Rachel shookher head as she gazed atOut of Bounds, which hung proudly in the Quarterly Showcase. “Fuck.”
“Is that your official review?” Brennan stood beside her, watching her admire his work.
Chris stopped by and took a gander. He was equally impressed. “I was wondering where you’ve been. You were like a hermit.”
Rachel pointed at him to show she was in agreement. “We almost schlepped to your loft to make sure you weren’t dead.”
“Almost,” Chris added. “You live really far away.”
“Thanks for sort of caring,” Brennan said with a smile. “I kind of appreciate it.”
Students and department faculty made up half of the attendees tonight, while the other half were local residents and artists and critics from Harrisburg. Brennan’s classmates praised his work, and he was grateful for being in such a supportive environment. Coming to Browerton proved over and over to be one of the few right decisions he’d made in his life.
He finished making his loop around the room, and when he returned back to his painting, Rachel was still there.
“Who’s the guy?” she asked.
Brennan shrugged. He could paint how he felt; talking was a more herculean task. “My muse,” he answered with a wistful grin.
“It’s Cliff Warner,” she said, not taking her eyes off the painting.
“How did you know that?” Brennan checked the painting. He didn’t use any facial features. The two men were blurred out to be unrecognizable. They could be anyone, everyone.
“He’s the guy you brought to the art show in Harrisburg. I recognized his picture floating around now that he’s the quarterback of Browerton’s athletic industrial complex. I may be a left-brained bitch, but I can still put two and two together.” Rachel brushed bushy strands of hair out of her face. She rubbed his arm and leaned her head against him. “How are you holding up?”
“Why would you think I’m not holding up well?”
“Exhibit A.” She nodded at the painting.
Touche.
“What good is being an artist if you’re not tortured and miserable?” Brennan struggled to keep up the witty repartee. He gulped back a lump of emotion.
“I assume the lure of sports superstardom was too strong for him.”
“Actually, it wasn’t strong enough,” a voice behind them said.
Cliff was here?
Cliff cut between them, his cedary scent bringing Brennan back to happier times. He dressed up for the opening, wearing a blazer, button-down shirt, and jeans.
Cliff was here.
“Rachel, right? We met at the gallery event in Harrisburg.” Cliff held out his hand for a shake. He turned to Brennan and flashed him a lopsided grin that single-handedly pulled his heart from the dumpster. “Hey.”
CLIFF WAS HERE!
“Hey,” Brennan choked out, still getting over this sight for sore eyes.
“I’m going to mingle.” Rachel gave Brennan a knowing look and blended into the crowd.
He couldn’t believe he was looking into those golden eyes and seeing that squishable, tall figure in the flesh. His heart was about to leap out of his chest and go AWOL.
“This is yours, right?” Cliff pointed at the painting. He had a confidence that lit him up.
Brennan nodded, unable to do words.
“It’s incredible. I can see how you used shading to simulate the approaching sunset in this cloudy sky. And the shaping of the two guys...it really shows how removed they are. They’re close to us, but also far.”
