Something Tattered (Joel Bishop Book 1)

by Sabrina Stark

  I felt my brow wrinkle. "You mean, like hurt their feelings?"

  "No. Like beat on them 'til they're half dead."

  I stared at him. I didn't know what to say. Obviously, the answer was no. But surely, Joel knew that already. I hesitated. "That's not a serious question, is it?"

  "No."

  "Then why'd you ask?"

  "So you could feel what I feel."

  "You mean, when you fight someone?"

  "Yeah. That." Joel looked away. "I fuckin' hate it."

  "So why do you do it then?"

  "Why else? For the money."

  "Is it worth it?"

  "I dunno." He shoved a hand through his hair. "I used to think so."

  I was still trying to understand. "So, are you a pacifist or something?"

  At this, he actually laughed. "Hell no."

  "What's so funny? I mean, you told me you hated fighting."

  "I hate fighting for money," he said. "But I’m no pacifist."

  I had to ask, "What's the difference?"

  "There's nothing wrong with fighting for what you believe in." He reached out and brushed a warm finger along the side of my face. His voice softened. "Or to protect someone you love."

  My breath caught. "What are you saying?"

  "I'm saying, if someone ever hurt you, I'd beat them to death and love every minute of it."

  I swallowed. It was sexy and scary, and yeah, just a little bit confusing. He'd also used the L-word. Sort of. I wanted to say something in return, but I didn't know what.

  Abruptly, Joel pulled back and said, "Anyway, fighting ran in the family, so here I am." He gave me a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "Creating things on one side, and destroying things on the other."

  "By creating, you mean the paintings, right?"

  Joel nodded. "You know what it was like, coming up after my brothers?"

  "No. How was it?"

  "It sucked."

  "But why?"

  "Like I told you, I'm the fifth one. By the time I get to school, everyone knows exactly what I'll be."

  "What?" I asked.

  "Nothing but trouble. Every teacher. Every principal. Every adult I ever met. I could practically read their minds. 'Oh shit, another one.'" He gave a wry laugh. "Man, they hated me on sight."

  "All of them?" I asked.

  Joel gave a small smile. "All except one. There was this art teacher – Miss Robins. Anyway, we're doing this painting project in junior high, and she tells me I have real talent."

  "You do." I leaned forward. "A lot of talent."

  Joel glanced away. "I dunno."

  I reached for his hand. "Well, I do. Honest. I've never seen anything like it."

  Joel gave me a dubious look. "Nice of you to say."

  I shook my head. "I'm not 'saying' anything. I mean it. You know, there's this art foundation in my dad's name. Every year, we interview dozens of up-and-coming artists. I've never seen a single one with your talent."

  I looked to the painting, lying there, face up on the floor. "Unless…" Damn it. I didn't want to say it.

  "Unless what?"

  I winced. "Unless you weren't being totally straight-forward about it."

  At Joel's blank look, I said, "Don't get me wrong. It's absolutely beautiful, and I'll treasure it forever no matter what. But…" I felt my shoulders tense. How to say this?

  "But what?" Joel asked.

  I took a deep breath. "Don't take this the wrong way, but did you really paint that yourself? I mean, as an original?" In a rush to finish before he became angry, I added, "I know you were distracted when we talked about it, so I just wanted to double-check."

  Joel squeezed my hand. "Baby, don't look so scared."

  "I look scared?"

  "Look," he said, "to answer your question, yes, I painted it. Not from another painting. And not from a picture. But I don't blame you for asking." He shrugged. "I mean, look at me. I'm no artist."

  "But you are," I insisted.

  "No. I'm not. Wanna know what I do? I don't create things. I destroy them."

  "That's not true."

  "Sorry, but you're wrong." He gave a slow shake of his head. "You wanna know something?"

  "What?"

  "You're the first nice girl I've ever been with."

  The change of topic caught me off-guard. At the sweetness of the sentiment, I wanted to smile. But Joel wasn't smiling.

  What was I missing? I asked, "Is that a bad thing?"

  "For you?" He gave something like a laugh. "Probably."

