I sink to my knees, the weight of it all crushing me. The whispers, the changes in the painting, the storm—it’s all too much. I clutch my head, trying to make sense of the chaos, but the answers elude me.
And then, faintly, I hear it again. Not a whisper this time, but a laugh. Light and airy, like wind chimes in the breeze. Her laugh.
It echoes through the studio, fading into the distance. I look around, my eyes wild, but there’s no one here. Just me and the empty canvas.
And the storm inside me that will never end.
Chapter Nineteen
Calum—past
The light’s gone gray by the time I hike the bluff back to Holiday House.
The wind’s picking up again—sharp with sea salt, blowing through the pines like breath through teeth. I can still taste the oil paints on my fingers, the scent of turpentine bleeding from my shirt. The canvas under my arm is still wet, blues and ochres slashed in furious streaks across the panel. Something about it felt right today. Alive.
I should feel good. Steady.
But the second I reach the porch and see the front door cracked open, that unease I’ve tried to paint away begins to rise again.
Voices. Laughter.
Annabel’s laugh.
I step inside, boots heavy on the hardwood. The living room’s bathed in gold from the fireplace. And there they are—Annabel and Jonathan.
On the couch.
His arm around her shoulders. Her head resting lightlyagainst him. Their bodies too close in a way that shouldn’t belong to anyone but me.
She says something I can’t hear, and he laughs softly, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear like it’s his right.
My throat dries.
And then?—
He kisses her.
Quick. Too familiar. His lips on hers.
And everything inside me breaks loose.
The canvas drops from my arm, slamming against the floor with a sickening crack. My easel clatters down after it, wooden legs splintering as it bounces against the stairs.
They both jerk apart.
“Calum—” she starts, but I’m already moving.
“You son of a—” I roar, charging forward and shoving Jonathan off the couch. He stumbles backward, arms flailing.
Annabel screams, lunging to stop me. “Calum! Stop!”
“This animal just kissed you!” I spit, pointing at Jonathan, my voice raw with fury.
Annabel throws herself between us. “I pushed him away! It was nothing! Innocent!”
But I can’t hear her. All I see is red. Jonathan’s smirk. His smug posture. Like he’s waiting for me to lose it. Like hewantsme to.
He dusts himself off slowly, eyes cold and amused. “You need to calm down, Van Gogh. That temper of yours is gonna get you nowhere.”
