with it, though something tells me you’re trying desperately to bury what it is that shaped you. How about I offer you this? Show the world all you’ve endured. Humanize thyself and allow yourself to strip yourself bare for the world to see. There is nothing wrong with a little vulnerability, is there? After all, you ask Cade Hart to do that, right? Before he strips you bare. Don’t worry, I’ll see to it that he’s no longer an issue.
Your problem isn’t that you’re afraid of falling out of existence. That has never been a problem for you after a decade away from home. Your problem is you’re afraid of people seeing you at your worst, but what will come first? I have all the cards in my grasp to either bury your career or allow yourself to be free from the confines of your past. I have Cade’s, too. I am not a mere human. I’m your biggest nightmare, but also your biggest fan.
I’ll leave you with this final antidote: fear is a temporary state, but freedom can be everlasting. Which one are you willing to seek? If you choose wrong, I’ll make things right, my love.
Love Always,
Your Biggest Fan
This letter…
It’s different from the last one. It’s detailed and fleshed out, like they’re angry at me for some reason. To make matters worse, they mention Cade in this one, which means they know about our relationship and have enough information to reveal it to the rest of the community.
Also, what information could they have on Cade? How do they know all we’ve talked about?
I let out a shaky breath as I read it over and over again. The wording is more deliberate this time. My stalker is making their feelings known.
They’re jealous. Jealous that Cade has me and they don’t, but who are they? I swallow hard as I text a screenshot of the email to Cade and Mike—separate texts. Despite how indifferent Cade seemed about the last message, I still want to keep him in the loop of everything. Mike wanted a paper trail, so now I can provide him with one.
I don’t delete the email, but save it on my computer. I’ve seen enough spy and cop movies to know that if someone doesn’t want something to be seen, they will find a way to make that happen.
For now, all I can do is not let it rile me up. I can’t lose focus on what I’ve created thus far and let this stalker win. Whoever it is wants me to go down a path I don’t want to go, but I will not allow that to happen.
The sound of a car approaching pulls my attention to the window. A police cruiser pulls up, and Mike exits it immediately after. I can only assume he’s here to talk about the message I received.
I get up from my chair and make my way downstairs as he comes inside the front door. I jerk my head toward the kitchen so I can make myself a cup of coffee. “You want some?” I ask, and he nods, sighing deeply.
“Seems like we are gonna need it,” he replies with a chuckle, though I can see the tension in his shoulders as he pulls his RVPD jacket off his shoulders and lays it over the barstool beside him.
He sits down as I prep the coffee before turning back to him. He shakes his head, trying to process everything. The letter didn’t just reveal that the stalker is in fact stalking me, but it revealed that Cade and I are together.
And I sent it to my brother, Mike. Cade’s best friend.
I knew this moment would come, but I didn’t think it’d be quite like this. I did expect the silence, the processing, and the confusion, but not because of some stalker who wants to get a rise out of me or hopes to gain my affections by casting everyone else out of my life so I have no one left but them. Whatever the reasoning behind this person’s motives, it doesn’t change the fact that I have to deal with what is right in front of me.
“How long has this… thing been going on?” Mike asks as he looks up at me, confusion written all over his face.
“Which part?”
He gives me a look that speaks volumes. I could say I was trying to put off explaining the gritty details about Cade, but the situation I’m in is much more confusing than just the Cade reveal. Then again, Mike already knows how long the stalker has been contacting me since I told him about it the first night it happened.
So yeah, I’m completely stalling.
“Since the night I got to Rose Valley,” I say softly, looking away. I’m ashamed that I kept this from him for so long, but considering I didn’t even know what this thing was between Cade and me, I couldn’t just reveal it to everyone. Especially not Mike.
“We all left at the same time,” Mike points out. He stares at me hard, but I remain tight-lipped. I can’t tell him that it started in the bathroom at O’Malley’s. He will judge me, which I can live with, but I can’t begin to imagine what he’d do to Cade if he knew.
“We met up later on,” I lie, like I always do. It’s better than the truth, and it protects us all in this situation. Cade, Mike, and I are all better off for it.