  "I'm serious," I said.

  "You think I'm not?" He gave my hand another squeeze. "Remember what I said about the teachers?"

  "You mean that they had preconceived notions about you?"

  "That's one way to put it. But it was the same with girls. The nice ones? Their parents would get one look at me and run for the hills, dragging their daughters with them." He glanced away. "Not that I blame them. Shit, if I had a daughter? I'd be the same way."

  "So, what kind of girls did you date?"

  "The kind you don't have to date."

  "Oh." Tentatively, I asked, "Did you like that?"

  "Sometimes," he said. "Or, at least, that's what I told myself. And then something happened."

  "What?" I asked.

  He gave me a smile that melted my heart. "I met you."

  And just like that, the gooey feeling was back. I don't know how it happened, or who moved first, but soon, we were in each other's arms – kissing and touching. Just like always, it felt like coming home, and I savored the feel of him.

  The last two days had been miserable. But today, was heaven. And I was determined to enjoy it, especially because I had an idea.

  Unfortunately, when I mentioned that idea to Joel a few hours later, the trouble started all over again.

  Chapter 59

  I gave Joel a perplexed look. "But why not?"

  He was frowning now. "Because I told you, I'm no artist."

  We were sitting out on my bedroom balcony, and I'd just told him more about the art endowment – how it paid a generous stipend, how only six artists were selected each year, and how several recipients from prior years had already experienced life-changing success.

  I'd ended with the suggestion that Joel apply for one of the slots. Yes, it was late in the process, but not impossible to work out, given the fact that Claude hadn't yet made his final selections.

  But to my disappointment, Joel had practically laughed in my face.

  I was so confused, I didn't know what to think. "But you're really good."

  He looked down to study his hands. I followed his gaze and saw what he saw, hardened knuckles with faint scars that could've only come from one thing – beating someone bloody.

  I reached out and took his hands in mine. "Seriously, you are. And you should apply."

  But he shook his head. "Sorry, not a good idea."

  "Why not?"

  He gave a bitter laugh. "Because it'll flame out. That's why."

  "Oh stop it. It will not."

  "Wanna bet?" His hands stiffened in mine. "If I told you I loved you, you'd leave me tomorrow."

  I sucked in a breath. There it was again, the L-word.

  Oblivious to the turmoil that he'd just caused, Joel continued, "Or maybe next week. Hard to say." His jaw clenched. "But it wouldn’t be long."

  I felt the beginnings of a real smile. "Joel–"

  His eyes flashed in warning. "Stop."

  I paused. "Stop what?"

  "What I just said, forget it."

  "But I don't want to forget it. I–"

  "I mean it," he warned. "I didn't say it. And I'm not gonna say it."

  I pulled back, letting our hands slide apart. "What's wrong? Are you angry with me or something?"

  "I'm not angry. I'm realistic."

  "No, you're not. You're talking like a crazy person."

  "Yeah? Tell me something I don't know."

  There was something that he didn't know
, and I desperately wanted to tell him – three little words that had been growing in my heart almost from the beginning. In a softer voice, I said, "Joel, just listen–"

  Abruptly, he stood. "I'm gonna get to work."

  Confused, I stared up at him. "On what?"

  His gaze drifted toward my bedroom, just beyond the open balcony doors. After a long silence, he said, "The kitchen faucet."

  Screw the faucet.

  That’s what I wanted to say. But that was the last thing I wanted to argue about. So I said, "Alright. Then I'll keep you company."

  "You know what? Forget the faucet. I'm gonna mow before it gets dark."

  I gave him a perplexed look. "You mean the lawn?"

  But already, he was striding through the balcony doors.

  I stood and called after him. "But you just mowed a few days ago. It doesn't even need it."

  He didn't pause. He didn't answer. He just kept on going. Desperately, I wanted to follow after him. But something in his stride told me it would be a huge mistake.

  It hadn't escaped my attention that he'd zoomed in on the one job that wouldn't just take him outside, but would also prevent any further conversation.

  If that wasn't a hint, I didn't know what was.

