23 - Lauren
Lauren
Clara and I stumbled out of the last store, each pushing a full cart of supplies that took a bit more arm and core strength to maneuver than I’d anticipated.
“You know, Lauren,” Clara said with a grunt as she tried to ease her cart off the curb and into the parking lot.
We both had already forgotten where she’d parked, and instead of wandering around, Clara began pressing her key on and off until her Lexus’s lights faithfully guided us to the correct lot.
“If we make one more trip, we might be able to give the boys a run for their money. This is more upper body work than I’ve done in a year. ”
I laughed but it was true.
She and I had spent the better part of the weekend driving around and getting all sorts of supplies for the exhibition. I hadn’t originally intended to ask her given how busy she was, but she’d insisted.
It was still an odd feeling, to have someone I could reliably depend on outside of the people I was sleeping with.
They’d been a surprise too but it was Clara’s friendship that truly surprised me in the best way possible.
And there was a plan I’d concocted to thank her, but one that would have to wait until the very last second before the exhibition actually started.
“At least we’re done,” I said as we began unloading all the contents from the carts to the car.
Specialist paper and mounts, display hardware and signage, a box of industrial screws and heavy-duty command hooks, large portfolios and more.
I mentally ticked off each item, pride and satisfaction growing with every confirmation that we were one more step closer to pulling this off.
“This is a lot of stuff,” Clara commented as we finally took our seats in the front. She turned on the radio, cringed at what was playing, and then promptly turned it off. “Just how many photos have you taken?”
“I haven’t stopped since I got here,” I said and she gawked at me for a second before starting the car. “What?”
“Nothing. It’s just…well, honestly? When you first brought up the idea of the exhibition, I thought that the only reason you were doing it was to placate the locals,” she admitted sheepishly.
“But if you’ve been taking pics since you got here, it must mean that you really felt inspired by the city. ”
“I did,” I admit. “I know what it looks like from the outside. Random photographer moves into a legitimate living time capsule, only to start renovating it before the ink’s even dry on the contract.”
She shrugged. “That wasn’t on my mind. Then again, I’d actually met you, so maybe that’s why I didn’t get that vibe.”
I gave her a grateful smile. “Either way, it’s not like I don’t get where they’re coming from, even if they got my intentions wrong. It’s their home. I understand why they’d be so protective over it.”
Clara glanced at me. “You’re a big old softie inside, aren’t you?”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“I most definitely am not, you’re deluding yourself,” I said, turning my head to look outside of the window. The city’s gritty skyline blurred past in a jagged silhouette of steel and glass. People occupied the sidewalks, all taking full advantage of the warm afternoon sun.
“Lauren. Has anyone ever told you that you’re an exceptionally bad liar?” Clara asked.
“Maybe once or twice,” I muttered.
“Hmm.”
“Seeing as we’re on the topic of your inability to lie, what’s going on back at the firehouse?” Clara asked.
I knew what she was referring to. But I played dumb. If I couldn’t lie, well, I’d simply omit a few details.
“I have Cornerstone’s best setting up velvet barstools in my living room,” I said glibly.
Clara narrowed her eyes at me, but my phone ringing cut off any further prodding from her.
Speak of the devil.
“Hey, Cal,” I answered. And was met with the most ungodly high-pitched whining. Brock’s table saw.
“Hey, Lauren! I just wanted to let you know that the tables and chairs arrived like five minutes ago. Everything looks good so that’s one less thing you have to worry about. Hey, Rafe, think you can cut that out for just a sec?” he yelled, directing his attention to the background.
Shit.
I looked at Clara, whose face must’ve been the mirror of my own horror.
“Cal!” I shouted back. “Cal, where are those chairs right now?”
“They’re right…” and that’s when the penny dropped. “Oh, shit!”
Velvet and sawdust. As the other end of the line devolved into chaos, Clara stepped on the gas, speeding us toward damage control as fast as she could within the confines of the law.
*
“I can’t believe that little prick used my table saw without my permission,” Brock muttered, shaking his head as he took a sip of water. The two of us were having a rare moment of peace in the kitchen after the near-catastrophe with the chairs.
“It’s kind of my fault,” I grimaced. “I asked him to run a few bevel cuts on the plywood backing for my larger prints. It was just awful timing and he’s been distracted so…”
Brock’s frown tightened but he didn’t say anything about it.
“It’s all good, though. Cal threw himself in the splash zone and took most of the shavings to his back,” I said.
Brock actually chuckled and I felt a surge of satisfaction. “What an idiot.”
“Hey, he’s not an idiot,” I warned.
“I say that with affection,” he added.
“You?” Now it was my turn to laugh.
“What? You don’t think I’m affectionate?” he asked, tilting his head to the side.
“Very, very selectively,” I conceded. I knew he cared about Cal. I knew he cared even about Rafe, though he was loath to admit it. As if he could read my mind and was adding me to the list, he reached and took my hand. The warmth of his palm spread from my arm throughout my entire body.
I could hear Cal and Clara from here, their laughter and casual conversation floating in from the bay room and adding to the warmth that was now reaching my head.
