Chapter 38
Chapter Thirty-Eight
DOTTIE
THREE MONTHS LATER
C an I miss someone who was never really there for me?
Turns out I could and can.
It still hurts, however, with each day that passes, it gets a little bit easier. I miss mum more than I ever could have imagined, and I’m so thankful we reconnected those few weeks before she passed, seeing past the hungry ghosts of our own pasts, and focusing on the present.
I wish I had more time with her, but I’ve come to learn that the more I dwell on the what if’s, the worse I seem to spiral into the abyss that threatens to still swallow me whole sometimes.
Thankfully, Arrie and Damon have been right by my side.
And although I’ve always said I’d never move back to Barrenridge, Damon talked me into selling my place in Sydney.
What the idiot failed to mention was, he brought us a cabin outside of Rafter’s Falls. This cute as shit little log cabin, with a wraparound veranda that overlooks the mountains with a part of the river running out the back .
It’s stunning.
And part of why I’m I standing at the front of Fellow Falls art gallery, wringing my hands, the cool autumn breeze lifting my elegant dress that I feel entirely uncomfortable wearing. I would much prefer my overalls and Chucks, but Arrie and Damon scolded me, so here I fucking am.
Assholes.
I smile at the memory, though, looking around the area while I wait for Damon to bring my artwork from the truck.
Nerves and anxiety settle deep into my bones, especially seeing I am showcasing the most vulnerable piece I’ve ever painted.
Of all the places to showcase it, it’s in Rafter’s Falls, an hour from my old hometown.
I really don’t want to see anyone I know tonight, and being so close to Barrenridge, the odds are not in my favour. This art gallery only ever has one show a year, and it invites artists from all over the damn country.
Fuck. I think I’m going to be sick.
“You look like you’re about to vomit all over the damn front door of the gallery, Wench,” Arrie pipes up cheerily.
“Piss off, bitch, this is serious as shit.”
“As shit,” she drawls, and I glare at her smirking pretty face.
“I hate you.”
“No, you don’t.”
“Not even a little bit,” I reply, the small smile breaking through with her choice of distraction.
“You girls fighting again?” Damon calls out, and when I look up to see him with all my paintings under his arm, those fucking sinful muscly arms that pinned me against the wall not even an hour ago…
Damon smirks, clearly knowing what dirt road my mind was trekking down .
I stick my tongue out at him, and he chuckles, closing the distance between us. His stormy eyes glimmer under the lights above, however when Arrie pretends to dry retch, I duck my head.
“You guys are fucking gross. I seriously don’t know if I will ever get used to this.”
“Stop it, baby girl, you know I still love you.”
“Ew, dad, this is not the time!”
“Hey babe!” Adam calls out, and Arrie almost breaks her neck turning and looking around.
I see the exact moment she deflates, and I know it’s because Connor isn’t with him. Although Adam and Arrie are back together, that damn ring shimmering under the bright lights, I know things are up in the air with Connor and the two of them.
Whatever is happening with those three is not my business, not unless Arrie wants it to be, and right now, I know she’s not ready to reveal the sordid details.
I’ll be her sounding board and her confidant for however long she needs, but what I do know, is that we all have skeletons in our closets, some more than others.
Nothing is ever perfect, whether they look it on the surface or not.
And right now, as Arrie smiles up at Adam with her loving gaze, his love reflecting back at her, I can tell she isn’t complete.
She misses Connor.
Alas, that’s not my story to tell.
“You better not be thinking about how far I’m burying my cock inside of you, as soon as this is over.” Damon croons in my ear, causing goosebumps to pebble all over my skin.
I crane my neck so I can glare at him.
“Would you stop it? I’m nervous as hell already without you telling me how you’re going to paint my inner walls with your cum.” I hiss, glancing at Adam and Arrie to make sure they didn’t hear.
Damon chuckles. “I’m sorry.”
“Are you?” I scold, looking over my shoulder to see his puppy dog face.
Cute asshole.
He gives me a toothy smile, and I can’t help but smile back. I’m about to lean up and kiss him when a throat clears, and my neck snaps to the glass doors to find Mr Hargrove with a disappointing look on his old, weathered face.
Pushing his glasses up, he steps to the side and opens the door, ushering us in with a disapproving look on his face. Why in the hell did my old high-school principal have to be the director of this damn art gallery?
With Damon’s hand on the small of my back, I give Mr Hargrove a small smile and walk through the door, hearing Arrie greet him behind me, causing me to stifle a laugh.