  So I stood, watching like an idiot as he strode through my bedroom and into the hallway. A couple of minutes later, I was still standing there when I heard the sounds of the mower firing up outside.

  I tried to look on the bright side. At least he'd gone for the mower, and not his car. That was an improvement, right?

  Chapter 60

  I felt like a stalker watching him from behind the front curtains, but I didn't know what else to do. I'd waited upstairs for at least an hour, hoping he'd come to his senses. But he hadn't.

  So I'd come downstairs and nudged aside the curtains for a better look. His shirt was off, and his body was glistening as he pushed the mower from one side of the yard to the other. If he didn't look so angry, I might've enjoyed the view. But there was nothing enjoyable about this.

  For someone who claimed that he wasn't an artist, he sure was temperamental. A wistful smile tugged at my lips. Funny, my dad had been the same way.

  But he didn't mow the lawn. He played the drums. Badly.

  I glanced down at my watch. In a couple of hours, it would be dark. Would Joel stop then?

  And if he didn't, what would I do?

  With an effort, I turned away in search of a mindless distraction. I found it in the laundry room, where I began folding a load of towels.

  I'd just finished when I caught movement from the corner of my eye. I looked to see Joel, standing shirtless in the open doorway.

  He gave me a wary smile. "Hi."

  He looked so boyish that I had to smile back. "Hi. So, um, you're done?"

  "With what? Making an ass of myself?"

  I had to laugh. "At least you weren't drumming."

  He shook his head. "Drumming?"

  "It's what my dad used to do. But never mind that." I moved closer. "Is everything okay?"

  "I dunno." His eyes searched mine. "Is it?"

  The way it looked, the storm had passed. I gave a happy nod. "It is now."

  "I'm gonna take another shower. After that, you wanna start over?"

  "Or if you want…" I smiled up at him. "We could start over in the shower."

  So we did.

  We had makeup sex in the shower and afterward, lay, clean and sated, on my bed. I was dressed in casual shorts and a sleeveless shirt. As for Joel, he'd thrown on a pair of casual shorts, but no shirt at all.

  I snuggled against his bare chest, simply enjoying the moment.

  The bed was made, and I'd left the balcony doors open to let in a summer breeze, along with the sounds of the waves, lapping at the bluff below.

  As I lay, cradled in his arms, I might've felt absolutely content, except for the fact that I still didn't know what had set him off.

  Reluctantly, I pulled back to look at him. "Hey Joel?"

  He smiled. "I know."

  "You know what?"

  "That I owe you."

  I still wasn't following. "You owe me what?"

  "An explanation."

  Carefully, I said, "I wouldn't say that you owe me one, but it would still be nice." I hesitated. "Earlier, what'd I say?"

  "Nothing. It wasn't you. It was me." After a long pause, he said, "Wanna know what my dad used to call me?"

  "What?"

  "Cigar."

  I felt my brow wrinkle. "Why?"

  "Because I always got close, but never made it. Like I was cursed or something."

  I ran a soothing hand along his shoulder. "Oh come on. That can't be true."

  He smiled without humor. "That's what I used to say." He turned to stare up at the ceiling. "Then I wised up."

  "Why? What happened?"

  "Life," Joel said. "It's like all these great things fall into my lap, but the moment I want them, really want them, they go up in flames."

  "Is this about the deal with that sports agent?"

  "Not just that. But it fits."

  "How so?"

  "Like get this. When the whole thing started, the guy's begging me to sign with him." Joel turned his head, once again, to face me. "He goes through the whole bit – fancy dinners, meetings with big stars, and promises like you wouldn't believe. But all along, I know it's a crock."

  "Why?"

  "Because this is me we're talking about. Cigar, remember?"

  Already, I hated that word.

  Joel continued. "Sure, I let him talk, but there's no way I'm taking it seriously, especially when the guy mentions underwear commercials."

  I had to laugh. "Underwear commercials? Seriously?"

  "Swear to God."