I relaxed into Brock’s touch. Having everyone here just felt…
right. I couldn’t remember the last time I felt this content outside of sex with any of them.
It was a different kind of satisfaction. Brock’s mouth tugged up at the side.
“You look happy,” he noted.
“I feel happy,” I said honestly, internally acknowledging that it was the first time I let myself say it out loud.
I was still worried about Rafe. He was quiet as ever, not really participating but still working and doing his due diligence.
But having Brock and Callum and Clara around me and feeling their support made me confident that things would turn out alright.
I wasn’t wallowing in fear or anxiety all alone.
“I think it’s just one of those moments where this place actually feels like a home to me,” I said.
His hand tightened a little on my hand, just enough to emphasize his presence. “Not something you’re used to? I don’t mean to assume, but I’ve seen some of your work. If you’re not constantly moving around, it means you spend more time on the job in a random city or country than you do at home.”
“I’ve never really had one.”
It slipped out before I could really think about what I was saying. Brock’s eyes widened in surprise but he didn’t say anything, waiting for me to continue if I wanted to.
No point in hiding it now, I thought to myself. He’s seen enough of you already.
It was surprisingly easier to start the story than I thought it would be.
“I was an army brat, so moving around became second nature to me at an early age. But one day, my dad came back from deployment with something missing in his eyes and a bottle in his hand. I was eight and my mom barely handled that better than I did. She was gone by the time I turned twelve.”
Brock’s face softened, concern creasing his brow. I flinched and resisted the urge to reject his pity. Old habits and whatnot. Instead, I let the story continue, cutting out as many ugly bits as I could.
“He became a very different man, a violent one. I had to learn to take care of myself way before I needed to. When I turned fifteen, I ran. The only thing worth taking with me was a camera I’d gotten for my birthday one year.
It’s not the one I have now, by the way.
This one came from an old boyfriend who is another story altogether,” I said, half laughing.
But Brock was not. “That’s why you don’t like staying in one place, huh? Feels a bit too close to home.”
“It felt claustrophobic,” I said. My voice had dropped to a whisper. I felt raw and exposed, and it took all of my self-control not to retreat back into that shell of independence. But then Brock tucked my chin between his fingers and thumb.
“You’re home now, Lauren.”
I swallowed the tears I refused to let fall. “I only just realized that I spent most of my life running from the feeling I wanted. That. To feel at home.”
“I hope you don’t run from this,” he said.
His face, like his words, was wholly unguarded, the walls knocked down to rubble. I swore I could hear his heartbeat in the quiet pause. It might’ve been my own. “The thought hasn’t even crossed my mind.”
I leaned in first but Brock met me in the kiss, his hand moving to cup my jaw and neck. Hands that had turned brick and stone into homes held me steady, soft despite the callouses.
We broke apart, our foreheads pressed together.
“I’m not going anywhere either,” he said.
The weight of that promise settled between my ribs and I kissed him again, a quick but deliberate kiss that spoke of a claim. An ownership.
We walked back to the bay room hand-in-hand, and the atmosphere was such an instant shift that it gave me whiplash.
Callum and Clara were engaged in a somewhat heated debate in front of a wall. When Brock and I sauntered over, Clara looked to me in relief. She threw her hand towards Cal and the general area behind him.
“Lauren. Your friend here seems to think that covering the holes in the wall with a plastic sheet,” she paused for dramatic effect. “Is going to be more than okay for the exhibition.”
“Weren’t you two best buddies just five minutes ago?” I asked, trying to stifle my laughter.
“Past tense,” Clara said with a sigh. “We don’t see eye-to-eye.”
“I’m just trying to explain to Miss Reyes that we don’t have time to fix the holes in the wall before the exhibition,” Callum said, looking confused as though he just didn’t get why this was so hard for Clara to understand.
But it was obvious that they were still just messing with each other. Mostly. “It’s not a terrible idea.”
“You’re right. It’s a god-awful idea,” Clara countered.
“Okay, okay, let’s talk this out,” Brock intervened, and while the three of them started on a verbal sparring match, I quietly grabbed my camera and snapped a few photos, wanting to commemorate the moment.
I grinned as I looked through the fresh shots, but my smile instantly disappeared when I tried to find Rafe. He was standing by himself in a corner, his phone pressed to his ear and a brooding expression souring his features.
This was the only imperfection in all of this, the knowledge that there was something wrong with him and that he just simply refused to share it. If not with me, then at least with Callum or Brock. I knew how isolating and heavy that type of burden, regardless of the details, could be.
“Hey,” I called over to him once the call ended. He looked up, misery still etched all over his face.
“Come over here and help me break them up, will you?” I asked lightly.
Rafe’s eyes scanned over me, then to the arguing trio a few feet away. This was something the old Rafe would’ve loved to get involved in, especially if it meant putting himself in the spotlight. But instead, he just shook his head.
“I’m sure you’ve got that covered,” he said, then disappeared into one of the storage rooms.
I lowered my camera, suspicion twisting my stomach into pretzel knots. This just solidified it for me. Whatever was happening was even more serious than I thought and not even the other two knew about it. He needed help even if he insisted on slapping it away each time it was offered.
I was well acquainted with that particular coping mechanism.