by Amie Knight
I looked back and forth at our faces in the locket, so surprised that I could only continue to stare. It was Adrian and me inside, not Lori and Adrian. My heart was going ninety miles a minute, so I took a calming breath, but still, I was reeling with emotion. Because I finally understood. It only took practically my entire life, but I got it. It had been Adrian and me all along. Thoughts of the two of us lying in his bed, me comforting him. Him sitting at my feet on the porch while I played my heart out. Him telling me he couldn’t help but kiss me for the first time in the practice room at school. These beloved memories bombarded me with their sweetness. They overwhelmed me with their love. He’d loved me just as long as I’d loved him. This locket was proof. I thought of how Lori had worn this locket for years, carrying Adrian and me around over her heart, and it filled me with such warmth. Such tenderness. This was it. This was my sign. Fresh tears fell from my eyes, so I clenched them closed again, the locket still firmly in my grasp.
I turned my closed eyes to the ceiling. “Thank you,” I whispered to Lori, feeling an immeasurable amount of love and relief seep into me.
I knew I’d always miss Lori. And some days would be hard. Some days, I’d remember her and smile. I just knew I needed Adrian by my side for all of those days. I looked at the locket again, rubbing my fingers over the tiny faces inside, and all Lori had just given me wasn’t lost on me. She’d given me everything back.
I’d lost myself.
I’d lost Adrian.
But I’d finally found us.
In one of the most obvious places ever, tucked neatly inside Lori’s heart.
I carefully placed the locket back in Lori’s music box. Holy shit, I needed to get to Adrian. I needed to tell him that I loved him. I needed to apologize for having run. Again. And I needed to do it now.
“Momma!” I shouted, running from room to room. I needed to find her and tell her that I was going with her.
Running all over the house didn’t do me a damn bit of good. I looked in the driveway and Momma’s car was gone. I checked the clock in the kitchen. Crap! Adrian’s show started in forty-five minutes and it was a forty-minute drive into town.
I raced down the hall to my bathroom, took the quickest shower known to man, and dressed myself in a long, navy-blue maxi dress. I threw some brown sling-back heels on and slipped a brown cardigan on. My hair was still damp from the shower and I didn’t have any makeup on, but it would have to do. I couldn’t miss this. It was Adrian’s big night, and I needed to be there to support him.
I grabbed my keys, my phone, and my purse and shot off a quick text to Miranda.
Me: I’m coming!
I jumped into my truck and checked my phone before cranking it up.
Miranda: About damn time.
I let out a self-deprecating laugh and shook my head at Miranda. Hell yes, it was about damn time. I was going to get my man. Yes, it was years later than it should have been. But I was a Southern girl. We weren’t known for our timeliness. We did things in our own damn time. And it was finally mine.
I pulled up in front of what appeared to be a very swanky art gallery, and my heart felt swollen with pride for the little black-haired boy sketching on my porch day after day. I handed the keys to my crappy truck to a valet and could only giggle as he took in my ride. I was still laughing as I entered the gallery, but I sobered immediately when I spotted Blondie right inside the entrance. She wasn’t going to stop me this time. I’d let her keep me from opening a door once, but I wouldn’t allow it again.
I moved toward her and noticed the sign to her left. It read See Through Heart/Adrian Davis, and beneath the words was a picture I immediately recognized. It was just a simple sketch, not a speck of color in it, but I’d recognize that locket anywhere. In fact, I’d just held it in my hands not an hour ago. The locket was only open enough to see one side, but even in profile, I knew that face was my own. Warmth sizzled through my body. He loved me and I loved him and that was all that mattered. That sketch only hardened my resolve.
I wasn’t even going to acknowledge Blondie. She didn’t matter anymore, but as I passed her by, she grabbed my upper arm and brought me in close to her. She gave me a look meant to break me. It said, You poor, pitiful girl, but I was done being broken. My teeth clenched so tight together that they hurt.
