I hope he is too.
Walking back to him, I thread my fingers in his and guide him forward, stopping at the large canvas perched on the high easel. “You can open them now,” I whisper, chewing anxiously on the inside of my mouth.
Jared slowly opens his eyes, and they grow bigger as he takes in my painting of him. It was from a gig they played at the start of the summer for a sweet sixteen, held in the function room of an upscale bar. I hadn’t been able to take my eyes off him the entire performance. We hadn’t been together as boyfriend and girlfriend long, and I was still floating in a heavenly cocoon, hanging off my man’s every word and every look.
I have always loved watching Jared play the drums, but there was something magical about him that night.
Passion seeped from his pores as he played his heart out.
My eyes had been transfixed on his hands and the way they curled around the drumsticks with confidence borne from talent and sheer hard work. Veins popped in his arms and muscles strained as he gave it his all, and I was mesmerized. I mentally captured the moment, committing it to memory. I raced home that night and sketched it out, and later, I worked on it with Jade.
It's my best ever work, and I’m proud of it. I was tempted to keep it, but it belongs to Jared. I can’t explain it, but it feels like a pivotal moment in his career, and it needed to be immortalized. He should be the one to have it.
“You did this?” Jared stares at me through glassy eyes. “How did you even…” He trails off, lost for words, and I think that’s a good thing?
“That image of you is imprinted in my brain. I will never forget how incredible you were that night.” I brush my fingers gently over my oil painting with a soft smile. I am proud of my work. Jared is behind the drum kit, muscular arms raised mid-strike, eyes closed as he’s lost in the music and the moment, his body electrified, every muscle straining, as passion takes control of him. Sweat-slickened strands of inky black hair brush over his brow and his skin is flushed with excitement.
He looks like a bona fide rock god.
It’s like looking into a crystal ball and seeing his future.
“This is fucking incredible, Syd. I’m blown away. I can’t even form words.”
He’s just staring at it in wonder, and my heart swells behind my chest. “You like it?” I shyly ask.
“Like it?” He snaps out of his fugue state and scoops me into his arms, lifting me up and spinning me around. “I fucking love it, babe. It’s phenomenal. You’re phenomenal. I can’t believe you did this.” He puts my feet down and tucks me under his arm as we stand in front of the painting. “Have you any idea how talented you are?”
“Right back at ya, stud,” I tease, blushing to the roots of my hair because I’m uncomfortable with praise.
“You’re going to get into the program at NYU. They’ll take one look at this and admit you on the spot.” He leans in closer. “It’s so lifelike it’s almost like a photo. You captured me so perfectly.”
“You’re the perfect subject, Jared. I could draw you all the time and never grow tired.”
Fierce determination crests over his face as he yanks me against his chest. “Someday, you’re going to be my wife, Sydney, and then you can paint me all the damn time.”
ChapterThree
Sydney
I’m on a high, floating in outer space, after his statement, so I don’t hear the shouting at first. But Jared does. “What the fuck is going on?” he asks as his brow puckers.
I snap out of my head and instantly frown at the ruckus wafting up the stairs.
Jared is already dragging me out of the room, and we fly down the stairs and round the corner, heading for the living room. My boyfriend slams to a halt in the doorway, and an “oomph” leaves my lips when I crash into him from behind. He pulls me protectively under his arm, and I stare with my mouth hanging open and my eyes on stilts at the scene in front of us.
Gladys King, Jared’s mom, is standing on one side of our large living room, holding her hand over her mouth and crying silent tears, as she watches her husband and my father roll around the floor, throwing punches at one another. I blink several times, sure my eyes must be deceiving me. Dad and Amos King have been best friends since Amos transferred to West Lorian High his senior year. They went to NYU together. Built their business empires at the same time. Got married and started families within a year of one another. They are closer than brothers. I have never,never, known them to have more than the odd disagreement.
This is…shocking, upsetting.
“Do something!” Glady’s implores her son.
Jared steps forward and bends over. Grabbing his dad’s shirt, he pulls him away from my father. I race over to the warring men, stepping in front of my father when he makes to lunge at Amos. “Daddy, no!” It’s at times like this I wish there wasn’t such a huge age gap between me and my older brothers. That they weren’t both married with their own homes. If Felix and Tucker were here, they’d know how to handle this.
“Get out of my house!” Dad yells, swiping at blood seeping from his cut lip as he staggers to his feet. Gripping my arm tight, he shoves me behind him. “Get the fuck out of my house, Amos, and take your family with you. You’re no longer welcome here.”
“Fuck you, you prick.” I peek around Dad’s arm, watching Jared’s dad jab his finger in the air in the direction of my father. Jared inches toward me, but I shake my head. I don’t know what’s going on, but now isn’t the time to play my hero. I have never seen my dad so enraged, and I’m scared.
“You’re dead to me, asshole,” Amos hisses. “If you ever come near me, my family, or my business, I will kill you. You hear me?!” Picking up a lamp, he throws it at the wall while Dad taps out a message on his cell.
