Chapter Twelve
Micah
“No matter how far you go, you can always go home.” —Tanya
I FEEL MOST LIKE MYSELF WHEN I’M PAINTING. MY brUSHES are an extension of me. Sometimes, I like to sketch out my work before I start, but on projects like this, where I don’t have a particular subject in mind, I like to let my hands lead me. No plan. No pretense. Just feeling.
After we couldn’t figure out where the hell Tanya’s note was trying to send us, Dani and I came back home.
We tried roping in Victor, but he of course feigned cluelessness.
We searched her house for the umpteenth time and still turned up nothing.
I know Dani was starting to feel frustrated, so we’re both glad to have this short break.
My door opens and Rome walks in, carrying a large carryout bag.
“How you know I wasn’t doing something crazy in here?” I yell from the loft area of my apartment, where I do all my painting.
He sets the bag on my kitchen counter and then makes his way upstairs to the loft. “’Cause you’re workin’ and you don’t do shit else when you’re working. Hence why I brought food.”
“Aww, bitch. You care.” I put on the singsong voice we always use when one of us does something nice for each other.
“I don’t know why. Bring ya ass.”
I follow him back down to the kitchen where he takes the Chinese food out of the bag and we move to the couch to eat.
“So, how’s things with Miss Janelle?”
His entire face lights up. “Really good. She’s … yeah. I really like her.”
“I think everybody knows that.”
“Nah, but it’s never felt this easy before. You know? It’s crazy because it’s still new, but I just know it’s right. She’s my person.”
He looks at me, his eyes asking if I understand what he means, and I do. I think I met my person eleven years ago, and it hasn’t been easy. It’s been far from it. But it’s worth fighting for, so that’s what I’ll do.
We catch up on other things like work and our parents until every scrap of food has been demolished.
“How’s things with Dani?” he asks, his brows dancing on his forehead. “J has thoughts about y’all.”
I bet she does. I’m very curious what Dani has told the girls about us.
Rome knows there’s more to the story with Dani and me, but I haven’t shared the details with him because I never wanted to betray Dani’s trust. I’ve only ever told Bailey and I only told her because she wouldn’t accept me moving to New York any other way.
“Wanna share?”
“She told me not to tell you.” He smirks as we finish cleaning up our food.
“What you bring it up for, then?!”
“To fuck with you. Aight, I’m out.” He chucks the deuces and leaves me behind.
Dickhead.
I’m still in the zone when a knock on my door surprises me. Checking the door camera only surprises me more.
Dani? What’s she doing here?
Shit, it’s 8:00 a.m. I worked through the night. It’s not the first time I’ve done it, but usually I’m able to sleep for the rest of the day to recover. If Dani is willingly stepping into my space, though, I won’t be going to sleep anytime soon.
I open the door and take in the woman I’d always longed to have in my home, a possibility I’d never let myself expect.
“I texted you to let you know I was on my way.” She pushes me farther inside and shuts the door.
Before I have a chance to respond, she grabs my face and looks deeply into my eyes. Normally, I would be all about this, but today the sudden jerking of my head is too jarring to enjoy.
“What’s wrong with you?”
“Good morning to you too, Dani.”
“Don’t ‘good morning’ me. You look like shit.”
“Ouch.”
“Did you go out last night?”
I grab her hands and remove them from my face. My ears are starting to ring from all the movement. “No. I was up working.”
“All night?” she screeches.
I nod my head, and she shakes hers with disdain. “What’s wrong with you?”
“That’s the second time you’ve asked me that today.”
“And yet the answer is still unclear.”
I look up to the freshly finished painting in my loft and back to Dani. Her eyes follow mine but remain unimpressed.
“At least the painting’s done.” I’ll take it to Spring House later so Bailey can ship it to the client for me.
“At least the painting’s done,” she mocks me in a much higher voice than mine and then points to the hall that leads to my bedroom. “Go shower and get yourself together so we can go.”
“And where are we going?”
“Get your shit together and then I’ll tell you.”
“I’m sorry, are you mad at me?”
“No. I just think you’re an idiot who doesn’t take care of yourself.”
I look in her eyes, and underneath the indignation and ire, I catch a glimpse of concern. She worries about me. That alone gives me the energy I need to get through this day. “You got it, Storm.”
She squints her eyes at that. “Storm?”
