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“Oh, I feel fucking great.” I steal a glance at mom, but she seems busy staring out the window. “Been partying all day here. Great place. What do you think?”
Matt rubs his forehead as if I am giving him a headache.
Good.
“So now that’s out of the way…” I try to sit up straighter but every movement ratchets up the pain inside my skull. “What the fuck happened to me?”
Matt grimaces. “It will come back to you.”
“What the fuck, Matt. Tell me, or I swear I’ll—”
“You need to rest,” he says, patting my shoulder again, goddammit, like I’m five again and he’s the oldest who knows all the secrets. He gets up to go. “We’ll see you later.”
I frown. “You staying longer in town? Matt—”
“Rest. Come on, mom. Let’s give him space.”
“I don’t want space. Where’s Hailey? Can’t you call her? Matt!”
But the door closes behind them with a quiet snick, and the truth is, the goddamn fucking truth is that I’m so tired that one moment I’m cursing my brother’s stubborn ass, and the rest I’m drifting back into sleep.
Chapter Six
Hailey
My phone is ringing, and I want to dig a hole in the ground and bury it deep.
Because I bet it’s Trent again. And I don’t want to hear what he has to say.
I’m changing my number today – even if my traitorous mind doesn’t like it, even if it still holds out hope that Kaden might still call or text me.
He hasn’t. Not in months. So holding out hope is a…a hobby. A stupid pastime. A mistake.
And I need to stop thinking about him. I need peace to focus on my work. I’m finally getting back into the groove, going through my portfolio and rearranging it, checking what I have and choosing pieces for a small exhibition.
Funny how when your life falls apart your work picks up. The gallery I’d submitted a project to more than a year ago finally got back to me and said they want it. Now, in fact – as in two months, so I need to bust my ass and choose the pieces, print them and frame them and decide on the installation.
I’ve already settled on most of the photos.
I try not to dwell on the fact that the photos I picked are photos of Kaden and how I need his permission to use them.
I don’t have to tell him. They are so zoomed in anyway, he wouldn’t even recognize himself.
Still. Not ethical.
Damn.
I’m still changing my phone, okay? And if I call Kaden to ask for his permission to use the pics, I will ignore the butterflies in my stomach and the fire in my blood and the need to hear his voice one last time.
What if he doesn’t give me permission, though?
What if he screws this up for me? The only important thing left in my life: my job. My art. I don’t know what I’ll do if I lose this, too. It’s what has always pulled me back from the dark, what has kept me sane when my parents split up after countless screaming matches, threats and arguments over who would have custody of me.
Neither of them wanted it.
And that hurt like a bitch.
That’s when I started losing myself in pictures, chasing down the perfect image, learning about techniques and styles.
