“Never felt what?”
“Never felt like art before.”
He smiled at me, and for a split second it was Paul smiling at me. Then a soft white flash passed through my vision, and it was Tom again.
“You’ve always been art, love. You just needed someone to show you the right way.”
I hadn’t known what to say to that. So I answered by kissing him, freeing him from his clothes, and showing him the kind of art we could create together.
Paris had given us a break from all the chaos we’d left behind at Heatherfell. It had been paradise, until it wasn’t.
Reality smacked in at check-out. We were getting ready to drive back to Amsterdam so we could have one more day to ourselves before flying home.
It should’ve been simple. But nothing with us ever really is.
It all started when Tom got his card declined. Once, twice, three times.
The receptionist gave him a polite, awkward smile—the kind you give someone when you’re trying not to make them feel embarrassed.
Tom wasn’t embarrassed. He was pissed.
“Could you please run it again?” he asked.
She did, but it was the same result. Declined. A couple of fast French lines from both sides of the desk followed.
I tossed my card on the desk. “Here, use mine.”
That earned me a death stare.
“No. I’ve got this. I brought you here, so I’ll handle it.”
He fished out a crypto card and, thankfully, that one worked.
Anyway, that didn’t settle the matter for Tom. He exploded the second we got in the car.
“This has Jay written all over it. It has to be! That fuckin’ arsehole must’ve frozen my accounts. He’s punishing me for leaving!”
He slammed his hand against the dashboard. Again.
That’s when I noticed the impressive little collection of dents in the same spots, left and right.
Red flags started popping up. Undeniable ones. I know, that’s rich coming from me, but the more life experience I gained, the more I could see there was a whole palette of reds a painter would envy.
Burgundy, vermilion, crimson, maroon, and of course, the precious and intense ruby red flag. Take your pick.
So I stayed quiet in the car, letting Tom burn off some of that rage. We could save the regulating emotions talk for when we were back on the island.
We stopped at a gas station. I filled the tank, and when I came back, Tom was still sitting behind the wheel, numb.
Then he broke. He cried, he screamed, and I couldn’t watch him lose himself like that for another second.
“Hey,” I said softly, taking him into my arms. “You’re with me now, okay? Take your time to figure everything out. Whatever you need, I’ve got you.”
No reaction. He stared at the tiny waves stitched into my sweater, and I would’ve given anything to crawl into his head and hold every place that hurt.
It felt like my arms around him weren’t enough to silence the war in his mind. That frustrated me in ways I could not name, because I had always been able to do that. But no, not yesterday.
When he finally looked up, I was met with the saddest eyes I’d ever seen.
