by Heller, JB
She wraps herself around me, and I know she’s thinking the same thing I was only a moment ago. She wishes we could stay like this forever.
We fall asleep like that, to the sound of the storm raging outside our little tent.
I didn’t know it then, but that storm would never leave me—not until I found her again.
PART TWO- FIVE YEARS LATER
Chapter Eighteen
“You know I hate going to the showings, Bee. Don’t make me.” I’m begging like a child, and I don’t even care. That’s how much I loathe attending my own exhibitions. Listening to people pick apart my work and try to dissect the meaning behind a particular photograph annoys the shit out of me. They don’t understand why I shoot the way I do.
My photography has been given many labels over the years. The most recent is one I’m pretty sure was made up because my work doesn’t fit into any of their boxes, yet it fits them all. They are calling me a randomist.
When I read the latest write-up heralding me as a pioneer in that particular field, I rolled my eyes and threw the article in the trash. What a load of shit. I don’t have a style. I never have. I shoot what captures my attention. That’s it. I don’t adhere to the rules of any particular method.
It still annoys me. Randomist. I mean, fucking really? It makes me sound like a douchebag.
Bee’s voice brings me back to the present. “Yes, you have to go. You are the reason people pay big money to come to the opening night of these events, Hux. They want to mingle with the talent.”
“You mean the gold-diggers—thirty years younger than their sugar-daddy husbands—pay big money to come so they can attempt to grope me when their husbands are off drinking whiskey and smoking cigars on the balcony, bragging about how much younger their current trophy wife is,” I say dryly, because that’s exactly what ends up happening.
Bee tsks. “You’re being dramatic, Huxley.”
I raise a brow. “Oh, I’m Huxley now?”
She nods. “Petulant children get called by their full names when behaving like brats,” she says as she performs her this-is-happening-so-deal-with-it move and puts her hands on her hips, leveling me with her no-bullshit stare.
I carry on behaving like a child and throw my hands in the air. “Fine, but don’t expect me to like it.”
She pats me on top of the head as she walks past me in the living room we’ve shared for nearly five years. I swipe her hand away, pouting on the couch, and glare at her retreating form.
“Glare all you like. You’re doing this,” she calls over her shoulder on her way down the short hallway to her bedroom.
I slump back in my seat. She very rarely lets me get out of these events, but I still try every time she informs me of the next one.
Bee has been my best friend for the last five years and my manager-slash-publicist for the last three. At first, I thought branching out on my own was a bad idea, but she convinced me to give her six months to make a name for me. She did it in four.
When I first arrived on the coast, I had no plans of staying. It was supposed to be a stop along the way, but I met Bee, and she changed everything. She had a unique perspective of life that I found appealing. So, when she mentioned needing a roommate and cheap rent, I agreed to move in.
She is, by far, the bossiest woman I’ve ever met. And I’ve worked with models who thought their looks entitled them to treat everyone as their personal assistant.
Those bitches I could ignore, but Bee? She followed through with her threats, so it was easier and safer to do as I was told.
I’m not sure if it’s normal to be afraid of your manager, but I fucking am. Best friend or not, she would kick my ass if I ignored her advice and did something that damaged my career in any way.
“Where is this thing anyway?” I call after to her.
She pokes her head out of her room and does something that makes me immediately suspicious: she looks down at her ring-covered fingers and acts as if she’s admiring the glint of light coming off the impressive gems. “Well, we could drive, make a road trip of it, or we can fly. The flight is only two hours. I don’t mind either way.”
I arch my brow. “That didn’t answer my question at all. Where’s the exhibition, Bee?”
She licks her lips then walks out of her room and toward me. My eyes narrow, and she avoids making eye contact with me. Even when she parks her butt on the edge of the coffee table directly in front of me, she’s looking at the rug on the floor.
“Bee,” I hedge.
She hunches her shoulders and rolls her eyes. “Ugh, fine. I was going to surprise you. I mean, it’s not like you even care where I book your shows.”
