Flutters in my chest, flying high in the sky. I have talent. I’m going to succeed on my own. I’m off the stool and hugging Hunter. The moment his hands touch my back and press me closer, I jerk. But even with that, Hunter runs his hand along my spine.
No one should ever hold me this close. No one should touch me like this. Not someone who isn’t Noah.
“I’m sorry.” I push away, wondering if I’ve given a wrong sign. “I shouldn’t have—”
“Echo?” The question in Noah’s voice slashes like a knife to my heart.
My hair hits my face as I turn to him. “Hunter likes my work.”
Noah’s brown eyes flicker between me and Hunter. “That’s good.” But he doesn’t say it like he’s happy. He says it like I hurt him.
I suck in air and hope Noah will understand. “Hunter just saw my paintings, my drawings, and he likes them and I got excited.”
Please hear what I’m saying. He sees my potential. He sees my talent. All of it without my mother’s influence. For the first time in my life, I’m standing on my own.
The room’s gone quiet, and Noah notices how everyone watches us. He shakes his hair over his eyes, and he hauntingly reminds me of the boy I first met months ago. Not the boy who shares his soul with me, but the one that made fun of my name. The one who, when I refused to give him back his leather jacket in public, said horrible things and made me cry.
Two nights ago, Noah held me in his arms and loved me like no one has ever loved me. Right now the man to my right has the possibility of making my dreams come true. Why does it seem that any way I choose, I’m going to break someone’s heart?
Mine or Noah’s or both.
Noah
From behind Echo, the bastard smiles and, fuck me, Echo’s pleading with me to let this go. But she doesn’t see what I see. She didn’t notice that asshole’s face when she wrapped her arms around him. Like she handed him a gift, and he was hell-bent on opening it as fast as he could. My fingers curl as he mockingly raises his eyebrows. The bastard acts like he’s calling my bluff.
It’s no bluff, you damned snake. It’s no bluff at all.
Echo shuffles her feet as if she can’t decide who she should be more concerned over. “Noah?”
I release a stream of air through my mouth, attempting to rein in my temper. Losing it here, it’s what he wants. It’s Echo’s nightmare. “I was stopping by to see if you needed anything.”
And to fill you in on my mom’s family. Then the conversation will detour to how I walked in to see her tackling another guy—a guy I already have issues with.
“I...” She glances behind her, and the bastard’s smile vanishes before she can spot it. “Well, Hunter was looking at my work, and we were talking about how he liked it and—”
“It’s all right, Echo,” says Hunter in a sugar-sweet way that causes me to want to punch his face. “Since you aren’t officially a part of The Attic, we haven’t discussed how there are boundaries between your professional life and your personal life. And even if we did have the conversation, you didn’t ask your boyfriend to rush in and cause a scene.”
My spine straightens, and I cross my arms over my chest. A scene? I’ll throw him through the fucking window, then we can discuss a scene.
“Maybe you and your boyfriend should take this outside?” Hunter says to her. “And after you clean up what’s going on here, we can discuss whether you can focus on a career in art.”
Echo’s cheeks flare red, and she drops her gaze. I briefly close my eyes. She’s embarrassed—over me.
Hunter leaves and heads down the stairs. Motion around us, a shifting of feet on the loft flooring, and Echo hugs herself as if the action could make her small enough to disappear. “Let’s go.”
She avoids eye contact as she passes me and doesn’t permit her arm to graze mine. Nor does she look back to see if I follow.
Pain pricks my chest. The worst type of letting go isn’t the kicking or the screaming, because at least then there’s enough emotion left to fight. No, the worst type is the silent acceptance. The quietness of the release. That’s when the person realizes they no longer give a damn.
Echo
Unable to walk past Hunter’s office, I exit at the bottom of the stairs. The large metal door clicks shut behind me, and the warm Colorado sun kisses the bare skin of my arms. The loading dock reflects me, inside and out: not much to look at and empty.
Two girls accepted me, one of the best artists in North America likes my work and whether he meant to or not, my boyfriend embarrassed me.
Crap.
Just crap.
Behind me the door squeaks open. It’s Noah. I can sense him, taste him. Like he’s been absorbed into my pores. Like he’s embedded into my being.
The urge is to run to him, to embrace him, to have his arms shelter me like they have so many times this summer, but this constant push and pull will never end if I do.
Footsteps against the loading dock and the sound of material rustling. Noah’s shoving his hands into the pockets of his jeans. I’ve seen him do it a million times, and I can picture him clearly in my mind: his jeans riding low against his hips, his body cocked to one side, his biceps straining as he tries to look relaxed, when on the inside he’s anything but.
“You once hugged me like that,” Noah says.
Moisture fills my eyes, and I blink it back. There’s no accusation in his voice. No anger. Just hurt.
“I brought Isaiah to work on your brother’s car to impress you. You were dating that ape Luke again, and each time I saw you with him, it got under my skin. When Isaiah told you that he could get it running and you hugged me...” Noah trails off, and I close my eyes, permitting the sweet memory of that day in the garage to caress my skin.
“I didn’t understand it at the time, but I loved you then. I fell for you the moment you called me out in the guidance counselor’s office, and I’ve been yours since.”
