Chapter 2
TWO
“Hey, boss man,” Evan calls as he slides into the seat next to me, setting down an iced coffee that he swears is better for me than all the warm coffee shit I drink.
I lift my head in greeting before focusing on the images on my screen, selecting the best from our last shoot.
They still need to be edited, but I’m happy with how they turned out.
The lighting was perfect and gave off the ethereal feeling the client and I wanted.
I stretch backward, my neck aching from my usual hunched position.
The familiar aches and pains of my job are something I never thought about when I made my passion my career, but the pain just reminds me I get to do what I love every day.
It has lessened recently, though, becoming easier to forget.
Evan brought some of that drive back. Teaching him reminded me why I loved being a photographer in the first place.
My work has never suffered because of my lack of passion for the projects, but my will for it has. I know I am a quirky artist, but the truth is, I’m just lost. I don’t know if this is the path I still wish to take.
I chose it a long time ago because of him, but now he’s gone, and I wonder if this is what I wanted all along or if it’s what we wanted.
My eyes linger on the photo on my desk, the only one I kept.
It was snapped with a cheap Polaroid camera, yet it’s my favorite picture I’ve ever taken.
Our arms are slung over each other’s shoulders, and we both look so young.
While I grow old, he won’t. He stays the same, young and beautiful forever as my body withers.
“Earth to boss man,” Evan jokes, and I blink, bringing him back into focus as I sip the iced coffee to soothe my aching throat.
When did I last drink something? This morning?
Yesterday? Did I eat today? I can’t remember.
Sometimes I get so invested in my work, I forget to, and my body reminds me I am human despite my machinelike focus.
My linen shirt parts as I lean back, my slacks wrinkled from my position.
My feet are shoved in comfortable slippers, the one weakness I allow myself.
No doubt my hair is a mess, since I have a bad habit of running my hands through it as I work, but Evan doesn’t notice.
He’s so bright and full of excitement for the world and our work.
It’s one thing that drew me to him. I wanted to soak up some of that life.
Another reason was his work. When I saw it, I knew he had the same ghosts I did.
Only people who have experienced death can capture images the way we do, seeing people’s souls and showing them to the world.
One day, he will probably surpass me, but for now, he looks to me for help and guidance, and I like that. He makes my work less lonely. I had no friends or family, just me and a camera, but then he burst into it and brought everything back into focus. I have him to thank for that.
“Have you eaten today?” He shakes his head when I stare at him. “Didn’t think so. I brought this.” He hands over take-out boxes. “Eat.”
Narrowing my eyes, I open the top and take a fork. “What do you want?”
“What?” His eyes widen with guilt, even as he smiles. “Nothing, nothing.”
“Evan,” I warn, and he gulps.
“I need your help to take some photos for Starfire Racing. The photographer fucked up. The pics are terrible, they are desperate, and I’m not the right fit,” he blurts out in one beat.
“No.” I turn to my computer and carry on working.
“Boss man,” he whines.
“That may work on your boyfriend, but it doesn’t on me. You know I don’t do commercial photography like that,” I murmur as I take a bite. “The food is good enough.”
He snatches it away, and I look at him, but he successfully gained my attention. “I know, I know, but look at how bad their photographer messed up, okay? They will pay whatever you want. Please, boss man, they need this so badly.” He puts my food to the side and spreads some stills across my desk.
They have a white background, with racers posing in front of it.
Sighing, I push them aside when my eyes catch on the bottom one.
I stare at the man’s face, a frown marring my own.
He looks familiar. He’s staring into the camera with captivating eyes, and there are so many unsaid things in his gaze.
His jaw is sharp, and his hair is styled perfectly.
His jacket is the same as the others, but with the number 88 on it. “Who’s this?”
“Oh, that’s Mackie, one of their drivers. Boss man, they are desperate—” I tune out his ramblings as I stare at Mackie.
Could it be?
I have to know. “I’ll do it,” I interrupt, and when I glance at Evan, he’s gaping at me.
“You will?” he asks in shock, clearly expecting to have to bribe me.
I nod, my hands curling protectively around the photo. “Book it in my schedule.”
“Thank you, thank you!” He goes to hug me before he remembers not to, and instead, he grins as he stands. “I’ll take these away.”
“Leave them,” I snap before softening my tone. “I’ll use them as a reference.”
He frowns but nods, hurrying from the room.
As soon as Evan leaves, I unlock my bottom drawer and dig out the newspaper clipping. I ignore the headline and find the photo, putting them side by side.
It’s him.
It’s really him.
He’s younger there, wearing a school uniform and looking grim, but I found him.
Putting the newspaper away, I lock the drawer and lean back, holding the new photo of him. He’s older, his face has lost some of that baby fat, and that smile is gone, but it’s him. He’s all sharp, perfect angles.
In my world, we would call him a muse, but he’s more than that.
He’s the one I’ve searched for in vain for years.
Mackie. I roll his name on my tongue before turning to my computer.
I minimize the images and type in his name and Starfire Racing.
For the next two hours, I read everything I can on him, pouring over every image and interview.
He’s smiling in most. It’s infectious, everyone around him reacting, even me, and I know Evan was right.
The photographer messed up. He should show this side of him, not that stern face.
Mackie, like Evan, is sunshine, not a dark moon.
I suppose it’s good for me though.
I guess I can finally repay my debt.