And nothing more.
Chapter Fourteen
______________________________
Olin
“IT LOOKS WEIRD,” Olive muttered as I parked the car in front of warehouse twenty-five. The Master of Trickery graffiti and gravel frontage hissed with memories of Gil being beaten by his uncle, of Jeffrey trying to drag me into his van, of Gil pulling me inside to paint and deliver me.
I swallowed hard, scolding my pounding heart.
I could do this.
It’s just a building.
He’s just a man.
It’s all in the past.
“How did it used to look?” I unbuckled my seatbelt, climbing from the car as Olive hurled herself outside.
She squinted in the watery sunlight. “Not sure. It’s just...different.”
“Maybe the paint has faded since you last saw it? It has been a year.”
“Maybe.” She didn’t look convinced. Slamming the passenger door, she skipped eagerly to the pedestrian access in the large roller door. “Dad? Daddy?” Her tiny fist rapped on the metal, echoing down the driveway of warehouses.
I flinched.
Needing to stay occupied, I reached into the backseat for Olive’s backpack full of newly purchased clothes and toiletries. I didn’t need them anymore.
She was home.
Hopefully indefinitely.
The door swung wide, and Gil appeared. His face immediately turned lighter, younger, happy. The seriousness in his gaze became playful. The worry in his jaw relaxed. I’d never seen him so enamoured and carefree. “Spinach!” He bent down and swung her into his arms.
Immediately, he groaned and plopped her back on her feet. “Sorry, kiddo. I forgot I still have a few weeks of healing until I can lift you. You’ve gotten big.”
She pouted but buried her face in his belly, wrapping her arms tight around him. “It’s okay. I can wait.” She jiggled in his embrace, her joy at finally being home overflowing as she looked up. “Can I go see my room? I missed this place so much!”
Gil nodded, sidestepping out of the way so she could bolt inside. “Of course. Go ahead and get reacquainted.” He chuckled as she took off, vanishing into the cavernous warehouse.
His head tipped up, his gaze caught mine, and instantly the dreary English day became alive with electricity. My skin sparked as I clutched her backpack closer, forcing myself to delete the distance between us. “Hello.”
He wiped his mouth with a rough hand. “Hello.” His green gaze once again became weapons. Only this time, they weren’t weapons of annihilation—determined to scare me away and hurt me—but pools of regret and love.
Love...the most terrible weapon of all.
He didn’t try to hide it.
He didn’t care his guard was down.
He acted as if showing his true colours was a relief after a lifetime of hiding.
“Thanks so much for looking after her, O.”
“Not a problem.” I held out the backpack. “Here, this is hers. I bought her a few things.”
“I’ll pay you back.”
“It’s fine.” I backed away. I’d completed my task. I’d delivered his daughter and returned his borrowed hatchback. I was free now. Free to pack up my life and run far, far away like a coward.
“Will you come in? Olive will want to say goodbye.”
“Um, I might go if—”
“Daaaaaad!” Olive’s high-pitched voice travelled through the space and erupted outside.
Gil looked over his shoulder, his body already turning to go to her. He grimaced. “Look, don’t go. I have to...I better go check on her.” Striding deeper into the warehouse, he waved for me to follow. “Please, O. Stay...for a moment.”
I really didn’t want to, but some invisible force tugged me.
Stepping inside, I braced myself as my attention fell on the podium where I’d eaten a drugged sandwich, found out about Gil’s past, and fallen asleep while he’d painted me.
He’d tidied up the equipment and hidden away the brushes, but goosebumps spread over my arms. I hugged myself, keeping my chin high and spine straight.
I wasn’t afraid of this place.
I wasn’t afraid of him.
I was just wary of falling into the same trap of being caught up in the pain of others. Of wanting to fix what I couldn’t fix and believing I could be happy if I could make others happy.
I’d learned a valuable lesson that giving too much of yourself never ended well. Generosity with feelings was a must in a relationship, but endless forgiving was a recipe for disaster.