“Don’t be that pathetic girl, sweetie. His type never settles down, and especially not with girls like you,” she whispered, sneering at me. She was looking down at me like I was some backwoods country bumpkin, and maybe I was in a sense, but I’d also lived and lost and gained a lot of perspective in my short twenty-two years.
“Did you sleep with him? Yesterday?” I asked, praying to God that my gut was right.
She cocked an eyebrow. “No. But there’s always tonight.”
That’s where she was wrong. Any chance she’d ever had with him was officially over. I should have known that Adrian wouldn’t do that to me. Not right after we’d been together. I should have trusted him.
I pointedly glanced to the sign, my face in the middle of that beautiful heart-shaped locket Adrian had drawn with his own two hands, and looked back at the bitch. “He ever draw you like that?”
Her snotty grin fell. I knew then that she knew exactly who I was to Adrian, and I had not one doubt in my mind she was trying to keep us apart.
I wanted to put her in her place, but I didn’t. It was Adrian’s night, so I wouldn’t cause a scene. Instead, I quietly said, “I’m here to see my man, so I’m going to need you to kindly move the fuck out of my way.” She still held my arm tight, so I added, “Right the fuck now.”
If she thought for one second she had anything on my brand of crazy, she was wrong. I’d waited too long for this moment and she was keeping me from it. From him. I’d take her down in a skinny minute. She must have seen the fire in my eyes, because she stepped back, releasing my arm. I shot her a victorious smirk and made my way farther into the exhibition.
Crowds of people stood around the room, some admiring the pieces on the wall and some standing around, chatting, and drinking champagne. I didn’t see the paintings hanging on the walls. I didn’t see the faces of the nameless people milling around. I was looking for one person.
I made my way around the outskirts of the room, my determination evident in every stride. Be indestructible. The mantra played in my head with every step I took. There was an older couple ahead of me, blocking my path, and as I skirted around them, I couldn’t help but listen to their words as they stared at the painting in front of them.
“This one is simply breathtaking. They are so beautiful together,” the woman, said gazing at the painting.
“Yes, I agree. And the contrast—it’s beautiful. The power of light and dark in this one really sells it,” the man said back to the woman.
Their words made me pause and take notice of the painting on the wall. At first, all I saw was the face of a woman with bright-yellow hair and expressive, green eyes. Me. It was me. Protectiveness was etched across her face as she gazed down and to the side, where another canvas was pushed up against hers. My breath stilled. Pain and love ricocheted around inside my body like stray bullets, hurting me and healing me in equal parts. Big, sad, brown eyes stared back at me from the painting, holding me hostage. I didn’t want to look away because I hadn’t seen those eyes in so long. I stepped around the couple admiring the painting and walked closer. I wanted to study this girl’s face. I wanted to see if every curve of her face, every wrinkle outlining her eyes, and every angle of her jaw were the same. I wanted to see Lori up close. It’d been so long, and she looked so real. The small dimple in her chin sent a lone tear down my cheek, and I wanted to touch that dimple to see if it was as soft as it looked.
I was raising my hand, bringing it closer to the painting, when a man with a gruff voice and a firm grip grabbed my wrist,
“Please, no touching the art, ma’am,” he said, releasing my grip and standing off to the side again, clearly manning his post.
/>
“It’s fine,” a familiar voice said me behind.
I turned and found Adrian watching me, looking beyond handsome in a black suit, his face almost violent with emotion.
“They’re all hers,” he said, speaking to the security guy standing next to me but looking me fiercely in the eyes.
I turned my eyes back to Lori’s painting and then shifted my scrutinizing gaze back to my painting above hers. I looked like an angel hovering over Lori, ready to guard her with my life. And Lori, with her dark hair and sad, brown eyes, looked like she needed the protection. The couple was so right. My painting was light and Lori’s was dark. The contrast was positively the most gorgeous thing I’d seen in my life, and its brilliance broke my heart.
