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CHAPTER 12
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Brooke woke up witha start and lifted her head. She’d fallen asleep on her arms. Which day was it? Where was she? She’d had such a vivid dream about Gavin, she could swear he’d be right there with her. But he wasn’t. He’d never be with her again.
Staring at the last painting she’d finished, still on the easel, she reached out to switch on her phone. Her mom. Connor. She’d sent texts each night for Connor, but she hadn’t wanted to speak to anyone. Fortunately, her mother understood.
As she punched in her password, she heard her mom calling from downstairs.
“Brooke, sweetheart, you said you’d be all right, but it’s Friday already. I’m so worried about you!” Moments later, her mom appeared in the doorway, out of breath. “Brooke!” she cried out and opened her arms. “Look at you. You haven’t slept or eaten since Sunday, have you?”
Dazed, Brooke stared at her mother. Slowly, she shook her head. “I’m not sure.”
Her mother hugged her tightly. “My darling girl. Look at you. You’re also in desperate need of a shower and clean clothes, I think. The moving van is on its way. Logan and Blake are coming over to help. Connor is with Charlie and Lindsay and...”
Her eyes fell on the painting still on the easel, and she inhaled sharply. “Brooke, this is...” For long minutes, she stared at it before she hurried over to the other three paintings propped up against the wall.
For the first time since she’d woken up, Brooke noticed the other paintings. She’d done them. Every stroke seemed familiar, her signature, Brooke Davidson—she’d always painted under her maiden name—was in the corner of each painting, but for the life of her, she couldn’t remember actually painting them. They were like nothing she’d done before.
“Beautiful,” her mother was muttering. “Just beautiful.” Her eyes were filled with tears when she looked back at Brooke. “You’re in love with Gavin, aren’t you?”
Brooke nodded, staring at the hazy, entwined figures that had flowed out of her over the last few days. She was empty and way too tired for any filters. “I am, Mom.”
“And he...?”
“Left to be with Sarah.”
“Have you spoken to him?”
“No. There isn’t anything left to say.”
“He’s—”
“Mom, I don’t want to talk about Gavin, please? Not now, not before the exhibition. I have to move; I have another few paintings to finish. But I...can’t talk about it now, okay?”
“But, sweetheart, please, listen—”
“Not right now, I can’t bear it.” Brooke got up slowly. She felt a hundred years old. She motioned to the paintings. “I’m going to take a shower. Don’t let anyone touch these, please? I’ll arrange to have them shipped to the gallery in Seattle. The new owners of the house won’t be moving in for another week, and it’s best if these stay right here until they can be sent off.” She handed her phone to her mom. “Will you do me a favor, though? Please delete Gavin’s messages from my phone?”
Her mother took her phone before she turned back to stare at the paintings. Brooke walked out. Pieces of her heart were left behind her in that room, on those canvases. Exactly how she was supposed to continue with her heart in fragments, she had no idea.
The bed in her room was still unmade. She and Gavin had made love right here mere days before. Quickly, she shut down the memories and stripped the bed. She’d wash the sheets once she’d moved into their new home.
She vaguely remembered hearing Gavin’s voice, remembered him hammering against the front door. But there was no way she could face him at that point and not blurt out how much she loved him.
Time was a wonderful healer of wounds, she’d discovered. It wouldn’t be easy and it wouldn’t be soon, but at some point, she was going to put last week out of her mind. The whole fake relationship had lasted about a week; she’d get over him in time.
She would miss his cooking. And his smile. Oh, and those hands...
Focusing on her breathing, she quickly undressed and stepped into the shower. Minutes later, the first tears mingled with the water before a sob escaped from deep within her.
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