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“I know,” Roey responds.
“Inside, now!” Becky orders.
In the bright light of the office room, I cup Jace’s face and study his split cheek.
“I’m fine,” he says quietly.
“You are not. I’ll bring ice.”
Becky glances at Roey. “Your lip is bruised. You need ice, too.”
He only smirks. “I know better remedies for my lips.”
The guy never gives up.
As I open the mini fridge and get a cup full of ice, I hear Jace’s sigh behind me. “I probably shouldn’t show up at the gallery with a bloodied face.”
“No, you shouldn’t,” I say and point for him to take a seat.
Biting back tears, I wrap ice in a cloth and press it to Jace’s bruised face, registering his bloodied collar.
Everything is wrong today.
My solo show is a complete fail.
Now this, a bruise on Jace’s face and the threats.
I just want this day to be over.
“Let’s go home,” I say to him. “I’ll take care of it at home.”
“Lu,” he says, raising his hand and stroking my cheek, “it’s your big night.”
“It’s an epic fail, Jace.”
“We’ll stay till the end,” he insists. “I’ll stay here, in the office, so I don’t scare away people with my face.”
“I don’t want to stay!” I snap, swallowing tears, then press my forehead to his and run my fingers through his hair.
Roey clears his throat. Becky’s heels click against the floor as she shifts.
I don’t care for the audience. Jace calms me. But if I don’t get out of here, I’ll break down crying.
Becky looks defeated. This is possibly the worst exhibition she’s ever organized. But she’s supportive. “I got this, Lu. If you wanna leave, go. It’s nine o’clock. There are only a dozen people. I’ll manage.”
Becky will go out onto the street and drag people inside the gallery if needed. She never gives up. Definitely not when she has another pair of eyes on her, Roey’s.
Roey shrugs. “I’ll stay, help close down. You and Jace bounce. We’ll handle this.”
He glances at Becky, who meets his eyes and nods.
Frustration blocks my throat with a giant lump. I tried so hard for the last year to prove that I can make it in New York as an artist. And look at me, I can’t even keep my boyfriend safe.
I whip out my phone and type my father a text message.
Me: I thought you were a decent human. But considering you send thugs to beat my friend and try to curate my life, I don’t think I want to get to know you. I’ve seen enough. You touch Jace, and I’ll never speak to you again.
Seconds after I press send, he calls.