Gil made his way to the office leading toward the small apartment. Olive bowled right into his arms from the opposite direction. Her eyes wide and mouth parted as she pointed around the space suspiciously. “Where is everything?”
Gil hid his wince, his hand pressing to his wounded side as he steadied her. “What do you mean?”
He let her go as she darted toward me, pointing like a crazy thing at the empty walls, cupboards, and floor. “The paintings, the furniture. It’s all gone.” She spun to face her father with a helpless shrug. “Where’d it go?”
Gil looked at me, fibs forming in his eyes. Fibs to protect her from the truth. But almost as if he didn’t have the strength to tell another lie, or because he valued his daughter far too much to keep things from her, he said, “I sold most of it.”
“Sold your paintings?” She soared around and shoved her finger toward the sky where a bare hook hung between two windows. “Even that one? The one we did together?” Olive marched toward me, stealing my hand as if this was very important. “I liked that painting. It wasn’t all that nice ’cause I wasn’t as good as I am now, but I liked the turtle. It was huge and scaly and its shell had lots and lots of little creatures painted on it.” She nudged her chin at Gil. “Daddy did the smaller animals. He also had the turtle eating spinach ’cause apparently they like that and said it would always be a joke that I’m so fast and speedy, but the giant turtle ate me.”
Gil came toward us, looking at the blank spot on the wall. “Someone paid big money for your turtle, Olive Oyl. It’s gone to a good home.”
“But it belongs here.”
“You belong here more.”
“I don’t get it.”
Gil bent forward, bringing his stare in line with hers. “I sold things to get you back. Some things I didn’t want to get rid of, but I wanted you more, so I found them new homes.” He cupped her cheek with a soft smile. “And it worked because you’re back here. We can paint together again. We can go shopping and replace what I sold. It will be fun. You’ll see.”
Her eyes lit up, already her mourning for missing things replaced by the idea of new. “Can you take me to Kohls...like before? Is it still there?” She looked up at me, pinpricks of excitement on her cheeks. “Daddy used to take me to Kohls once a week if I did my chores and helped him tidy up his paints after he worked. He let me buy one thing each visit. Last time, I bought a pencil case to keep my crayons in.” She frowned, facing her father with a strict expression. “You didn’t sell my pencil case too, did you?”
Gil chuckled. “No, that I kept. Go and see for yourself.”
Olive sniffed, flashed him a grin, and bolted back through the office. A second later, she called, “My room is locked! Why is my room locked?”
Gil groaned. “I forgot what a little tornado she is.”
“She’s definitely bouncy.” I smiled, sucked into Olive’s purity and infectious energy.
“She’s always kept me on my toes.”
“You probably need it.” I scanned the sparse place, trying to see it from Olive’s point of view. Imagining it full of artwork and couches and chairs and life. I’d been so used to Gil’s melancholy and his unattachment to physical items that the bareness of his home didn’t ring alarm bells. However, in the short interactions I’d watched him with Olive, I uncovered a totally different version of him.
A man who found peace in the chaos of parent
hood.
A man who decorated and nested because his little daughter demanded vibrancy and colour.
His lies fell apart while standing in that barren room, the truth blazing hotly in the emptiness, the forlornness. The plastic cups in the cupboards weren’t for his painting but his daughter. The room he kept locked a shrine to the little girl he’d lost.
He’d been dying day by day, pushing me away for my safety and jerking me back for his next breath. My soul wanted to chase that path, to vindicate him and give me permission to give in, but my mind focused on something trivial but vitally important.
He takes her to Kohls.
My heart squeezed, condemning myself for my spat of jealousy in the Kohls changing room. The huge store where we’d fought and my jealousy had reached critical, and Gil had turned me green (in more ways than one) to match their logo.
He’d seemed uncomfortable talking about visiting the place when I’d called him out on his familiarity. I’d assumed it was because he didn’t want to admit he’d taken prior girlfriends.
Now, a whole new meaning arose.
