Heartache Read online

  She cocked her head to the side and stared at me, her eyes filling with tears. “Ugh! Just say something douche-y so I don’t want to be with you anymore.”

  “You deserve everything that you’re looking for and more,” I pointed out, pulling her into a hug. I felt her warm tears hit my chest and roll down my abs. I held her for a minute as we stood in silence.

  Wiping her face, Allison bent down and picked up her discarded trench coat. She pulled it on and I straightened her collar. She stared at me with a mixture of hurt and hope in her eyes and it almost made me feel bad that I didn’t feel anything for her.

  Almost.

  “Goodbye, Roman,” she said as she buttoned the last button on her coat.

  “I’m sorry for the misunderstanding. Take care of yourself, Allie.”

  Giving me a sad smile, Allison walked through the door. I watched her speed walk to her car parked out front. I thought I saw her look at me when she started her engine, but when I waved, she didn’t wave back. Seconds later, she sped off.

  “Well, that didn’t go as planned,” I muttered under my breath as I closed the door and headed upstairs to get dressed. I rubbed my chest, over my heart, as the ache intensified.

  Throwing on a pair of old paint splattered jeans and a long-sleeved black t-shirt, I paused in front of the large mirror in my bathroom. Running my hand over the stubble along my jaw, I sighed. I can only deal with one thing at a time. Sex with Allison was supposed to take my mind off of everything. But her visit did nothing but stress me out even more.

  Walking out of the bathroom, through the bedroom and across the hall into my home studio/office, I spotted my messenger bag on the desk. I grabbed it and looked inside to make sure my best brushes were in there. Hoisting it over my shoulder, I ran down the stairs. Looking around, I paused again.

  I’m forgetting something, I thought as my eyes scanned the living room. I didn’t see anything I was missing so I looked in the kitchen and then in the guest bedroom/storage room. Mentally running down the list of everything I needed for the day, I couldn’t pinpoint why I felt like I was forgetting something. Touching the back pockets of my jeans, I felt my wallet. My front pocket had my phone. Shrugging off the feeling, I left the house.

  Slipping behind the wheel of my black Ford Mustang, I started the engine and let it purr. The heat burst from the vents as I backed out of my short driveway. As soon as all four tires were on the street, I peeled off. My intention was to drive around to clear my head, but I ended up driving in the direction of Art House.

  Fifteen minutes later, I parked in the parking deck. Listening to Jay-Z, I rapped along with the lyrics. While I was mid-rap, my phone rang.

  “Hello?” I answered, seeing Brad’s nickname, Easy, flash across the screen.

  “Yo!” Brad greeted in response. “Are you still at home or are you out?”

  “I’m out. Why? What’s up?”

  “I thought the purpose of you teaching online classes was so you didn’t have to wake up early and go to campus?”

  “I’m at the studio,” I replied, double checking the art bag before preparing to get out of the car.

  “That rich girl you mess around with, what’s her name?”

  I stopped moving and gripped the steering wheel tightly before answering. “Allison.”

  “Yeah, I knew it started with an A. I saw her at the gas station this morning. She was crying so I asked her if she was okay. She said that you broke things off with her.”

  “Yeah. We’re done,” I answered simply.

  “She seemed broken up about it. I always thought she was just fucking with you to make her dad mad. But she seemed seriously upset. She even cries all prim and proper. Not your type at all.”

  “My type? I don’t have a type.”

  “Yes, you do. Your type is either creative or crazy, but usually both.”

  I sighed as his laugh reverberated through the phone. “It’s not funny, man. I didn’t want to hurt her.”

  Laughing harder, Brad responded, “You never do.”

  Groaning, I asked, “Are you done?”

  “Yeah, with that anyway. I just got home from Gillian’s and I am about to crash. Later, man.”

  We got off the phone and I finally released my grip from the steering wheel. My stomach twisted in a knot.

  I should call her and fix this. I should make sure she’s okay. God, I hope Easy didn’t make it worse, I thought as I grabbed my stuff and headed in the direction of the Art House entrance. Before I made it to the front door, I let out a growl.