“Yep, my little thunderstorm.” I don’t give her the time to think about that before I head to the back to get ready.
Once I’m showered and dressed, I walk back out to the living room, but Dani’s nowhere to be found. I look up to the loft and find her studying my paintings. I stand as still as possible, not wanting to startle her. I want to see how she views my work. I want to see how it makes her feel.
She spends a good amount of time looking at each one, analyzing every curve and swoop made by my brushes.
She stares at one of the canvases longer than the others, physically reaching out to lightly swipe her hand against it.
I wonder what intrigues her about that one.
It’s of a little boy holding his baby sister for the first time.
Maybe it’s the pure innocence captured there that draws her in.
She turns around, catching me watching her, and her step falters. “Oops, I’m sorry. I hope it’s okay that I’m up here.”
“Of course it is.”
She bites her lips and looks at another painting. “You really are exceptional at this.”
“Thank you.”
“What’s under there?” She points to a large canvas covered with a tarp in the corner of the loft.
“See for yourself.”
She tiptoes over to it, as if what’s under there can reach out and grab her.
From where I’m standing, I can’t see her face when she pulls the tarp off the canvas, but I hear her full-body gasp.
“When … when did you?” Her voice can’t be any louder than a whisper, yet I hear it loud and clear.
It’s an incomplete portrait of her.
“A long time ago.”
Eleven years ago. I started it after waking up to find her missing.
I wanted to memorialize the woman who stamped my heart in a single night, but I could never finish it.
I’ve added flourishes to it over the years, added most of the facial details six years ago after leaving New York, even more three years ago after seeing her at the gallery. But still it isn’t finished.
She turns to me with glossy eyes.
Every bone in my body wants to go to her, so I do. I take the stairs two at a time until I’m close enough to lend her my strength if she needs it but far enough to give her the space she needs to absorb what she’s seeing.
“Why didn’t you finish it?”
“It didn’t feel right to when our story was incomplete.”
She swallows a big gulp of air.
“Maybe one day I’ll get to finish it.”
She scans the canvas one more time, as if committing it to memory, and then she does the one thing I expect her to do: she changes the subject.
“Are you ready to go? I want to go back to Tanya’s.”
I gently take the tarp from her hands and then turn and motion for her to walk in front of me. “I’m ready, Storm.”
She charges down the steps, but when she turns the corner, I catch her glancing up at the painting again.
I follow, grabbing my keys from the kitchen counter, when she swirls around to face me.
“Keys.”
“Huh?”
“You’re working off of no sleep, so I’ll drive. Keys.”
“Okay.” I toss them her way, amused when her jaw drops.
“Really? I thought you’d put up more of a fight.”
Her assumptions about me are always entertaining. “Why would you think that?”
“I don’t know. I just thought you’d be more possessive over your car.”
I guess she forgot I literally left my car at a gas station for her. I eliminate the space between us, pushing her hair off her shoulder as I cup the back of her neck. “Believe me, Storm. There’s a lot of things I’d be possessive over. A car isn’t one of them.”
Is it still considered stalking if you have good intentions?
I’m pretty sure it is, but that doesn’t stop me from clicking the next post.
Dani is physically so close to me and yet she still feels as far away as she did when this journey began.
Ever since seeing Tanya’s note on her photo, I’ve been desperate to get closer to her.
To just get a peek behind the curtain and make sure she’s okay.
Hell, we could go back further than that.
I’ve had this deep-seated desire to know and understand every facet of Dani since the day I met her in Tanya’s den.
That hasn’t stopped, even when hurt, time, and distance stood between us.
Watching her during the photoshoot in California, she seemed genuinely happy, but she’s so good at masking her feelings that I truly don’t know.
So now, while she’s only inches away from me, I’m scrolling through every picture she’s ever posted trying to see if I can see the signs. The signs of her unhappiness.
It’s her eyes that give her away. And her hands.
People post only what they want people to see, and Dani is no different.
Her page is expertly crafted. Her videos are always on brand, and she always exudes a level of charm that distracts viewers from the fact that they didn’t learn anything too personal about her during the video.
I’m grateful my locs hide the earbud nestled in my ear.
Her pictures are always effortlessly beautiful, eliciting envy from those who wish they were in her place or by her side without rubbing in their faces that they’re not.
It’s a careful balance and she toes the line impeccably.