I love you. Words that Noah doesn’t throw around. I turn, and Noah’s exactly how I imagined—strong and handsome as ever.
“Now that’s an apology,” I whisper.
His lips tug up then fall back down. “I’m learning.”
“I wasn’t hugging him like I hugged you. Today was stupid. An impulse. That day in the garage, Noah...you meant something to me then, too. Hunter’s giving me a chance with my art. That’s all. I mean, he’s ten years older than me. He’s not even interested in me that way.”
Evidently not in agreement, Noah straightens his arms as if he’s creating fists in the pockets of his jeans. “Is he going to buy your work? Hang it in his gallery?”
“I don’t know. That’s when you interrupted.”
Noah stares at the ground, and I hate the tension building in our silence. Please, please, please let us be okay.
“Jacob’s last game is next weekend, and he wanted me to come. We could leave tonight, swing through Texas on our way home. Last week, you mentioned a gallery in Dallas then another one someplace in Oklahoma. We could visit those and not be rushed for orientation.”
My mouth pops open as I try to sort and categorize. Going home and his brothers and galleries in Texas and... “You said you wanted to go to a party tonight.”
“It’s a party. We can skip it.”
What the heck? “You made a federal case about it. You wanted to go. You’re the one that wanted to be here in Vail.”
Noah rubs the back of his head. “You wanted to start home a few days ago. You wanted to visit those other galleries. I’m telling you we can do it.”
“I don’t understand. Hunter was seconds away from making my dreams come true, and now you want to go home?” It’s like the earth has vanished beneath my feet and I’m falling, forever falling. “Besides, we came here for you. What about finding your m
other’s family?”
Noah pales out, and I flinch as if punched. I’ve never seen him like this before. Not even when he told me that he gave up custody of his brothers. “Noah? What’s wrong?”
His forehead wrinkles, and he kicks at the concrete. “Are you happy here?”
My arms drop to my sides as I hunt for something to grasp. The world is shifting and not in a good way. It’s the dizzying kind. The distorting kind. I don’t like the heaviness in his words. “What are you asking?”
I search Noah’s eyes. There’s a stark honesty and an ache radiating from them. His hurt literally rips my heart wide open.
“I’m asking if you’re happy here. I’m asking...” Noah clears his throat, and he tears his gaze away. “There’s a lot of people here so I’m guessing this is some sort of school, and I’m saying I want you to be happy.”
My pulse pounds at every pressure point, and Noah has to sense it. Even though Noah hasn’t moved, it’s like he’s fading...into the shadows...into the darkness...to realms that I fear. “Where is this coming from? Why did you leave so early today? Why didn’t you answer when I called? Explain to me what’s going on, because you’re scaring me.”
“I discovered some info on my mom’s family,” Noah answers.
His words hang in the air, and I’m terrified to breathe. “And?”
“Just God fucking with me again.” His shoulders slump forward.
I internally kick myself. Noah walked in and caught me hugging Hunter—a man he doesn’t trust—while Noah was bleeding.
I touch the top of Noah’s shoulder, and the connection jolts both of us. He withdraws. A prick of rejection begs me to lash out, but I ignore the emotion. I risk a second attempt, and this time Noah stays still when I glide a hand along his arm and step into the shelter of his body.
Come on, Noah. I’m trying here. A part of me melts when Noah finally loops a loose arm around me. Can’t complain. It’s contact. I rest my head on his shoulder, and he leans his body into mine. He’s not really holding me. It’s more like I’m keeping him upright, and I’m okay being his rock. Whatever happened today had to cut him deep.
Understanding that there are some pains that are too hard to verbalize when they’re fresh, I offer the out...for now. “Later, then?”
“Later.” A pause. “Forget what I said about leaving. We’ll go when you’re ready. Stay the whole week.”
“Give me a few days, okay? Let me see what I can do on this Aires painting, then we’ll go. We’ll skip Texas, and you can be home in time to watch Jacob play. I swear.”
Noah gently kisses my forehead. “Okay.”
But it doesn’t feel okay. Noah’s hurt, and I don’t know how to ease his suffering. “Do you have to work today?”
“Yeah. A few hours this afternoon.”
“When you’re done you should round up Beth and Isaiah, and then we’ll go to the party.” Maybe that’ll help.
Noah twirls a curl around his finger and yanks. “How about I send Isaiah and Beth and we spend time alone in the room.”
“You have a one-track mind, Noah Hutchins.”
I had hoped for his patented wicked smile that promises trouble, but I only receive a slight tilt of his mouth. “When it comes to you, I do. Go back to work, baby. I’ll see you in a couple hours.”
Noah walks away, and I have the same hollow devastation in my stomach as when I watched Aires leave all those years ago.
Noah
My need to attend the party tonight was about me listening to Mia and trying to prove that Echo and I are solid. After this morning with the priest and after that moment with Echo, a beer isn’t a bad idea. Hell, three may not do the job.
Like Mia said, Echo’s finding where she belongs, and it’s not with me. My problem—I don’t know how the hell to be man enough to let her go. Loving her like I do, I don’t know how I can keep her.