I don’t like the direction I think this is heading in. “I don’t like surprises. You know that.”
Bee nods and sighs. “Don’t get mad. I’ve avoided it for the last couple of years, but it’s time. And you have a huge fan base there. The exhibition has sold out of opening night tickets already—in record time, actually. There’s been a lot of talk in the art community, wondering when you would finally go there.”
She’s babbling. And I know without her even saying it. She’s going to try to make me go back. I start shaking my head. “No, nope, not happening, Bee. I’m not even going to fight you on this. It’s not up for discussion. I’m not doing it.”
Her arms cross over her ample chest, and she stands. “Yes, Hux, you are. This is too big to back out of. It’s already done.”
I stand, too, bringing us toe to toe. “I said no. I’m not going back there.”
“Yes. You. Are.”
I close my eyes, my fists clench at my sides, and I pray for the strength to resist strangling her stubborn ass. When I open them again, she hasn’t backed down. “You of all people know I can’t—and won’t—go back there. It’s not even an option.”
With a huff, her hands move to her hips. “Hux, it’s been five years. Five! And you’re still avoiding that entire part of the country. The exhibition isn’t in your old hometown. It’s in the city. You won’t see him.”
My entire body tenses at the mention of my father. My teeth grit together almost painfully, and it takes a gargantuan effort to keep myself in check when all I want to do right now is smash my fist into the wall to release some of this … this hate.
As much as I’ve tried to forget about him and my life back there, I can’t. It is an ever-present weight on my shoulders. A constant battle to acknowledge how far I have come despite what I am.
A soft hand wraps around my tight fist and slowly begins to unfurl my fingers, one by one. And I let her.
“Hux, he still controls you. But you’re the one who lets him get inside your head. You haven’t seen or heard from him in five years, yet you’re as angry today as the day I met you.”
What am I supposed to do about that? I left. I walked away from the only good thing in my life. I thought it would bring us both peace. I thought it would relieve some of the guilt I carry, but it hasn’t. Not even a little.
What it has done is increased my resentment toward him.
And the more time that passes, the more I fear I’ll never be more than the person he turned me into.
Chapter Nineteen
This exhibition will be the death of me.
My eulogy will read: Eliza Quinn, died at age twenty-two from extreme stress induced by incompetent staff.
“You can’t put it there. It’s the center of the entire exhibition,” I tell Lorenzo, just one of the asshats who will be responsible for my early demise.
“How do you even know that? It’s still sealed,” he says with a roll of his apparently mesmerizing chocolate-brown eyes.
I’m about to bust a valve when my big brother walks in holding a tall macadamia latte and a brown paper bag that I’m assuming holds a toasted-to-perfection spinach and feta roll. The tension begins to drain from my body the closer he gets, and the aroma of the coffee reaches my nose.
I take a deep, steadying breath and return my focus back to Lorenzo. �
�Because it’s my job to know. Now wheel it over to the center platform, carefully.”
He walks away, pushing the trolley holding the centerpiece and muttering shit about me under his breath.
“Tough day?” Ben asks when he reaches me.
I don’t answer immediately. Instead, I accept the latte in his outstretched hand and take a deep inhale then a fortifying sip of the caffeinated nectar of the gods. The remaining tendrils of tension uncurl then slip away as my body hums with satisfaction.
Ben raises a brow. “You really should see someone about your substance abuse problem.”
I cradle the coffee between my breasts. “Don’t listen to him, baby. I’ll never leave you,” I tell the cardboard cup.
Shaking his head, he frowns down at me. “Pathetic. You have more feelings toward that inanimate object than you do toward any one of the male population who isn’t me, Dad, or Grandfather. Hell, at this point, I’m pretty sure Mom wouldn’t even mind if you brought a chick home.”