Wiping a steady stream of tears from my face, I circled the room, taking every painting in. I could feel Adrian’s eyes on me every step of the way. It didn’t escape my notice that he stayed close, like he was my safeguard while he allowed me just enough space to experience this kind of beauty alone. His presence screamed, I’m here! Just look behind you and I’ll always be here.
Each painting told a story and had a unique quality that differentiated itself from the one before it. But every painting also held one similar quality.
Me.
Me lying by the creek in Momma’s backyard, looking at the stars.
Me standing on the porch, playing the violin, my eyes closed.
Me with freshly kissed lips in the middle of a cotton field.
And, sometimes, it was me and Lori.
Two little girls standing on his doorstep in our bathing suits.
The two of us curled up together in a sleeping bag, sound asleep.
Us laughing by the campfire, Lori’s locket resting on her heart.
Adrian’s love shined back at me from each painting, and the older I got, the more beautiful every piece became. Sensuality and unrestrained emotion were reflected in every stroke of his brush of me as an adult. My hair was wild and yellow. My face open and revealing. Sometimes, I’d be standing in a cotton field. Other times, it would be the back of me and music notes would fly from hair that shone like sunlight.
It was our past splattered all over the walls of this square room, memories laid bare for all to see. Each image showing a moment of love. A moment of loss. There was nowhere to run, and I felt the memories surround me and swallow me up. I wanted to crumble from the sheer force of it all. I wanted to rip every painting off the wall and guard them with my life. He was right. They were mine, and I loved them as much as I hated them.
“Do you see now?” Adrian asked behind me.
I tore my gaze away from the paintings and faced him. I wiped my face with the sleeve of my cardigan because I was a snotty, ugly, crying mess. A crowd was forming around us, but Adrian didn’t seem to notice. He kept his eyes glued to me.
“Do you see now, Sunshine?” he asked again with all the patience of a damn saint.
I wanted to hurl myself across the room and into his arms. To hug him. To shake him. To never let him go.
I felt Miranda and Momma crowd in close behind me, ready to catch me if I fell.
“See what?” I breathed at him. I’d said it so softly that I didn’t even know if he had heard it, but I felt emotionally naked and so vulnerable in that moment. I felt so seen when all I wanted to do was hide.
Adrian didn’t flinch or react to my outburst. He only tenderly smiled at me. “Your story is written all over these walls, Ainsley. Literally. And it’s beautiful. Yes, it was hard. And, yes, I’d go back and change the way it ended if I could. But, Ainsley, that’s the past. And it made us who we are today. For better or worse. We lived it once, and I think it’s time we get back to doing that.” He took a step toward me and waved a hand around the room. “The future isn’t on these walls.” He tapped a finger over his heart and then motioned between us. “It’s right here, Sunshine. You and me. I know you feel it. We could be beautiful again.”
I didn’t say anything because what could I say? He was right. My life had been beautiful, and as I stared back at the people who had experienced it all with me, I realized that it still was. I’d lost somebody I’d loved so much, but we’d had an incredible life together. And I realized in that instant that I wouldn’t trade one of those beautiful memories for anything in this world, not even the ability not to feel the pain Lori’s absence left behind.
I looked around the room again, seeing my story. Our story, really. Mine. Lori’s. Even Adrian’s. He couldn’t be seen in any of the pieces, but he was there in every stroke, his love reflected back at me in every painting.
“I love you,” I announced loudly into the quiet room. That was what I’d come for. Everyone was watching, and I’d already made a spectacle of myself. But what was one more act of insanity at that point?
He smirked. “I know.”
I adamantly shook my head. He couldn’t know. Because there weren’t words strong enough to adequately explain the way I felt for that boy…and, now, the man.
“No. You don’t.” I sucked in a deep breath and then confessed, “I really love you, Adrian. I always have. My entire life. Since I first laid eyes on a shaggy-haired, blue-eyed boy in suspenders.” I paused as I struggled to speak through my tears. “And I always will.”
