“We’re good,” Isaiah answers, ignoring Beth. Like a predator in the jungle, he moves across the hotel room, not making a sound. My best friend can be easygoing on the outside, but he’s damn lethal if pushed.
Light seeps from under the closed door of the bathroom, and Isaiah starts the shower.
I throw the pillow back at Beth and smile when it smacks her head. “One day, Noah, I’m going to kick your ass.”
“Bring it, Beth,” I mutter, knowing she can hear the tease in my voice.
I glance down, startled to find Echo staring up at me. Her hands are tucked under her cheek and from the soft glow of light, I detect an unfamiliar glaze in her eyes.
“Go back to sleep.” I caress her cheek, hoping she’ll shut her eyes with the downward motion. “You don’t have anywhere to be.”
Echo’s eyes drift closed but then snap back open. This is why she doesn’t like the pills. She said it’s hard for her to wake up and stay awake. “Don’t leave me here alone.”
I chuckle then lean down to brush my lips to hers. Echo responds, but not with the fierceness I’m used to. Her kiss is soft and groggy, and she’s damn sexy as she wraps her body once again around mine to settle into another round of sleep.
A part of me goes hard as steel while other parts soften. It’s been over twenty-four hours since I loved Echo properly, and my body is begging to do it again. Under the covers, I stroke my hand along her spine and continue until my palm curves around her ass. The waiting to be physical again is creating a friction between us that’s close to becoming electric.
“You are so bad,” she whispers, more asleep than awake.
“I’m just getting started, baby.”
“I’m gagging over here,” says Beth.
“I hear showers help,” Echo says to me, with a soft laugh that plays over my skin. “Cold ones.”
Damn, I’m being ganged up on. “Beth and Isaiah are only with us for a few more days, Echo, and then you’re mine.”
That siren smile I love so much briefly graces her lips, but then her eyes twitch beneath her closed lids, her breathing becomes rhythmic and her forehead relaxes. She’s fallen into a dream. Not a nightmare. A normal, every night dream.
Grateful, I say a prayer to the God that had forsaken me years ago and kiss the top of Echo’s head. Normal isn’t something Echo and I take for granted.
When I’m sure she’s out again, I untangle myself, throw on a shirt and shoes and grab her car keys. Isaiah opens the door to the bathroom, and steam pours out. He sports a pair of jeans and no shirt.
“Wear some clothes around my girl.”
Isaiah digs through his duffel bag. “Why? She already knows I’m the better-looking one. Echo chose you because you’ve got that smooth mouth.”
Jackass. “I’m heading. Watch over her, all right?”
“S’all good.”
I open the door and look over Echo’s sleeping form. Is having bad family better than having no family? Guess it’s time to figure it out.
Echo
I woke to an empty bed and to Beth and Isaiah playing travel chess.
Chess.
At first I thought I was dreaming, and that the Mad Hatter was going to magically appear and whisk me away to Wonderland while we chased large white bunnies, but then Beth called Isaiah an asshole for the move he made, and I knew I was awake.
I dressed leisurely, hoping Noah would return. I called him once. Sent a text. It was weird enough that Noah left without saying something to me and weirder to have to wait for a response with an audience. When there was no reply, I headed to the art gallery.
There’s a low hum in the attic studio, and it reminds me of art class in high school, including the girls whispering as they peer at me.
With my cell resting on the easel in case Noah checks in, I sit on a stool and study the blank canvas. Painting or drawing something has never been an issue before, but the oomph needed to paint the Aires constellation escapes me. Not one inkling of where to start or what shades I’d like to use. Not. One. Thought.
Oh, dear God in heaven, I’m experiencing writer’s block.
As if they can hear my internal screaming, the two girls who can’t be much older than me once again whisper to one another then gawk.
My fingers form into a fist. Really? Just really? “Is there a problem?”
Some of the “low hum” in the room dies off as I channel my inner Beth. Guess I am affected by who I hang with. Who would have thought those guidance counselors had it right?
They both stare at anyone other than me, and one starts to pick at the strands of her paintbrush. Strand girl, the one with hair so black it looks blue, plucks at the brush as if she’s sifting out the split ends. “We...uh...we’re wondering...um...”
My right hand slips over the scars of my left arm. I freaking hate my life at times. “How I got my scars?”
Her eyes widen. “No. God, no. We were wondering if you were going to go into that trance again. It was amazing to watch you paint and...well...we liked watching.”
“Oh.” Oh. My cheeks burn. At least I just didn’t make a fool of myself. My gaze falls to the blank canvas. “I’m blocked.”
“That happens to me a lot,” says the girl with brown hair. She closes the gap between us and extends her hand. A thick mark runs vertically up her forearm. “I’m Meredith.”
Two years ago, I wouldn’t have been able to stop myself from gaping at the scar on her arm and conjuring up the story of how it got there. But now I welcome the bright blue eyes that are full of life. “I’m Echo.”
* * *
Meredith and her friend Brigit asked me to lunch and I have to admit, I haven’t been this excited over a meal in a long time. Who asks me out to lunch? No one. No one asks me to share food with them, and these two girls did.