This again? I drop my head and breathe in the only scent that calms me these days. “Ben, I’m twenty-two, not thirty-two. And even if I was, it’s still a perfectly acceptable thing in this day and age for me to be single. I’m a strong-willed, independent woman. For some reason, men find that intimidating instead of attractive. That’s not my fault. I’d say it’s theirs.”
Before he can utter a response, I continue, “As for bringing a woman home, I’m not opposed. I haven’t met any that float my boat, if you know what I’m saying, but sure, I guess it could be an option.”
Touching the lid of my cup to my bottom lip, I think it over. It’s not such a bad idea. The last guy I slept with was less than stellar. In fact, it was downright disappointing. I think Hux spoiled me all those years ago. Nobody else has ever taken me to the heights he could.
Just thinking about him deflates my caffeine-induced high. I miss him. I’ve missed him every day for the last five years. The months after he left were some of the darkest I’ve ever experienced.
I do the only thing I can to shut down my current train of thought before I sink into the abyss that is missing Huxley Haynes. I repeat the mantra I’ve been using since he left to remind myself of what I am.
You’re stronger than one boy. You are a fucking dolphin in a sea full of catfish. You’re a catch, damn it!
Dolphins don’t need men. They screw around for a few days then move on. While I haven’t screwed around in quite some time, it is definitely more my style these days. Also, I like that dolphins have been recorded attacking sharks—another reason I have adopted it as my spirit animal.
Straightening my shoulders, I look back at my brother as if I didn’t just have a mini pity party for myself right in front of him, then I tilt my head to the side. “There better be a spinach and feta roll in that bag.”
He snorts and hands it over. “What can I say? I’m an enabler.”
I smile up at him. “And that’s why I love you,” I say with a wink. “You didn’t bring anything for yourself?”
“Not today. I, uh … I have a date, actually.”
My eyes widen. “You do? With who? Do I know her? Is she pretty? Will I like her?”
Ben laughs. “Umm, yeah, I do. Her name is Cleo. No, you don’t know her. She’s smokin’. And I hope so.”
“Good, now you may go.” I dismiss him with a quick peck on the cheek and start making my way toward the elevator that will take me to my office.
Once I’m back in the confines of my safe space, I sink down into the plush couch that faces the window and eat my lunch while I pull up my emails on my laptop. I have a new one from Bianca Markham, the chick I’ve been liaising with for the last three months while organizing the Moments of Beauty exhibition.
She’s flying in tomorrow afternoon with the photographer, Hadley, but he won’t be present when she comes to look over the layout before opening night on Friday. I suppose that doesn’t really matter. I was looking forward to meeting him after seeing his work, but it can wait till Friday.
I’ve only met with Bianca once before. And that was when she booked our gallery for the exhibition. She was super friendly and had a way about her that made it impossible not to like her.
I shoot a reply back to her, confirming the Mr. Mysterious and the Miss Orderly suites, as she requested when she found out that each of our suites have names.
My grandparents are quirky, to say the least. It wasn’t at all normal to give your rooms names instead of numbers when they decided to do it in their first little twenty-four-room motel. Now, they own their own chain of hotels across the country.
The Quinn Plaza hotels are a staple in most major cities. But only the suites carry names now since each hotel has a minimum of 350 rooms. Not even my grandmother could come up with that many names.
With my reply sent, I pull up my music app on my laptop and set it to play on random as I relax for a few minutes before I need to go back down to the gallery. Lorenzo, being a supposed feng shui guru, will probably have rearranged the entire layout of the exhibition by the time I return.
Chapter Twenty
I can’t believe she talked me into this. I never thought I’d go back there. Yet here I am, shoving clothes in my duffel, getting ready to go to the one place I swore I’d never return.
“You ready yet? Our Uber will be here in five minutes,” Bee calls from the living room.
Grumbling under my breath, I grab an extra pair of Converse and throw them in my bag. I left packing to the very last second in an unnoticed, and frankly pathetic, display of rebellion. Bee doesn’t care, though. Hell, I could have refused to pack anything at all, and she wouldn’t have cared. She would have just forced me to go shopping when we arrived.