I pull Echo’s keys out of my front pocket and swear under my breath when I reach the street. The damn bastard’s standing in front of his gallery. I spin on my heels. I’ll walk the entire perimeter of this small town twice before I pass him. Echo wants her shot, and I want her happy.
“Noah,” he calls, and I freeze on the sidewalk. The right thing to do would be to ignore him. There’s nothing good to be said between us. “It’s Noah, right?”
With my thumbs hitched in my pocket so I won’t knock his ass out, I face him. “What do you want?”
“Echo.”
I step closer and damn if he doesn’t flinch. “Last I checked she makes her own decisions, and she’s chosen to be with me.”
“For now,” he states. Echo said he’s ten years older, and he has that belated frat-boy look going on. I’m sure he’s used to getting exactly what he desires. “I’ve seen this many times. Lots of girls come here fresh from high school or a year removed, still thinking that high school love is forever, but it isn’t.”
“Did you know her older brother was younger than you?”
He laughs, but it doesn’t touch his eyes. “I’m interested in her talent. That’s another issue with high school boys. They think the reason anything happens is because of sex. Someday you’ll discover there’s more in life, but for now stop jeopardizing Echo’s chance at a career.”
There we’re on the same page. “You leave me alone, I’ll leave you alone. In fact, I’ll stay thirty feet away from this place if it’ll make her life easier.”
Asshole shakes his head like I’m a damn toddler caught in the finger paints in preschool. “I see how she looks at you. How she reacts around you. Echo will follow you before she follows her dreams. Don’t ruin this.”
My head falls back, and I attempt to remain calm. “I want Echo happy.”
“If you mean that, keep walking and don’t look back. I’ve lost brilliant artists before because they’re stuck on a fling that fizzles before it starts. Chances like the one I’m about to offer her happen once in a lifetime.”
My world stops then collides into itself. The opportunity he’s about to offer her...
“Look me in the eye and tell me that you’re interested in her talent.”
He accepts the challenge and goes for full-fledged eye contact. “She’s possibly one of the most talented young women I’ve come across. She’s green, is sloppy in some areas, but her work has soul.”
It’s there, the truth. He believes in Echo and possesses the answers to her dream.
“Now tell me you aren’t interested in getting into her pants.”
“She fits here. Seamlessly. Have you seen that happen anywhere else?”
He’s struck blood, and it’s hard to mask the wound. “I didn’t ask you that. I asked if in that fucked-up head of yours, you’ve undressed my girl.”
The dickhead avoids looking at me and angles his body in the direction of his gallery. I’ve got my answer. “Don’t screw with Echo unless you’re interested in her art.”
“I am interested in her art. If you care for her, you’ll let her stay where she belongs. This is her world. Ask yourself if she honestly belongs in yours.”
In the world I live in now, Echo doesn’t belong. I know it, he knows it, and it’s a matter of time before Echo figures it out.
With the keys digging into my hand, I force one foot in front of the other. I promised Echo simple; I promised her we’d never change; I promised to take care of the gift she gave to me, and I’ve got no fucking clue how to keep any of those promises.
Echo
I sit on a stool and tap the paint brush repeatedly against my face. I’ll regret it later, but somehow it helps me think. It encourages me to see beyond the canvas and beyond what’s in the front of my mind. Somehow I go deeper and sneak past locked doors, delve into secrets and play in the blackness. The colors, the lines, the shades—it??
?s all there in the darkness, but there’s a wall preventing me from placing the brush to canvas.
“That’s not enough room for nine stars.” Hunter eases beside me and draws me out of my haze.
Standing with a stretch, I scan the room. Except for another girl packing up her things, the attic has emptied out. “Does everyone keep bankers’ hours?”
“They have keys,” he says. “They enter through the back and come and go as they please. You should know that inspiration can’t be dictated by a schedule.”
So true.
“You didn’t answer about the room and the number of stars.”
I didn’t. “I have all the room I need.”
His eyes narrow into slits. “Are you creating a smaller scale of the constellation? Is the entire focal point going to be the blank sky surrounding it?”
“No,” I answer, then raise an eyebrow as I consider it. I like the idea. Having something small in the middle and the main focus being the nothing surrounding it, but it’s too late to do that with this painting and he knows it, hence why he’s being a jerk. The entire space on the outside is wrong for such an idea.
“Then there’s not enough room for nine stars.”
For the love of God. I slam my paint brush down with a snap that vibrates across the room. “And that would be where you made your original mistake when you painted Aires.”
Oh, crap. Hunter turns a strange shade of purple when he’s angry. “You said I forgot a star and I had eight.”
“Yes, you forgot a star and yes, you had eight,” I rush out. Desperate, my head whips around like a cartoon character’s. Not locating what I need, I dip my finger into the blue and drop three dots onto my arm. “Technically, Aires can have more than four stars, but the root of it is four. Only four.”
I gesture to the blank stretch of skin between the dots. “And you just didn’t forget one star. You forgot the biggest and brightest. You forgot the important one.”
He forgot Hamal, but an aching tug on my heart prevents me from speaking the name.