“You took her to Kohls. It was her you were talking about when you said you went there often. Not with other women.”
He massaged the back of his neck, embarrassment etching his cheeks. “I wanted to tell you then about her. I wanted to tell you so many times. But...it wasn’t as if I could say... ‘oh, by the way. I have a daughter. Want to meet her?’ She was a product of a night that should never have happened, and I’d failed to protect her from being taken. The guilt just wouldn’t allow me to tell you.”
I nodded. “I understand.”
“Do you?” His forehead furrowed. “Do you understand, or are you just being nice again?”
My back straightened; my temper bristled. “I’m done being nice when it’s not deserved.”
“Good. I’m glad.”
“And I do understand. I know why you kept her secret. I follow your reasoning. I just don’t agree with it.”
“So you would’ve enlisted the police and told everyone what a fuck-up you were?”
“No. I would’ve enlisted the help of those I trusted and asked for their advice.”
“What if you’d never had anyone to trust and those you did trust turned out to be the worst?”
I frowned. “You’re saying I’m the worst?”
“Fuck no.” His face darkened with horror. “I’m saying my uncle was.”
My temper refused to be pacified. “Well, regardless, I’m not just anyone, Gil.”
“No, you’re everything.”
“And you destroyed any trust between us by—”
“Dad. Hey, Dad!” Olive came bowling out, grabbing Gil’s hands and yanking. “Key. Is there a key? Why can’t I get into my room?”
Gil wrenched his gaze from mine, the heat from our almost-argument hissing with hope of a bigger blow-up.
I hadn’t noticed it before.
I hadn’t allowed myself to feel it.
But now I did.
Now I felt the burn to shout, the urge to yell, the undeniable need to tell him exactly what I thought about everything.
That was what was missing.
A fight.
A cleansing, healing good-old-fashioned fight.
But the luxury of frank conversation—of raised voices and angry shouts couldn’t happen in front of a girl who’d already been through so much.
I knew it.
Gil knew it.
We allowed the moment to ease and the tension to fade between us.
Gil sighed, his skin a little whiter than usual thanks to his healing side. He stroked Olive’s hair as he pushed her back the way she came. “I’ve got the key. Come on.” Following her into the apartment, he fished out a key ring and selected the right one. Inserting it into the door, he stepped back as it cracked open.
The door that’d always been barricaded next to his in the graffiti rainforest wall. The room he’d consumed a lonely bottle of vodka in, the room I’d glimpsed inside and began to wonder if Gil wasn’t as safe as I thought.
Olive ran in.
Curiosity got the better of me, and I drifted forward until her room came into view. Olive bounced from her pillow-stocked bed to the rattan rocking chair to the wardrobe to the pink tallboy. Touching everything, examining anything, getting reacquainted with her old belongings.
Her face glowed with relief. “You didn’t sell anything in here.”
Gil slouched against the doorframe, his hand touching his wounded side as if pain snuck up on him. “This room was off-limits. It’s yours.”
Olive threw herself at him, squishing him in a hug. “I love you, Popeye.”
He tripped backward, deep pain and endless gratitude radiating in his eyes. He crushed her close, bowing over to press a kiss to the top of her silken hair. “I love you too. More than you’ll ever know.”
“Oh, I know.” She grinned up at him. “I know you love me loads and loads.”
He nodded, releasing her with a grimace. “I do.”
“And I know you love Olin loads and loads, too.” She gave me a sneaky look. “You told me so in the stories.”
Gil groaned, trying to laugh but tangling up a tortured noise instead. “Sometimes stories don’t have happy endings.”
“Ours does,” she said with utmost conviction.
His skin turned ashen. “Ours will, eventually. However, just like other stories, there will be new trials ahead.”
My heart skipped a beat.
He’s trying to prepare her for the possibility of him going to jail.
“Nothing bad will happen now we’re together, silly.” Olive patted his waist, still smiling at me. “And nothing bad could ever happen if O moves in with us. We can be safe together.”