Throwing my duffel over my shoulder, I drag my ass down the short hallway and dump it on the floor next to her suitcase.
Bee throws me a water bottle out of the fridge then takes the handle of her girly luggage and wheels it to the door. Holding it open to make sure I follow her out, she then locks up behind me.
I don’t say anything as we ride the elevator down to the lobby.
And I still refuse to talk to her as we check in for our flight and wait for it to be called up.
“You going to continue giving me the cold shoulder all weekend?” Bee asks from her seat directly across from me in the waiting area.
Glancing toward her, I mutter, “Maybe.”
She rolls her eyes. “This is for your own good, Hux. Believe it or not, I only have your best interest at heart.”
She does. But that doesn’t mean I have to like it. “I know,” I say while watching a plane take off through the huge plate-glass windows that surround the terminal.
By the time we board, my nerves are nearly uncontrollable. I’m actually doing this. I’m going back.
My knee is bouncing, making my seat jostle, and the person seated beside me raises a brow. “You afraid of flying?” she asks.
I swallow. “It’s more the destination than the means of travel,” I tell her honestly while opening and closing my fists in my lap.
She seems to understand and nods. “I hear ya, but I’m sure if you’re on this plane right now, there’s a damn good reason for it.”
I shrug. “Work and a pushy agent.”
Bee speaks up from the other side of me. “I’m sitting right here, and unlike you, I’m not ignoring my best friend. I can hear every word you’re saying. It’s time to pull up your big-boy panties and man up, Huxley.”
I frown. “My big-boy panties?”
She nods. “Well, you’re behaving more like a girl than any I know, so yeah, your panties.”
Shaking my head, I turn back to the woman on my opposite side. “See? Pushy. And mean.”
The woman smiles but doesn’t say anything else.
I try to relax during the flight, but the closer we get to my old stomping grounds, the more wound up I become.
“Why don’t you look up that girl you told me about?”
Bee’s words hit me like a sledgehammer. My head whips around, and I glare at her. “Why would I do that?”
She rolls her eyes. “Because you love her.”
My glare intensifies. “Yeah, and I can’t have her. So why exactly would I torture myself by trying to find her after all this time?”
“Who says you can’t have her?” she says in that matter-of-fact tone that grates at my nerves even more than sitting on this plane does.
“You know why, so drop it, Bee. I’m not doing this.” Just as I finish speaking, the aircraft begins its descent, and my hands wrap around the armrests and squeeze for dear life. This is it.
We make our way through luggage claim without any hassles, and in less than half an hour, we’re sliding into the backseat of another Uber. When I hear Bee give the driver the name of the hotel, my heart leaps into my throat. “Did you just say we’re going to Quinn Plaza?”
Bee settles back in her seat. “Yeah, why?”
My mind is racing a million miles a minute. That’s Eliza’s family’s hotel. Jesus, what if I run into her? Holy shit. What if I see her again and it all comes back? I’ve worked my ass off to forget her. Doesn’t mean I was successful, but I’ve tried.
My anxiety is at an all-time high. Fuck! What if she hates me? She’d have every right to. It would kill me, seeing her and not being able to touch her. Not a day has passed in the last five years when I haven’t thought about her.
I’ve Googled her more times than I can count. I still have every single picture I ever took of her. I couldn’t bring myself to get rid of any of them. They were all I had left of her. Hell, this whole exhibition … oh, fuck!
I look at Bee sitting next to me, checking her emails on her cell.
“Bee,” I say firmly.
“Hmm,” she mumbles without taking her eyes off the screen as she taps away.
Bianca Markham is one of the smartest people I’ve ever met. There is no way she organized this exhibition at Quinn Plaza without knowing the connection to Eliza. I’ve only spoken about her to Bee once or twice, but I guess I said enough for Bee to know exactly how I felt about Eliza and what she means to me.
