26. THE DISTANCE BETWEEN US
THE DISTANCE BETWEEN US
Inviting Emerson to come out with me tonight was easy enough.
He’s been wanting me to leave the penthouse, which I’ve barely done since I was discharged from the hospital a week ago.
So I asked him to pick me up in his best suit, and he didn’t question me for one second.
This is one of the many reasons why I love our friendship.
We live by the mantra: say yes, ask questions later.
And it’s always worked out for us. I won’t start questioning it now, and neither will he. Thank fuck for that.
We pull up outside the gallery where I first saw Kenneth, getting out of the Uber and standing side by side at the entrance.
I flinch as I adjust my suit, my ribs still screaming in pain.
I have a nasty bruise on my side, but it’s turning yellow and brown at this point.
Not that it feels much better. Okay, maybe a little.
The pain in my heart definitely feels worse, though.
Em looks at me with confusion, mostly because I’ve never expressed an interest in doing something like this before.
So I know how it looks right now. Odd. Fucking weird.
Here I am, dragging him to a place he’d usually suggest going to, and for fun.
It’s so unlike me, it’s actually laughable.
Except it’s not to me. This is my lifeline.
I’m here to get a glimpse of Kenneth again, possibly talk to him. I’m trying to retrace my steps.
The problem with retracing my steps is that I don’t remember the exact date of the gallery showcase I attended.
The one where I first saw him and ran out like a coward.
So now I’m stuck picking random dates to show up and hope it’s the right one, which only makes me second-guess myself.
But I have to start somewhere. At least that’s what I keep telling myself as I turn to face my best friend.
“Who even are you?” Emerson asks playfully, though his brows are furrowed in a way that makes it feel like his question is genuine. “What did you bring me here for?”
“There’s a photographer I’ve been following for some time.
” I shrug, and he raises an eyebrow. It doesn’t take a genius to decode what he’s trying to say: since when do you follow photographers?
Since when do you look at portraits, and since when do you care about any art?
“I want to buy one of his portraits for my living room.”
Emerson’s eyebrow rises further somehow, a talent, truly. “I mean, I guess it can’t hurt. Your living room is fucking dreadful.”
I frown. “Watch it, Emerson.” But he just chuckles, which makes me chuckle too. “I already have one in mind.”
“How?” he asks, clearly confused. “We haven’t even gone inside.”
“I saw it on Instagram.” I shrug, lying my ass off.
I didn’t see it on social media. I bought it in a past life, and now I’m going to buy it again.
I’m trying to prove a point here. If the universe is granting me a second chance, I’m going to take it with both hands and never look back.
“Now let’s hurry up before someone else buys it. ”
Em nods and opens the door for me, holding it until I walk through.
There are at least a hundred people huddled in this gallery.
The heat is suffocating, and I adjust my collar once to try to help myself breathe better.
It doesn’t work. But breathing is the least of my concerns right now.
Laying eyes on Kenneth is my number one priority, and I move through the crowd with purpose, even through the pain, until I’m standing in front of the photograph I’m going to buy tonight.
It’s in the exact same spot it was last time, and though I get a small sense of déjà vu, I don’t feel his presence at all.
It’s disappointing, but I’m getting what I’m here for—this portrait.
While seeing him was also the goal, I’m not going to cry about it.
I’ll have many more chances to run into him because I won’t stop until I get what I want.
Even if I have to stalk him. I do know where he lives, after all.
Okay, that might be taking it too far—but I don’t care.
“Wow,” Em says softly next to me. “That’s beautiful.”
“He really is, isn’t he?” I sigh.
“Won’t it be weird to have a portrait of a man you don’t know hanging in your living room, though?”
I shake my head.
How do I tell him he’s not just some man I don’t know?
How do I tell him he’s actually not a stranger?
That I may be the only person who knows him better than he knows himself?
How the hell do I tell my best friend, the one person who has always been here for me, that this man is the love of my life?
I can’t tell him.
So I don’t.
“Don’t think too hard about it,” I reply, shrugging. “It’s just a picture.”
I hate myself for saying that. The lie tastes bitter on my tongue, but I push the feeling away.
I can’t think about it, or I’ll break down all over again.
Emerson looks skeptical, but shrugs as he looks around in search of someone.
