“He was furious,” I say, remembering how he’d slammed into my office and tore strips off me for not confiding in him. “He eventually simmered down when I explained about the bugs in my office. He then had the entire office building swept as a precaution. It’s good to know my office is once again a safe space.”
Although one which is now filled with memories of Pen sat in it.
As if reading my mind...
“Have you heard from Pen since she left?”
I shake my head. She’s been radio silent since she returned to the US. Peter hasn’t given anyone up, so there’s been no reason to contact her. I told her I wasn’t going to her wedding, using Lottie as an excuse. To her, however, it must have seemed like I wasn’t willing to support her in her happiest hour.
I don’t deserve someone like her in my life.
Gabriel looks at me, and I shrug.
“I’m seeing my therapist again,” I admit. “I think it’s time I sort out my shit for Lottie.”
I need a clean break to continue with my plans of devoting my time to my company and Lottie, helping her heal.
“That’s great,” he says. “But Eli, it’s not just for Lottie. It’s also for you.”
Gabe is right. I need to do this for myself as much as for Lottie. I realised once Pen had left, that she has moved on from the past, has planned a new life. I take my hat off to her. Commend her. She’s given me hope. So much so that I called mytherapist and scheduled a meeting the following day. I intend to take them more seriously, move forward. I’m currently damaged goods with a lot of baggage, it’s up to me to sort through it. He helped me once before when I broke my ankle, and he’s helping me get my head together now, be a better man.
My biggest problem isn’t one I can share with Gabriel or anyone else. I see Pen everywhere, wherever I turn there are memories of her. In my apartment, my office. It’s like her scent has become a permanent fixture sent to haunt me. I even slept in the spare room after she left, although Christie had already changed the sheets.
Fate is screwing with me. She was my friend for years, and I messed that up. I fell for her but could do nothing about it. I’m falling for her again, but she’s out of my reach and can never be mine.
Somehow I know Pen will always bethe one who got away.
“Are you guys going to come and play cards, or are you going to mope all night in the kitchen?” Xander says, sticking his head through the door.
“We’re coming. I need to whip your ass after last month,” Gabriel says. Apparently, Xander managed to beat Gabriel, which is nearly unheard of.
“Bring it on,” Xander says, moving to the fridge and grabbing another box of beers.
We make our way back into the living area, where the rest of the guys are waiting. Caleb is still away, but it hasn’t stopped the rest of them.
“Come on, Elijah, you’re dealing,” Quentin says, holding out the pack of cards. “I’m expecting a great hand.”
It’s late by the time I head back to my apartment. It was a great night. Gabriel was right. I felt human hanging around with my brother’s friends. I laughed. Not something I’ve done all that much. At least not before Pen arrived.
I head upstairs and hit the keypad on the door. It unlocks with a pop, and I enter my studio. The specialist light comes on immediately. The large windows are dark as they look out over the night sky. The smell of oil paint and turps assaults my senses, my body instantly releasing some of the tension it’s been storing, settling the nerves that have been stretched taut, first by Levon and then by Pen leaving.
I move towards my easel, pulling off the dust sheet. It’s been a couple of months since I was last in here. The divorce, work, Lottie going to stay with her mother. I lost my mojo for a moment. It took my therapist reminding me, it’s time to set aside some time for me.
I stare at the half-finished painting before lifting the canvas from the easel and placing it against the wall. That’s not what I’m feeling at the moment. I grab a blank, pre-stretched canvas from the pile and gather my tools.
I close my eyes, allowing my mind to focus on the blank canvas in front of me. A picture forms, and I want to groan.
Why?
But I don’t fight it. Instead, I let the moment take me. Inhale, exhale, I allow the painting to take shape. When I open them again, I begin underpainting, allowing the bigger picture to take on a form.
FIFTEEN YEARS AGO
“Penelope is here to see you,” Mum says, coming into the room, followed closely by Pen.
“Hi,” I say, sitting up, my extended leg making the process a little difficult.
“I’ll grab you some refreshments. Juice, Pen?”