  “Dammit!” I muttered forcefully to the sky, my face turned upward. Running my free hand roughly down my face, I inhaled deeply and walked into the building. I felt bad about how things ended with Allison. And I knew Brad didn’t mean any harm, but I was almost positive he didn’t help the situation.

  Before I moved to California, Brad and I lived next door to each other when we were five years old. Because our families kept in touch, we stayed in touch. We visited each other every summer and besides the time difference, it was almost like we grew up together. We had always planned to go to VCU together, so as soon as we got our acceptance letters, we planned to be roommates.

  Brad was like my brother. In fact, I was closer to Brad than I was my own brother. And because of that closeness, I knew what an asshole he could be sometimes and I knew whatever he said to Allie couldn’t have been good.

  “Why are you making me wait?” Monroe huffed, pulling me from my thoughts. She scurried out of her office into the middle of the lobby. I hadn’t even made it to the elevator yet.

  “I was going to put my stuff upstairs and come back down,” I informed her weakly.

  “No you weren’t. You are avoiding this.” She shook the package and peered over her thick-framed black glasses. “Look how thick this is! She definitely wants to represent you. Oh! Maybe she wants to do a showcase. Oh my God, there’s so much I’d need to do in order to pull everything together for a showcase here for the Charlotte Spence. This is big. Not just for you, but for all of us at Art House.”

  “No pressure there,” I muttered, taking the package from her hands and stuffing it in my art bag. “But thank you.”

  “Promise me you’ll let me know what it says,” Monroe begged hopefully. She stuffed her hands in the pockets of her burgundy dress. “Please.”

  “I will,” I said as I walked into the elevator and swiped my access card to get to the fifth floor. The doors closed when I finished under my breath, “Eventually.”

  Walking into my studio, I breathed in the calming scent of my studio. The paint, linseed oil, solvent, and air freshener combination almost smelled better than fresh air. Dropping my bag on the desk, I shrugged out of my coat and threw it over a chair. Pulling the package out of the bag, I made a beeline for the painting I’d finished the night before.

  My eyes flickered over the canvas. This is shit, I thought, being highly critical of my late night creation. The distorted image of the right side of a woman’s face looked back at me as I shook my head. Touching it to confirm it was dry, I stuck the small canvas in the corner of the room.

  With nothing left to distract me, I took a seat on the sofa that was pushed against the large loft window. With the sun shining in from behind me, I looked at the manila envelope in my hand. Nerves tore at my stomach at the thought of the life changing contents.

  “Fuck it,” I muttered, tearing open the thick package. “Whatever happens, happens.”

  _____

  Chapter Two

  To: Roman

  From: Bianca

  Subject: OMFG!

  Charlotte Spence is the fucking art whisperer! I told you this would happen for you! You are so good at what you do. If you ever doubt yourself again, I’m going to kick your ass and then I’m going to remind you that Charlotte Spence only works with the best. You. Are. The. Best. I’m so happy for you and I’m so proud of you, Ro! Congratulations! Now you just have to figure out what your theme is going
to be and after you paint your statement piece, the rest is cake. I can’t wait to see what you come up with. Are you still thinking of doing faces? Well whatever you do, we both know it’ll be amazing. We must celebrate as soon as I get back. Even though I’m not ready to leave Italy, I’m looking forward to coming back to Virginia in a couple of weeks. It’ll be good to be home. When I get back in town, we WILL celebrate! Talk soon!

  B

  __________

  After reading the email for the second time, I felt my lips give way to a smile. Bianca Baker had been my teaching assistant up until May when she graduated and decided to complete a program abroad. Although we worked well together, in the eight months since she’d been gone, our relationship had evolved from a working relationship to a genuine friendship. We went to each other for any and everything. I trusted her opinion on art; she trusted my opinion on the assholes she dated. I even opened up a little to her, never telling her about my past, but telling her what goes on with me day-to-day. Quickly and almost exclusively through email, Bianca had become my best friend.