“Mr H, you haven’t aged a bit, you old devil!” she croons, and Damon laughs beside me.
“Your daughter.”
“Hey, she’s your cousin and best-friend.”
“Yeah, yeah she is.”
“You good, Blossom?”
“Nervous.” I admit.
He stops us, pulling me off to the side of the red carpet that rolls into the ballroom filled with artwork, artists, potential buyers and art enthusiasts. Taking a deep breath, I turn to look at him.
“Your work is fucking amazing, baby, why would you doubt that?”
“I don’t doubt my ability…”
“You’re anxious about showcasing that piece? ”
“Yeah…” I say, sighing when I see the caged little girl in my head and the darkness surrounding her.
Softening, he cups my face with his free hand.
“You don’t have to show it.”
Drawing my cheek into my mouth, I bite down on it a little, until I feel the pain I’m searching for. After a few seconds, I lean into Damon’s hand and smile up at him.
“I do, though. I need to let go of that part of me.”
“She’ll always be there, Dottie. In here.” He says, removing his hand and tapping my chest where my heart is.
A lone tear slides free, and Damon catches it with his thumb.
“That’s the only tear you’re giving her tonight, alright? That little girl inside of you will always be a part of you, but she doesn’t get to define you any longer. The transformation you’ve undertaken over the past few months is profound, baby. Your mum would be so fucking proud of you.”
I swallow the sob lodged in my throat and give him a small nod because I don’t trust myself to talk, scared I’ll start bawling as soon as I open my mouth. Stepping back, I link my hand in his and we walk into the ballroom.
Here goes nothing.
Three hours later, I’m at the point of removing these damn heels because my feet are in agony.
A hand snakes around my wrist lightly and I turn to find Paige standing with her husband, Levi who is holding their daughter, Sawyer. My heart melts instantly because she is so damn perfect.
“Hi Dottie, your art is stunning.”
I laugh awkwardly at the praise before she wraps me in a small embrace.
We weren’t close in high school, but we were friendly, and we always had time for each other. Stepping back from the hug, I offer my thanks and watch Paige’s hand drop as she offers me a small smile. I know she’s thinking of my mother’s funeral, but she doesn’t say anything, which I’m thankful for.
We fall into comfortable conversation for the next fifteen minutes, her filling me on their life since graduation, and their plans moving forward.
Levi locks eyes with me briefly before flicking back to his wife, and I’m reminded of a time I was dared to kiss his half-brother, Nash, the arrogant jerk basketballer.
The last I heard, he’d made it into the NBA.
Good for him, though. He got out of this godforsaken place.
Levi’s gaze hovers on Paige, the fierce love still evident and burning bright in his chocolate-coloured eyes, even after all these years.
Damon runs his hand up and down my back, bringing me back to the present and I tune in to hear him chatting away with Levi about guy stuff.
I smile and nod at what Paige says, but her words are barely registering because I can feel my mind drifting to darker places, ones I don’t wish to visit again.
She should be here.
My mum should be here with me tonight, but all I have is fractured memories and regrets that we couldn’t rekindle our relationship sooner, before her premature death.
Mr. Hargrove calls my name, effectively snapping me from my thoughts. I say goodbye to Paige, Levi and Sawyer, gripping the champagne flute in my hand tightly like a lifeline, knowing it’s my turn to step up and say a little bit about myself and my art .
I hate being the centre of attention, but here we are.
Straightening my spine, I give Damon a kiss, and hand him my glass before walking toward the podium. With every step I take, I feel the many questioning eyes on me, but I pay them no mind, keeping my head up.
I take the stage, tapping the microphone before I begin. The sound echoes around us, and a few people clear their throats. Swallowing, I begin.
“Hello everyone, my name is Dorothy Wilmott, and I’ve been an artist since I could remember.”
I dive into a semi detailed story of my life, without the juicy details, trying to focus on the positivity and creativity that my art has gifted me with over the years.
However, every time I’m asked a question about my parents and their support, I feel my throat closing up, but I refuse to fall down the dark rabbit hole tonight.
“They enjoyed my art” I say, smiling, the lie burning my tongue.
“And what about your mother? She’s died, right?” Someone calls out, and I swallow the saliva collecting in my throat and the tears burning at the corner of my eyes.
“Yes, she did. She was very supportive, especially over the month before she passed. Any more questions?” I say, trying to deviate the subject.