“I know. It’s just hard. So much of myself is on those canvases. It’s one thing for strangers to look at them, but my family could probably guess what it all means.”
I gave him a smile. “I think they’d only be supportive, but it’s your call. It’s your art, your family. Just think about it okay? Tonight could just be for you. Maybe invite them to the next one?”
“That assumes there’ll be another one.” He laughed.
“I know there will be.”
His laughter trailed off at the certainty in my tone, and his eyes burned down at me. “Fuck.” He shook his head. “Nope. We’re going inside. I gotta get control of my urges, otherwise I’ll be bending you over in that alley over there, and we’ll miss the whole show.”
I darted a glance at the alley he nodded at. Honestly, that didn’t sound like a bad plan to me…
He laughed. “Come on, troublemaker. Let’s go see a man about a painting. Or four.”
I clutched his hand as we crossed the street and walked down a side alley next to the gallery. “How many pieces do you have in the show?”
“Four. All canvasses. I’ve been itching to do some metalwork, but I haven’t had the time at work lately. Someone has been keeping me on my toes.”
I rolled my eyes. Considering we’d been separated the last few weeks, there was no way he could pin that on me. “I didn’t know you did metal work. I’d love to see it sometime.”
“I think I can arrange that.”
I was grinning as he knocked on the side door to the gallery.
The door opened and a slender man in a suit peered up at Dylan. “Finally. Did you turn off your phone? I’ve been calling and calling you. I was starting to think you weren’t going to show. Come in, come in. Oh, who’s this lovely creature?”
“Elliot, this is my girlfriend, Indigo.”
“Oh, I see.” Elliot grinned at me. “Indigo, it’s a pleasure to meet you.” He clutched my hand in his.
“Um, likewise.” I smiled uncertainly back at him.
“You two feel free to have a look around, grab a flute, and celebrate. Doors open to a few members of the media in fifteen and then to the general public in an hour. Have fun. I’ll be circulating if you have any questions or issues. But remember, all the hard work is done. Enjoy the moment.” He patted Dylan on the shoulder then ran off after someone in catering.
Dylan gave a huge sigh. “Okay. Let’s do this. I think he put my stuff over here.”
I gave his hand a reassuring squeeze and trailed after him. “You know this is a good thing, right? It’s pretty freaking amazing. I mean, you’re literally living my dream. Do you know what I’d give to have a showing? It’s….”
My words trailed away as we stopped in front of a group of four canvases I would’ve recognized as Dylan’s anywhere. Two of the four I’d seen before—the Rockwell tribute with the grayscale little boy out in the cold, watching a grand family dinner and the same boy visiting his calculating father in prison. It was the other two that held me spellbound.
One was a portrait of me with the saddest expression, done in all blues. It must’ve been how I’d looked at him when he told me I had to leave. So much pain. Rejection was written all over my face. The pain I’d felt in that moment. And at my feet lay a tiny man clutching his chest, pain twisting his features.
My heart thudded unevenly as I took it all in. I sighed shakily. I never thought he would’ve painted me. Or show our vulnerability so nakedly. So pure.
The last canvass was a self-portrait done in the same gray tones as the little boy in the others. If anyone looked closely, they would see similar features between the two. Like the little sad boy, grown Dylan was sad. His features twisted in agony. His face almost gaunt with thinness. Very similar to how he’d looked a few weeks ago when I saw him in a work meeting. All pale skin and haunted eyes.
“Oh Dylan,” I whispered.
A rumbling sound left him, then he cleared his throat. “I know I should’ve told you—asked your permission—but when Elliot saw the painting he had to have it in the showing. Said it was the best, most visceral work he’d ever seen.”
“I think that’s true about your self-portrait. I never… It actually hurts me to see you like this, even if it’s only in a painting. I’m so sorry.”
“No, I am. I know I didn’t handle the whole you leaving thing in the best way. It was shit timing. I know you felt used and tossed aside, and I never wanted that. You deserve so much more than what I gave you.”
“Thank you.” I gulped as the emotions inside me threatened to overwhelm me.
He stepped closer and wrapped a hand around the back of my neck, threading his fingers through my hair. His eyes burned with so much emotion. “How you looked when you left haunted me so much I had to get it down on a canvas. I stupidly thought if I painted it, it wouldn’t hurt as much. But it was more like a receipt of all my stupidity instead. And a new thing to haunt me.”
“Dylan,” I murmured, then reached up and made him bend down to my level so I could kiss him. I ached to soothe all the naked pain on display. So much of it on the canvasses and on his face. Too much pain.