  Because the ones I got ain’t shit, I thought good-naturedly as I caught the tail end of what Brad was saying.

  “…because Mr. Sensitivity is staring off wishfully,” Brad joked.

  Malik chuckled. “I think you meant wistfully.”

  “Whatever, man.” Brad shrugged, narrowing his eyes. “Who could you possibly be texting while we are celebrating, Ro? Stay off of the phone, man. We’re here for bigger and better things. You’re getting like him.” He gestured to Malik. “Ever since he started seeing Courtney, you can’t catch him without his phone in his hand.”

  Malik shook his head with a huge smile on his face. “We’re just hanging out. It’s nothing serious.”

  Brad looked at me and made a face. “You see the look on his face? That’s the look you have on your face right now. Phones off gentlemen. This is boys’ night.”

  I locked my phone and placed it face down on the table. Putting my hands up in surrender, I conceded, “Fine. Done.”

  We placed our food orders with the overly flirty waitress and in no time our table was full of all types of greasy fried foods. Our conversation halted the moment she walked away from our table. For at least five minutes, we tore into our food wordlessly.

  “You chew loud as hell, Easy,” Malik observed, breaking the silence.

  The unexpected comment caused a chuckle to burst out of me. My laugh turned into a cough as I choked on the fry I had just put in my mouth.

  “Yeah, yeah. Laugh it up!” Brad’s head was like a swivel as he turned from Malik to face me.

  I held one hand up and the other over my mouth as I finished choking on my laugh and the crinkle cut fry.

  Fifteen minutes later, we were finished eating and joking around as usual. Despite my surroundings, I almost relaxed. With my arms folded across my chest, I looked between my boys and I almost didn’t regret being in a crowded bar on a Monday night. Almost, I thought as a new wave of people packed into the bar as the final minutes before tipoff counted down.

  “I miss this! The three of us shooting the shit, knocking a few back, just doing our thing; I miss this, man,” Brad said, raising his third mug of beer. His face flushed from his inebriated state. “It took a New Yorker offering to represent you for you to actually come out with us. But all that matters is that you’re here. Boys’ night!”

  “Since this is the first time we’ve all been out together since graduation night, six long years ago, let’s celebrate in style,” Malik added with a nod as he clinked his glass mug against Brad’s. “Next round is on me!”

  “It hasn’t been that long,” I groaned with a laugh. “Has it?”

  I had known Malik Jones since sophomore year in college and he was the only other person in the world I considered a friend. Malik was a laid-back guy and the definition of cool. From the way he dressed to the way he talked, Malik had the kind of quiet confidence that drew everyone in. As the IT guy, he was the resident geek, but in a cool way. Although I had known Brad longer, I probably had more in common with Malik.

  “Bars and clubs just aren’t my thing,” I replied, checking out the scenery at Rock Bar. I looked back between Brad and Malik and shrugged. “Just not into it.”

  “What’s not to be into? You like music. You like pretty women. You like alcohol,” Brad remarked with his brows crinkling together in confusion. He ran his hands through his dark blonde hair before refilling his empty glass from the pitcher in the middle of the table.

  “Don’t listen to him,” Malik started, pausing to take a swig of beer. He gestured across the table with his head. “Not everybody is a partier like DJ B-Easy over there, but it is good to have you out tonight. Congratulations again, man. You did it.” Lifting his glass, he toasted, “To Roman’s agent!”

  We knocked our glasses together before taking a sip.

  “Thanks. I’ve been waiting for this. The letter said that on the last Friday in March I’ll put on a solo show and they will come down and do what they do.”

  Malik nodded. “Nice. So what’s the plan? Do you already have your paintings together or are you doing new ones?”

  “You should do nudes,” Brad offered with his lip curled comically. “And I’ll personally vet the models for you.”

  We laughed. “What the hell, Easy?” I questioned rhetorically, taking another gulp of beer.

  Brad shrugged, running his hand through his hair again. “I’m serious. Let me know if you need help with that.”