  I let my gaze travel down the length of him. He had a body to die for and a face to match. No doubt, he could sell a lot of underwear. But this was no time to be distracted. "So what happened?"

  "So I tell him to shove it."

  "But wait," I said. "You backed out? I thought your brothers ruined it."

  "Not that deal," Joel said. "The second one."

  "There was a second one?"

  "Yeah. After I tell the guy to shove it, he starts contacting me again, upping the deal, making it sweeter every time. Finally, he makes one of those offers you can't refuse."

  "What kind of offer?" I asked.

  "Total control. I don't do anything I don't want – no prancing around in my underwear, that's for damn sure."

  Somehow, I couldn't see Joel prancing, but I got what he meant.

  Joel went on. "And we're talking lots of money, probably millions."

  "Wow," I said. "That much?"

  "With endorsements? Sure. So I start thinking, 'Maybe my Cigar days are over, and holy shit, this is really happening.' And the more I think about it, the more I want it. So I call the guy and tell him we have a deal."

  "What'd he say?" I asked.

  "He was thrilled. Or at least, that's what he told me."

  "So then what happened?"

  "Oh, that's the best part," Joel said. "We get everything worked out, papers drawn up, the works. But the day I'm supposed to sign, I walk into his office, and where's the guy standing?"

  "Where?"

  "At his shredder."

  My breath caught. "His paper shredder?"

  "Oh yeah. And he gives me that look, like I just caught him screwing a goat."

  I knew exactly what kind of look Joel meant. I saw it on my uncle all the time. But that was hardly relevant.

  With growing trepidation, I asked, "Don't tell me he was shredding the contract?"

  "That's exactly what he was doing."

  I wanted to kill the guy. "Literally? Like right in front of you?"

  "He wasn't being a dick about it," Joel said. "It's just that I got there early and, well, there he was."

  "So, did he say anything?"

  "Yeah. He tells me, 'Sorry no deal.'"

  "Just like that
?"

  "Yeah. Except the guy takes an hour to say it."

  I recalled the details from our previous conversation. "And he canceled it because of your brother?"

  "Yeah. Some brother, huh?"

  "Did you ever ask him about it?"

  "Jake?" Joel's jaw tightened. "Yeah. I asked him."

  "What'd he say?"

  "He claimed he was doing me a favor."

  I stared in disbelief. "A favor?"

  "That's what he said, told me the agent was a snake, and that I'd thank him someday."

  "And what did you say?"

  "I told him where he could shove it. And then, I call Bishop, hoping he'll talk some sense into Jake. But what does he do? He says the same damn thing." Joel gave a humorless laugh. "Tells me it's for the best."

  "So what'd you do then?" I asked.

  "You know what I did."

  He was right. I did. He'd taken something valuable from each of them and then, he'd skipped town. Trying to fill in the blanks, I asked, "So after the deal fell through, did you contact any other agents?"

  "Hell no. Why bother? You think Jake wouldn’t step in again?"

  "But maybe it was something about that agent in particular."

  "It wasn't the agent," Joel said. "And you want the truth? It wasn't even Jake. It was me. Cigar, remember? If Jake hadn't stopped it, something else would've."

  "Oh come on. Stop saying that."

  "Hey, I'm not complaining. I'm just telling you the way it is."

  I couldn't quite agree. But there was something I wanted to say, even if Joel might hate me for saying it. I hesitated. "Have you ever wondered, if maybe it is for the best?"

  Joel stiffened. "How so?"

  "Well, because you hate fighting."

  "So what?" Joel said. "Everyone hates their jobs, right?"

  "Not always," I said. "My dad didn't." My voice warmed as I continued. "You know, he really loved what he did. He'd go out in his studio every morning and create the most beautiful things. And then, when his work was licensed, in reproductions and stuff, well, he did really great for himself."

  This was a massive understatement, but hopefully, Joel got the point.

  Joel said, "I'm not your dad."

  I gave a little flinch. "Uh, yeah. I know."

  Instantly, his voice softened. "I didn't mean it like that. I'm just saying, stuff like that? It's one-in-a-million, not even worth thinking about."