My happy moment consists of peanut butter sandwiches from the coffee shop while lounging on a park bench across from Hunter’s gallery, but I swear this is the best meal of my life.
“I heard that you’re here with your boyfriend,” says Meredith.
Even though I’m giddy, I’m still super-nervous that I’ll say the wrong thing and screw this up. “Yeah. His name is Noah.”
“FYI,” says Brigit. “Hunter isn’t fond of boyfriends. He says that guys our age are unsupportive.”
I pause midbite. “Noah’s supportive.”
“According to Hunter,” Meredith adds, “boys our age pretend to be supportive. Anyhow, I’m thinking that I’m past the unsupportive boy stage. I turned twenty-one last month.”
Twenty-one. Even though it’s not that far, it feels far away from eighteen. “How long have you been studying under Hunter?”
Meredith and Brigit share a glance, then Meredith clears her throat. “I’ve been trying to get into some sort of program with Hunter since I was eighteen, but this is the first time I’ve been accepted for anything. It was only for the summer program, but I just learned that I’ve been accepted into the year-long program starting in the fall.”
She’s grinning from ear to ear, and I can’t help but smile with her. I like Meredith. For the past hour she’s been kind and gentle, and she hasn’t once stared at my scars.
The happiness fades from her face, and she begins to shred her sandwich. “I gave up a lot coming to Colorado. My parents don’t understand my obsession with art. They informed me that if I quit college to come out here, then I wasn’t welcome back home. When Hunter told me last week that I got the year program...”
Meredith sort of chokes then puts a hand to her mouth. “It was a happy day, but when I told my parents that I was dropping out of school...” She smiles genuinely at me even though tears glitter in her eyes. “It was a happy day regardless. How many of us get to follow our dreams?”
That’s
a good question. Not many of us do.
Noah
A couple of months ago I sat on a park bench and watched from a distance as my brothers played so I could spy on their home life. It appears my stalking days aren’t over, except this time I can’t hide at some fancy park. I have no idea who I’m searching for, and odds are I wouldn’t know my answer if it smacked me in the face.
But across the street from the empty church parking lot where I parked Echo’s car is a house that can’t hold more than a bedroom and a bathroom. The gutter hangs off the house, and one of the two windows in the front is X’d over with gray tape. The once concrete stairs have crumbled into a pile of rock, and an old plastic milk crate serves as the new and improved step. A front yard of three-foot grass is a barricade warding off whatever moron would want to approach the door. This place screams halfway house for the criminally insane.
A sickness slowly devours me. The longer I stare, the more my thoughts distort. If my mom grew up here, I understand why she ran and why she ran far.
Regardless of that, the question remains, is bad family better than no family? I belonged once, and I won’t bullshit that I don’t miss the feeling.
A couple walks past on the sidewalk, and I pretend to fiddle with the radio to convince them I’m doing anything other than stalking.
Two taps on the window, and my stomach drops. I glance out and a fucking priest in the whole black outfit and white collar waves at me to roll down my window. For a brief moment, I consider talking in Spanish, but my luck, the asshole could also speak it.
I turn the ignition one notch to power the windows and roll them down. “Yeah?”
“Can I help you?” He’s middle-aged nosy, brown hair with a few gray strands in the sideburns, with a master’s degree in condescending looks.
“No.”
“You’ve been here awhile.”
“I have.” One of the first rules I learned in foster care is I don’t owe anyone an explanation at any time. I save that shit for the people-pleasers.
“Are you broke down?”
“No.”
He assesses the car, searching for the mobile meth lab a punk like me with Kentucky plates should have. “Are you lost?”
Hell, yeah, I am. “I’m good.”
“I stepped outside and saw you here earlier and just noticed you’re still here now.” He cranes his head toward the massive church. It’s old-school basilica-style. We took a family vacation once, road-tripping those big bastards. “I work there.”
“No shit.”
The priest actually smiles then rubs his nose with his thumb. “Why are you interested in the Perrys?”
Hearing him say my mother’s maiden name so casually is like having my nuts ripped open. “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“The Perrys aren’t here.”
I power the engine to fight asking where they are or when they’ll be back. “Let me guess, you’re the neighborhood block watch. Even pick up the mail while everyone’s gone and take out the trash.”
“No. I happen to notice when my parents are gone. They’re visiting friends on the other side of the state.”
My head snaps in his direction, and he taps the roof of the car again. “It’s time you move along.”
I rev the engine and throw the car into reverse, but this deep need keeps me from hitting the gas. He steps back to allow me room to leave.
“When you’re done with the attitude,” he says, “and ready to talk, you know where my office is.”
“What makes you think we have anything to say to each other?”
He smiles, and my heart stops. Jesus Christ, that’s my mom’s smile. “Kentucky plates, an email sent against my advice and my sister’s eyes. We have plenty to discuss.”
My mouth drops open, and he’s not done. “And Noah, don’t try to approach my parents on your own. There’s a reason why Sarah ran and why I followed in her footsteps. Talk to me before you cross that bridge.”