And as I look at Mike, I see him accept that answer, though I’m still trying to figure out how he feels about it overall.
“He’s a decade older than you, Sloane,” Mike says.
I just nod. I understand that Cade’s experienced things that I haven’t yet and our interests don’t necessarily align, but he supports what I do, and I keep finding new reasons to be proud of the man he is. Helping an entire community out of the trenches isn’t a small feat—it usually takes a village—but this is one man who wants nothing in return except to see Rose Valley thrive.
“I’m guessing he told you about Laura?” Mike asks. “About Liam? About Washington?”
I stiffen, looking away from Mike as he reels off each topic for me. I know he’s noticed my change in demeanor.
Laura? Who is Laura? Cade never told me about Liam—I found out about him. And I knew he left for college in D.C. and stayed out there for a few years after graduating, but that’s all I know.
I turn away from Mike as I retrieve my coffee and his, grabbing the creamer in the fridge to doctor it up.
“He didn’t, did he?” Mike asks.
I look up at him, shaking my head as I take a sip from my mug.
“Then you don’t even really know him.” His words are blunt but caring. Maybe he is right, and I don’t know Cade at all.
The front door opens, followed by a set of footsteps. Dad, Mom, and Mia walk in, and Mia gives me a hard stare.
“You didn’t show up to the fitting this morning,” she says, and I sigh, looking away defeatedly. I quickly start to apologize, but Mike steps in.
“Sorry about that, Mia. I kept Sloane away longer than intended. She was helping provide information on art theory for this case at the high school. Some kids thought it’d be fun to vandalize the school using art references.” Mike looks over at me. I give him a silent thank you, and he nods a little.
Mia sighs, shaking her head, knowing she can’t be mad if it’s crime-related. “It’s fine. I rescheduled the fitting for Thursday. Please, please, be there, Sloane. They need everyone’s measurements so they can have the adjustments ready for the wedding next week.”
I nod furiously, promising to be there. I can’t miss any more obligations.
Suddenly, screeching tires can be heard barreling down the street, pulling everyone’s attention to the front door. “What in the world?” Dad mumbles as the tires come to a halt. A car door slams shut, and it isn’t long until Cade comes storming into the house, swiftly making his way into the kitchen.
His eyes remain trained on me, ignoring everyone else in the room. Mike is the only one who knows, but now I can sense Mia and my parents putting the pieces together.
“Why have you been ignoring my messages and calls?” Cade demands, and I look around, realizing my phone isn’t even near me.
“It’s upstairs,” I reply, gesturing to show off the bare kitchen island, aside from Mike’s and my coffees.
“You thought it was a good idea to leave your phone upstairs when you have a stalker threatening your and my life?” Cade asks harshly.
Mia and Mom look at me in shock.
“Cade, we’re getting it sorted out, all right?” Mike says gently, stepping in, hoping to defuse the situation, but Cade holds his hands up defensively. This isn’t the Cade I know. This isn’t the man I’ve grown to have deep feelings for.
Mike is right. I don’t know Cade Hart as well as I thought I did.
“No offense, Mike, but I don’t think some small-town cop and his band of do-gooders can even begin to sort this out,” Cade replies venomously, causing anger to ignite inside me. Mike isn’t just his best friend, he’s like a brother to him, and I won’t let whatever stick that crawled up his ass insult him like that.
I step around the kitchen island and walk up to him. “You and I need to talk. Now,” I growl, my jaw clenching from the steaming anger I feel looking up at him. His eyes are cold and devoid of anything other than frustration. It’s like he was swapped out with some other person who looks like Cade, but I’ll get him back.
I’ll find a way.
As I walk in front of Cade and lead him to my bedroom, he follows close behind me. In the distance, I can hear Mom, Dad, and Mia start asking Mike what is going on in anxious voices.
I hear Mike answer, “Sloane has a very eager fan, and I asked Cade for help with it. You know Sloane. If you tell her to stay put, she does the opposite.”
Thanks, Mike. At least my eagerness to rebel will keep them away.
But for now, my sights are on Cade.