  Turning to face Malik, I answered his question. “I’ve been thinking about doing faces and capturing different emotions. I don’t know exactly what I’m doing yet, but the faces idea has been rolling around in my head for a while now. I don’t know. But once I figure it out, I’ll knock out a series or two. When I’m done with that, the agent will come down for the solo show and then I can start selling and making real money off of my work.”

  Brad blatantly checked out a woman who walked by in a short dress before returning his glassy eyes to me. “But either way you’re good! That trust fund is—”

  Narrowing my eyes at him, I felt my body tense immediately. I hated for anyone to bring up my trust fund. Outside of my family, Brad and Malik were the only ones who knew about it. Brad found out because he overheard my parents. Malik found out because Brad couldn’t keep his fucking mouth shut when he was drinking.

  Malik glared at Brad. “I think you’ve had one too many, Easy.”

  “I’m just saying—” Brad attempted to backpedal, looking between the two of us.

  “You’re just saying what?” I asked through clenched teeth. My tone was even, but my hand gripped the cool glass of the mug so tightly I thought it would break.

  Seeming to hear the agitation in my voice, Brad put his beer down. Running his hands down his face, he smiled widely. “Nothing, man. Let’s drink!”

  My jaw clenched and I exhaled harshly through my nostrils. Shaking my head slowly, I calmed myself down. I hated to think about the money in my trust. I knew how Brad operated when he was drunk so I wasn’t pissed about him bringing it up since it was just the three of us. Over the years, I’d come to expect him not to think before he spoke when he’d had too much to drink. But the topic of my trust fund always fucked with my head and stirred up things that I preferred never to talk about.

  But it wasn’t just annoyance at my best friend that was coursing through my veins. The panic of last night’s nightmare gripped me again. The weight of Allie’s confession crushed me. And the chill that crept down my spine wasn’t from the draft that snuck into the room every time the door opened.

  That chill is—, my thoughts stopped short as the waitress bumped my shoulder with her hip. On purpose.

  “Oh excuse me,” she giggled, placing another pitcher of beer in the center of the table and giving me a flirtatious smile. I politely smiled back before returning my eyes to my hand wrapped around the frothy glass. My mind was inundated with the thoughts th
at had plagued me for the last eight years.

  Eight fucking years, I grimaced internally. Moving my hand to my chest, I rubbed the tight spot over my heart.

  Once the waitress walked away, Brad and Malik started talking about the basketball game that was seconds away from starting.

  “I think I’m going to head out early,” I said, sliding my chair back away from the table. The legs of the chair scraped loudly against the wooden planks of the floor.

  “No, we’re just getting started. Come on! The game is about to start,” Brad insisted. “We’re here for you. I’m sorry I brought up the…situation. Come on.”

  “No, it’s fine. I’m good.” I stood up and pulled my wallet out of my back pocket. Pulling out a twenty dollar bill and tossing it on the table, I gave them a tight smile. “This just isn’t for me.”

  Malik held out his fist and I brought mine to his. “I understand you cutting out early, but we’re your friends and we want to celebrate this with you.” Lifting his glass in the air, he reiterated, “You worked for this. We have to celebrate it, man. Something small. Something more your speed.”

  My instincts were to decline, but Malik was convincing.

  I did work for this. My whole life I’ve been working toward this, I reasoned running my hand across my jawline. Maybe something small. Malik, Easy, B, and me. Each of us bringing a date for the night. Just relaxing at home—

  “Better yet,” Brad started, interrupting my thoughts. “We’ll go up to DC and party! We’ll get a little crazy!”

  I shook my head, giving him a look. “Not my scene, man.” I pulled on my leather jacket.

  “No, don’t listen to him. I’ll be in charge of putting it together. How about this?” Malik proposed, rubbing his hands together as if a plan was forming. “We won’t go to a club or a bar. We’ll plan a small party—no, a get-together—to celebrate right after your art showcase in March. Just a few people. Nothing big. Just a little something so that we can celebrate you, man.”