I coughed, shaking my head. “You guys have each other. You don’t need me.”
“Yes, we do. I don’t want you to go.” Her voice slipped into a plea. “Please...can you stay?”
“O has her own life, little spinach. Don’t make her sad by asking for things that can’t come true.”
Her shoulders fell. “I didn’t mean to make anyone sad.”
I held out my hand. She immediately flew to my side and took it, blinking huge grey eyes, wrapping her little spell around my soul all over again. She made it sound so easy—nullifying a lifetime of complication into one stupidly simple conclusion.
Love had the power to heal, start afresh, move on.
Pity I didn’t have the strength to do such things.
“I’ll always be your friend, just like I’m your dad’s friend. We’ve been friends for ages.”
“Can you be our friend while living with us?”
I chuckled. “Stubborn little thing, aren’t you?”
“Yep. Dad said I’m worse than a donkey.”
“A donkey?”
“A stubborn arse.” Gil chuckled. “I shouldn’t call her an arse, but...if the description fits.” He smiled, slightly embarrassed, mostly proud.
“I’m an arse.” Olive snickered, alive and happy as if she’d been asleep for the past year and just woken up to her father’s protective kiss.
“The prettiest arse I’ve ever seen.” I pressed her nose.
She wrinkled it, tossing her head. “I want to draw a donkey now. Wait here.” Dashing away, she barrelled to her dresser, ripping open drawers and finding stationery and pencils.
I smiled, entranced by her innocence and total faith that in this moment, nothing could be more perfect.
Gil came toward me, sucking all the air from my lungs.
He stopped within touching distance, his eyes firing, lips parted. For the longest moment, he stared at me. His intensity was bright and fierce. His shields fell, revealing every emotion I’d never been allowed to see. “I shouldn’t have messaged you what I did last night. I shouldn’t have told you I’ve always been in love with you. That even now I want you, all while knowing I’ve ensured I’ll never have you.”
I shivered
, needing to back away, unable to move. “It’s fine.”
His hand came up, cupping my cheek as if he couldn’t control himself. “Fuck, I’m so fucking sorry.”
My skin blistered beneath his touch. My stomach bottomed out. My heart cried. I backed up, forcing his hand to drop and my skin to scream in denial.
“Don’t.” I did my best to keep my stupid heart in its iron-clad box.
This was one promise I wouldn’t break.
He’d broken my faith.
My confidence.
Me.
And with that came a distance I wasn’t prepared to cross.
I was struggling, I would admit.
I came here offering condolences and concern but nothing more.
But standing there? God, every part of me wanted to be touched. Every cell wanted to combust with lust and lunacy. I wanted to scratch him, scar him, and show him just what he’d thrown away. But I shook my head, forbidding both of us from thinking there was any chance to repair this.
He sighed and raked a hand through his hair. The strands were unkempt and wild, as usual. “I’m so deeply indebted to you...for everything.”
“You don’t need to keep saying that, Gil. You don’t have to repay me...for anything.”
He licked his lips. “Are you sure? There’s nothing I can do to fix this?”
Kiss me.
Fight for me.
Prove that I’m wrong to leave.
It was time to go.
Time to walk out of Olive’s life after falling headfirst into it the past week. Loss kicked me in the stomach. I would miss her. I would miss watching her come alive again.
I could understand why she’d helped Gil so much. She was a natural cure to the hardships of life.
“I...I better go.”
He tried to hide his flinch but wasn’t successful. “Of course.”
“Will...will you be okay? Do you have arrangements made for Olive if you’re...”
He swallowed. “I’ll figure it out. It’s my problem, not yours.”
“If you need help...”
“I’ll manage. You’ve done far too much already.” His face twisted. “I’ll never be able to apologise enough for what I did.”
“Stop. Honestly, you don’t have to mention it again.” I tripped backward, instincts ordering me to leave now, before more memories of murdered girls and body painting sprang anew. “You killed your uncle...for that I’m grateful. But...”
The Living Canvas Page 15
