I open the door to my mother’s room to find her sitting by her window. She is humming, dipping a paintbrush into a glass of water, and swirling the murky liquid. I raise a brow at her painting. A dark-haired angel. I wonder if her subconscious mind recognizes that the subject of the painting bears a resemblance to her granddaughter.
She turns and smiles. “Stefan. You’re home early.”
I nod, not correcting her that I’m not home from high school. Her memories are stuck there.
“What are you painting?”
“An angel.” She smiles and dabs at the painting, adding more brown to the hair.
Turning, I freeze when I see the new paintings on the wall parallel to her bed. I look around my mother’s room at her paintings and then the one in the corner. I recognize the lines. The mix of textiles. She painted my mother, not in her room, but standing by the ocean. Before she got dementia, she would drag us to the shores of Long Island. We would collect seashells. There is sand, shells, and gauzy fabric trailing from my mother’s portrait. I can feel the sand and the breeze, the way she created the piece. I take in the rest. An ethereal painting of a king. An angel. They surround her room. I step closer, my heart beating. The last painting hits me right in the chest. It’s me. I’m standing between two ghostly figures, holding their hands. The more petite figure is looking up at me. A smile graces my face as I look down at the white outline of the child.Angel. I know those strokes. I recognize the style. I’ve seen it before.
Camryn.
Camryn’s paintings are on my mother’s walls.
Chapter 62
“So this is what you left medical school for?”
Keep calm. Keep calm.I reiterate my reminder repeatedly. My father's nurse, Randy, picks up his head, and I see the moment he wants to correct my father about his judgmental, elitist attitude, but I don’t want him defending me. I refuse to let others fight my battles with him any longer.
Julian is there, and I can hear him listening. Jacinda left earlier for a doctor’s appointment for her diabetes. The fewer people who are privy to my fucked up family dynamic, the better. The years of wanting his approval, and finally, I thought I would get it. I have artists booked. Jacinda and Julian. I haven’t asked him for a dime. Yet, still, I’m not good enough. For years, I’ve been searching for it. Feeling as if I got his approval, he would forgive me for my mother’s death.
The surprise visit from my father is pushing all the buttons. The way he says‘this’with that dismissive tone pisses me off. As soon as he walked in, I knew it was going to be a shit show.
I was knee-deep in dealing with the electrician, plumber, and my emotions about Stone. I haven’t seen him for a few days, despite his telling me that we would continue whatever the hell itis we’re doing. I wanted to thank him for the bed. I’ve had some of the best and worst night sleeps. I fall asleep immediately, buried in his T-shirt, the soft sheets, but then I wake up horny. I’ve played around with the smallest butt plug, but don’t have quite the courage yet to fully insert it. It feels dark and delicious, and I’m way out of my depth with it, but I want to. The man makes me want to do things, experience things I never would have imagined I’d be into. Knives, blood, piercings, tattoos.
I’ve waited for him to knock on my door. To show up, so I can cash in on those dark promises in his eyes. I’ve listened to the wall between us, and there’s been dead silence. The shop has been closed for the last three days, and I have no clue where he is. Not that I should be clocking for him because, as he put it, we are just having sex. I’m the one who doesn’t know the rules. Sex for the sake of sex is new to me. I could call Sophia and ask her. She told us at a girls’ night last year, before she got with my brother, that she had sex for sex’s sake with a man for almost two years and kept her emotions locked away. I don’t know how she did it because I’m definitely struggling with keeping shit separate. I’m sleeping in his shirt like I’m some girl with a high school crush and at his point, I might as well be because I find myself lost in recollections of those insane two days, using them as fodder for daydreams about him walking into the gallery or my apartment and tossing me down on the nearest surface and reminding me why he’s burned into my consciousness. I’m losing my mind even more than before. Two days ago, I woke up swearing I could smell him. Which was insane because I went to bed alone. It followed the most realistic dream I’ve ever had. Stone was in bed with me, and I could feel him touching my ass, his fingers caressing my asshole while he whispered in my ear. When I woke up, I was out of breath, horny as hell, and searching my apartment, but he wasn’t there, and everythingwas still in place. I blamed it on wearing his shirt. The same shirt that I’ve worn since.
And it’s not like I can call him because I don’t have his number, and I damn sure am not going to ask my brother. I can imagine Jace’s face when I ask him for Stone’s number. I wince at how the conversation would go.
“Hey, can I get Stone’s number?”
“Why?”
“Because I want him to come by my apartment and fuck me until I can’t think.”
Double hell no to that conversation.
Not to mention what the hell would I say if I did manage to get Stone’s number and call him?
Hey? I’m horny, please come through.Yeah, I’m definitely not good at this.
This morning, when Jacinda stopped by so we could discuss the pieces she planned to use for the art show, I wasn’t in the mood, but work and life must go on. Of course, Murphy’s Law meant that today, of all days, my father would waltz in like he owned the place. Suffice it to say, I wasn’t prepared to deal with Tae Park.
I welcomed him, trying to hide my annoyance that he wasn’t seeing the gallery finished. I know when I first bought the space, it was a dump, but it’s coming along. It’s far from perfect, but I’m proud of the new, gleaming wood floors. The walls are painted. Stone’s mural is gorgeous and really adds to the space. Art is going to look amazing with the new recessed lighting. There’s even a huge vintage chandelier that I found online, hanging from the center of the room. My mother’s name was etched in the glass window. The Whitter Gallery. It made me smile every time I saw it.
But none of the improvements seem to matter to Tae Park. He can’t see that progress, my progress. My father will neversee me, and that makes me happy. I follow behind him as he appraises every inch. Randy is off to the side, and I can see the displeasure on his face over my father’s comments. When his eyes meet mine, there is something sad there, something pitying. It’s evident that my own father can’t be happy for me, can’t see my accomplishments.
“Yes. This is what I left medical school for. It’s my gallery.”
“It’s a waste of your education, Camryn. Your childish rebellion is not funny.”
The beleaguered shit from his mouth is as familiar as the sunrise. My ‘childish rebellion’ should be tattooed on my forehead. Maybe I can ask Stone to do it. A ridiculous bubble of laughter threatens to come out. I wonder if I ask him, will he fuck me again? Nope. Not thinking about sex right now. I need all my brain cells to deal with my father, and thinking about Stone will turn them to mush.
But it seems fate wants me to turn to mush, because just as I’m about to tell my father there is no way I’m going back to medical school, in walks the very man taking up way too much room in my hippocampus. The memories of him are deeply ingrained in my mind. He walks right in, dressed as he always is. Dark jeans, ripped and battered, paired with a black T-shirt, revealing his sexy muscle definition. It’s been two weeks since I’ve seen him. Two weeks of listening for that bike. I run my eyes over that brooding dark look on his face. It’s beyond sexy, and heaven help me, my whole body reacts. From the tips of my hair follicles down to my toenails, my body is attuned to him. His face is covered in stubble, that pouty lower lip with his piercings, making it hard for me to concentrate. I can’t help but look down at his crotch. I can see his dick in my mind, and I want it again.
While I’m lost in flashbacks of it in my mouth, pussy and ass, my father continues his monologue, not realizing that anyone new has entered. Stone just leans against the wall,watches me, watches my father. “You’ve wasted the money your grandparents left you. Your hands were meant for patients, not paint and plaster. You still have time to go back to medical school. I know a few people on the board at Weill Cornell Graduate School of Medicine. Donations will have to be made. Payments sent out, but it is what it is. You can restart this fall.”