I’m not sure who that would be, so I raise a questioning eyebrow at him, which he sees when his eyes return to my face.
“Who are you looking for?” I ask curiously.
“The silver-haired lady,” he replies, as if I’m supposed to know who that is. At the clear confusion on my face, he rolls his eyes. “She was at the front? The one who’s going to take payment for the portrait.”
“Oh,” I breathe, relieved. I remember her… Glenda. “Let’s go find her.”
I take one last glimpse at the portrait, Kenneth’s indigo eyes taunting me in a way that sends shivers down my spine.
But then Emerson grabs my forearm and tugs me after him, breaking whatever spell I was under.
He steers me through the crowd, dodging bodies expertly, until we’re standing in front of the same woman I originally bought this portrait from last time.
“Hello, Mr. Moore,” Glenda says after Emerson introduces me, and she has not one bit of recognition in her eyes when she looks at me.
It’s disappointing, and it makes me wonder if she realizes I remember her.
Can she tell I’ve met her before? Am I acting like I know her?
“I understand you’d like to buy Mr. Dunn’s portrait? ”
“Yes, Glenda,” I reply, smiling politely. “Lead the way.”
“You won’t regret your purchase,” she says with a grin. “He’s very popular around here.”
“Oh, I’m aware.” I sigh. “He just can’t help that he’s beautiful.”
“Don’t tell me you’re going to leave your phone number with me like everyone else does,” Glenda jokes, but I know deep down it’s not a joke.
It’s especially not funny since I know it’s how it usually goes, but I already decided I won’t do that again.
I want to meet him by chance. “You’d be horrified at the number of people who do. ”
“No.” I shake my head. “I won’t be doing that.”
Emerson smirks when I chance a glance at him. “Are you sure, Con? It might get you laid.”
I snort. “I’ve never needed help in that department.”
Glenda and Emerson both chuckle, and she changes the subject to explain how it all works.
She asks for a method of payment and takes down all my information to have the portrait delivered, and though there’s a part of me that wants to tell her I changed my mind and I do, in fact, want to give Kenneth my phone number, I refrain.
Just barely. I’m hanging by a thread, and so is my sanity.
Once we’re done, I all but drag Em out of the gallery, needing to catch my breath.
I couldn’t feel him in there, which means Kenneth isn’t anywhere near this place.
It’s a weird thought, knowing when someone is near, being able to sense them, but it doesn’t make it any less true.
I pull out my phone and get us a car to go to the bar where I saw Kenneth back then, hoping he’ll appear.
Even though I know it’s a slim chance, I have to try.
My hope is dwindling by the minute, and it’s starting to feel like I’ll never see him again, even though I’ve only just begun looking for him.
I need to have patience; I know that, but I’m desperate. I need him back in my life.
Emerson frowns when we pull up to the bar, but gets out of the car and waits for me.
I join him a moment later on the sidewalk in front of the bar’s front door, and before he can question me, I go inside.
He follows me all the way to a table, the same table we sat at once upon a time, and I leave him there to get us some drinks.
From a distance, I see him sit down, and then I scan the faces of everyone in the establishment, looking for Kenneth.
To no one’s surprise, certainly not mine, he’s not here.
Because of fucking course he’s not. With a sigh, I order the drinks from the bartender and go back to the table with full hands.
Once I set the drinks down, I realize Em is looking at me expectantly, which means I’m not going to escape the explanation he’s going to force out of me.
Surprisingly, I don’t even want to try. I need to tell someone what the hell is happening, even if he deems me insane.
“Are you going to tell me what the hell is going on?” Emerson asks calmly, raising an eyebrow when I suck in a sharp breath.
“You’ve been acting weird as hell since you left the hospital.
Which, at first, I was like, okay, that’s valid.
You know?” I nod absently at the rhetorical question.
“But now I’m starting to get really fucking worried. ”
“Listen—” My voice shakes, and he scoots his chair closer, trying to protect my privacy. “There is something wrong. I just don’t know how to tell you.”
Emerson frowns. “You can tell me anything, you know that.”
“I-I do.” I swallow hard and look at him. His eyes are steady on my face, searching for something. “I just don’t think you’ll believe me.”
His frown deepens even more. “Why wouldn’t I believe you?”