Chapter 54 #2
Usually, the moment I walk through the heavy glass doors, something settles inside me.
The familiar scent of acrylic paints, fresh canvas, and graphite clings to the air.
Natural light always pours in through the floor-to-ceiling windows, illuminating dozens of easels scattered across the open studio.
Half finished sculptures sit beneath white sheets, and paint-splattered stools wait exactly where exhausted art students abandoned them the night before.
It’s always been a sanctuary for me here. A predictable and safe constant I’ve grown to love. Art has never once judged me. It’s never expected me to have the right words. When my head gets too loud, all I’ve ever needed was a blank canvas and enough paint to quiet it.
Today… none of that works.
I’ve been staring at these two blank canvases for way too long. Two paintings. That’s all I have left between me and an art degree. Between me and that glorious dream of owning my own gallery one day.
Two damn paintings.
And I’ve got nothing.
I reach for the tube of ultramarine and squeeze a ribbon of blue across my palette. I add in some white, hunter green, and cadmium red. The colors blend beneath my palette knife exactly the way they’re supposed to.
But my brain does nothing. Every brushstroke I imagine turns into more of Bella’s pain. I squeeze my eyes shut so hard my temples ache.
“Just breathe,” I whisper to the empty room. “She’s alright, she’s home.”
I open my eyes, but the peace vanishes. Instead, the horrific memory of Bella lowering herself on Luca’s lap floods my mind. The ghostly sound of her shrieking when he activated that damn collar bounces off the inside of my skull until I completely lose it.
In a blind, suffocating burst of rage, I chuck the palette across the room. It crashes against the far brick wall, shattering on impact as the thick, mixed colors smear into an ugly mess down the surface.
“Well…” her sultry voice fills the echoing space from the doorway. “Looks like I came at just the right time.”
I snap my head around to find Haley in cut off denim shorts and a teal tank top with her fiery red waves braided loosely to the side leaning in the doorway.
“Brought you something.” She winks, striding forward with two cups from The Black and Burgundy in her hands.
“You’re amazing,” I mutter, forcing an exhausted smile.
“I take it that the creative process isn’t flowing smoothly today?” she asks softly, her heels clicking against the tile floor as she closes the distance between us.
“I’ve got nothing, Hales,” I rasp, taking my coffee from her extended hand. “Every time I look at the white space, I just see him.”
Haley steps right in front of my easel, looking over the two empty canvases before turning her gaze to me. She reaches out and rests a hand on my shoulder.
“Cade. You just spent seventy-five days holding your breath and hunting for the girl you love. You can’t expect your hands to just magically switch from survival mode to awesome artist mode in ten short days.”
My brows lift. “Awesome artist mode?”
“Shut it,” she laughs. “I’m a dancer, not a poet.”
“I have to finish. I have to graduate. If I don’t and I can’t get—” I cut myself off, retreating a step.
“Can’t get what?” she prods, setting her cup down on the small table beside us. “What aren’t you telling me?”
“It’s nothing,” I whisper, exhaling slowly as the warmth of coffee settles in my chest. “Just forget it.”
Haley plants her hands firmly on her hips. “It’s like you’ve never met me before,” she scoffs. “Spill it. Now. Don’t make me call Bella because you know I will… or worse, Ellie.”
“No, don’t call them.” I groan, fishing my phone out of my pocket. “Here.”
I unlock my phone, scroll through my inbox until I find the email, and hand it to her.
“What’s this?”
“I sent in a painting to a gallery,” I say.
“What?!” she shrieks.
“Just read it.”
“Dear Mr. Whitmore,” she begins, pacing as she reads. A few lines down, her sage green eyes widen and her steps come to an abrupt halt.
“Oh my God!” She smacks my chest with the back of her hand. “We’d like to inform you that your application for the Emerging Voices Showcase at the Glasshouse Gallery this summer has been accepted, pending interview and submission of your final collection.”
Her eyes snap up to mine. “Cade.”
I rake my hand through my hair. “I know.”
Haley shakes her head. “Do you actually know?!” She thrusts the phone toward me. “This is one of the biggest galleries in Manhattan.”
“I know.” I nod, huffing out a quiet and stressed laugh.
“Then why the fuck are you acting like this is bad news?” she scolds, genuinely frustrated on my behalf. “This could launch your entire career. Like… literally change your life.”
“Because I haven’t painted or sketched a damn thing in weeks,” I admit, glancing down at the two blank canvases mocking me. “And the showcase requires a minimum of ten cohesive pieces.” I motion toward the wall lined with a few of my finished pieces. “I’ve got eight.”
“Oh,” she whispers, looking over at them.
“They want each showcase to spotlight the artist within. Those who make me… me I guess,” I say as Haley gets closer to a painting of Bella and I two-stepping in Nashville. “So I figured I’d create our wild and crazy family.”
“Cade…” Her fingertips drift across the edge of the one I created of her and Knox cuddled up in a corner booth at The Obsidian. “Us too?”
I nod. “You’re a part of this family, Hales.”
“These are incredible,” she breathes.
“Thanks.”
I suck in a deep breath and release a harsh exhale. “But I need those last two finished by next Friday.”
“Next Friday?” Haley spins to me. “I thought Roman said that he—“
“Wexley isn’t as lenient as Northvale,” I cut in, the pressure inside bubbling out in my voice.
“Especially in the art department. They gave me as long of an extension as they were willing to, but now that Bella’s back…
” I swallow. “They want the paintings. And it’s not even just graduation that’s looming over me now.
The gallery said they only review the sample of the completed collection before deciding which artists to call in for the interviews. ”
“When are interviews?” she asks, turning her focus back to the row of art.
“You won’t know until you get the call. But most of them are between now and sometime in June. They want online scans of the ten pieces to look over before seeing me or my paintings in person. I’m running out of time.”
“Okay, I have a semi-related question,” she says, glancing up from another painting.
“What is it?”
“Why the hell didn’t you tell any of us?”
I shrug. “Because there wasn’t anything to tell. That email is just an invitation to submit my entire collection.”
Her eyebrows knit together. “Cade James Whitmore.”
“I got a maybe, Hales.” I laugh quietly, shaking my head. “And don’t middle name me.” I peer out the window, letting the sunlight warm my cheeks. “Until then, it’s just another dream sitting in my inbox.”
Haley just stares at me for a long moment. “You’re unbelievable.”
“What?”
“Most people would’ve printed that email and framed it.”
“It’s just an email.”
“No.” She points toward the phone still resting in my hand. “It’s proof that someone who has never met you looked at one, single painting you submitted and was like fuck yeah we want him.”
I don’t have an answer for that.
She softens, stepping closer.
“So…” she says, grinning as she bumps my shoulder. “Sounds like you need to get on it, bud.”
“Profound words, Hales.”
“They’re my specialty.” She wraps her arms around my waist. “But seriously though, how cool would it be if my bestie became a famous artist one day?”
I hook my arm around her shoulder and press a quick kiss on the top of her red hair.
“It’d be pretty cool.”