Adrian’s quick strides brought him to me in an instant. He grabbed my face in his hands and lowered his lips to mine. “Thank fuck,” he said against my lips before claiming my mouth in a slow but deep kiss. He pulled away and stared down into my eyes. “It’s always been you, Ainsley. For me, it’s always been you. I want to be there for you through everything. Even life’s hardest moments.” He looked around the room. “Because of the big picture. Our picture. And I don’t want to miss another minute of it. So let me be there for you. Let me take care of you. Let me love you.”
“Okay,” I whispered back into his mouth. “No more pretending.”
His eyes grew soft as he kissed my nose. “I was never pretending, Sunshine.”
Four Years Later
“Green? No one likes green, Adrian. No one! It’s red or blue,” Ainsley huffed out, her frustration written all over her—ironically enough—green face.
If I’d ever missed this woman’s sass, I didn’t now. She’d been making up for it in spades the last ten weeks.
It was Christmas Eve and my sunshine was a little more on edge than usual. We’d made the trek forty minutes from the city to Jessi’s house for dinner and presents. Our small house in the city was perfect. It was in a central location to the college most of Ainsley’s students attended and only five minutes away from the orchestra hall, where she practiced most nights. We were living the dream—Ainsley was teaching by day and playing for the South Carolina Philharmonic by night. As for me, it was a slow but steady climb to the top after my first art showing, but now, most of my paintings could be found in art galleries all over of the US.
We’d gotten married in the fall outside by our creek not even six months after the night Ainsley had finally run at me instead of away from me. It was a small ceremony with just family and close friends. Ainsley made sure everyone we loved was there—even Lori. Her heart locket was the only jewelry Ainsley wore that day. Our marriage might have seemed too quick to others, but we were ready. We’d lost so much time already. Besides, we had belonged to each other nearly our entire lives—now, we just had the piece of paper to prove it.
It wasn’t Christmas that had Ainsley on edge though. She was excited to share the news we’d been keeping secret for the last five weeks. She was also sick as a dog. This baby was kicking both of our asses. Forget morning sickness. Why wasn’t it called all-the-damn-time sickness? The woman woke up sick, was sick at lunch, and went to bed sick most nights. I kept soothing her with words I knew to be true. “We just gotta get through this first trimester, baby. Then it’s smooth sailing,” I’d tell her. But I’d be lying if I said that this first trimester didn’t feel long as fuck.
“Yeah, Daddy. Green is yuck
y,” a little voice said somewhere around my feet.
I set the rest of the groceries on Jessi’s kitchen counter and got down on my haunches. “That’s something you should have told Daddy at the store, buddy,” I said, running my hand through his sweet, blond curls.
Exactly nine months after my night of drunken debauchery with Ainsley, Nicholas Michael Davis had come into the world with blindingly white curls adorning his cone-shaped head, weighing in at a hefty nine pounds five ounces. Was I surprised that Ainsley had gotten pregnant only the second time we’d had sex in four years? Not really. Because fate. And, although our little guy was a complete surprise, I wouldn’t have changed it for the world.
We’d decided as soon as we found out Ainsley was pregnant that we would name the baby after Loralie Nicole. Nicole if it was a girl and Nicholas if it was a boy, but once he was born and stopped screaming his head off long enough to blink those big, blue eyes up at us, there was only one thing we could call him.
“Blue, go in the living room and see if Grammy will give you a cookie. Okay, baby?” Ainsley said, unloading grocery bags.
I came up behind her, resting my chin on her shoulder and wrapping my arms around our unborn child resting safely inside Ainsley’s still-flat stomach. “It’s just Gatorade, Sunshine,” I whispered.
I immediately felt her stiff body melt into me. She did that every single time I called her Sunshine and I fucking loved it. All of her worries seemed to melt away at that word. I also used it to my advantage when I was in trouble—like any smart man would do.
Ainsley turned her body in my arms until she was facing me. “I know, but it’s the only thing keeping me going right now. I can’t keep anything down.” She buried her face in my chest and moaned like she was in pain.