The priest...my uncle...walks away. I rake my hands through my hair and glance down, wondering where the fuck the blood is because I just got shot.
Echo
My canvas reminds me of my brain back when I repressed the memories of the night of the incident with my mom: color around the edges and a blank hole in the middle. I’ve got mere days to impress Hunter, and a blank canvas will not help my plight.
When I try to imagine painting the stars that comprise Aires, I freeze up, but the sky surrounding it, I can do.
“So you are human.” Hunter walks up beside me, and I can’t help but smile at his words. “I was worried I had an art-superwoman on my hands, and that the government would come and perform tests on you.”
“I’m very human.” Using my wrist, I wipe my hair from my forehead, but sigh when I lower it and spot dark blue streaking against my skin. I wave my hand. “Very, very human.”
Hunter doesn’t laugh at me; instead, he dips his head to the side as he looks at what I’ve done so far. “It’s more of a blue-black than a black sky. Why?”
I busy myself by cleaning my brushes. “Just feels blue to me.” Like a bruise. A big, fat, swelling bruise that’s so raw and painful that it’s close to black, but it’s still smack-a-baseball-bat-on-the-baby-toe blue.
“I like it. It has a soulful aura.” His eyes dart around the canvas. “You continue to surprise me.”
At his feet, like if he moved a fraction of an inch he’d kick it, is the sample of my paintings and drawings he asked to see. My foot taps the floor. I don’t want to be all...please, please, please look at my paintings and love them. I’d rather he remember and me be all...oh, I totally forgot that you agreed to see a sample of my work. Silly me. I’m so happy to be in this moment that I forgot.
His attention strays from me when someone says his name, which means my fantasy isn’t going to happen so it’s time to step outside of my shell again and be forceful. “I brought the samples of my work.”
That drew back Hunter’s focus. “Let’s see it.”
I grab my bag and that would be when Noah’s ringtone sings from my cell. Part of me relaxes with relief. Another part arches my back like a cat about to attack a dog twice its size. He left this morning without a word, and has been AWOL for hours. Hours. And the moment Hunter shows interest in my work, Noah finally calls.
Hunter glances at the phone, and of course, Noah’s face and name blare from the screen. “Should you answer so that he doesn’t assume I’ve forced you drink the Kool-Aid?”
Ah, talk about seriously awkward and uncomfortable to the point I wish I would disappear. The ringtone enters supersonic. I did promise Noah I’d answer, and he did promise to go ape insane if I didn’t while I was with Hunter, but in theory that was for the first day. Besides, Noah doesn’t know that I’m here since he left.
“No, Noah’s cool with everything.” I’m willing Noah to be cool. “So what do you want to see first, the paintings or the drawings?”
The phone thankfully stops ringing.
“Paintings.”
“Echo,” says Meredith. “Do you want to grab some coffee?”
I blink, repeatedly, like I lied, but I’m not having the reaction over me. She has to be lying. Besides Lila, a failed few dates with an ex and then Noah, I can’t think of the last person who asked to go anywhere or do anything with me in public in years, and now she’s done it twice.
Asking me out twice...I’ve made a friend. I open my mouth to scream yes, but Hunter shifts beside me.
I point at Hunter, who’s moved past patient and has opened my portfolio. Don’t freak—just because he’s currently appraising my work, and my entire art career is on the line, is no reason to panic. Oh, the emotion spectrum. Pure joy to utter fear. “Can I have a rain check?”
Mere
dith’s cheeks pale as her gaze falls to Hunter then jumps back to me. She mouths, “Sorry,” realizing what she wandered into.
Portfolio viewing. It’s like waiting to hear the verdict in a death sentence trial.
“Rain check,” she whispers, and her friend Brigit snatches Meredith’s arm and pulls her across the attic. Both of them give me a thumbs-up before they disappear down the stairs.
Wow. Freaking wow.
In slow motion, I pivot toward Hunter and flinch when I notice him assessing me and not my work. Crap. I missed his expression. The important one. Not the words—the obligatory “It’s good.” The facial one. The one Hunter spotted in me when I first saw his painting. Eyes never lie.
“You fit in here, Echo.”
The smile that I didn’t even know was on my face fades. A weird heaviness rolls into me like a fog. It’s not a bad sensation, but the type I experience when Noah rests an arm around my shoulder when we’re walking down the street, or when he places a hand on the small of my back when he guides me through a crowded room. It’s like a large cape drawn around me, making me feel safe and wanted. Making me feel included.
I stagger back. My legs hit the stool, and I lower myself down onto it. Scanning the room, I see people from every walk of life. All of them different, all of them their own unique palette of paint.
What’s amazing is that I belong.
Me.
Echo Emerson.
The girl who didn’t belong anywhere. The girl nobody wanted.
A wetness burns my eyes, and I have to quickly rub them to hide my emotional meltdown, but my hands tremble.
I belong—scars and all.
“Does that mean you like my work?”
“You have a lot to learn.”
My eyes flash to his as my stomach tightens into a ball. This has to be the cruelest joke. To tell me I belong then rip the hope out from underneath me.
“But you have raw talent that I could never teach. So yes, I like your work.”