Through the Lens (Click Duet #1) (Bay Area Duet Series)

by Persephone Autumn

  She reaches toward me, finds my hand in the dark and wraps it in hers. “I… I don’t think so,” she whispers, her words clear. “He’s a great guy and has been a good friend. It’s just…” She shakes her head. “Relationships and me haven’t had the best of luck in my adult life. So, I just do the friend thing with sporadic dating. But never the same guy for more than one date.”

  Shit. Did I do this to her? Did I ruin love for her? God, I hope she is not like this because of me. The selfish part of me jumps up and down in victory. But the selfless part of me, he stands in the corner with a baseball bat, beating the shit out of himself.

  “I’m sorry,” I say the words before I stop myself.

  “For what? Ruining me for every other man in the world. Don’t be sorry. I don’t want or need your pity. If I wanted to, I could have dated more and been in a solid relationship. But I get to decide. Is it such a bad thing to be picky? Especially after your soul has been crushed by the one person who was supposed to protect it.”

  Slap. Fuck, that stings. But I sure as shit deserve it.

  “Can I walk you in?” I ask, wanting to steer us away from talking about this now. Not when I know she’s not sober. Not when we can’t discuss what happened rationally.

  “What? That’s it? You’re done talking about it, so conversation over?”

  She shoves her door open and gets out, slamming the door behind her. I rush to get out, to catch up to her before she gets inside. Halfway to her back door, I catch her wrist in my grip.

  “No. That’s not it at all. I just don’t think we should be having this discussion when you’re not one-hundred-percent coherent.”

  She huffs, trying to yank her arm from my hand. “You’re ridiculous. You bring up the topic of discussion, but when it gets too thick… conversation done. It makes me dizzy.”

  She sways and I want to tell her it’s not the conversation making her dizzy. But I don’t because she is already pissed at me. Yanking her arm, I release her wrist and she wobbles to the door, me on her heels.

  I hand her the key ring with three keys and she unlocks the door. As she steps through the door, I go to follow her and she stops.

  “What are you doing?”

  “It’s late. Can I sleep on your couch? I won’t bother you and I’ll leave in the morning. If not, I’ll find a ride.”

  Her eyes wobble a little as she studies my face. After a few breaths, she nods. “Couch.” It’s all she says as she walks toward a door I can only assume is her bedroom.

  “Thanks,” I whisper into the darkness.

  Walking slowly through her quaint house, I locate the couch and kick off my shoes. I check my watch and realize it is really fucking late. Or is it really fucking early at this point? Whatever. Thank God tomorrow is an off day for the shoot. Because both of us would be fucked if it wasn’t.

  I stretch out on the couch, situating pillows and a blanket around me. Shifting my hips and my neck until I get comfortable. Am I really in her house? Or is this all just some bizarre dream? It all seems so surreal. Seeing her again. Touching her again. Smelling her again. Fuck, how I have missed everything about her. Even the way she says my name.

  Her adorable smile. The subtle fragrance she wears. How she peers up at me. The way her body reacts to mine. As if no time has passed.

  But it has. And I fucked up. Big time.

  Staring up at the ceiling, my eyes lose focus as the moonlight casts shadows from the tree outside the window. Shadows of limbs and leaves dance and entertain me. Tonight, so many things have happened and changed. It’s overwhelming to think of how life and our relationship could possibly shift in the future. Shift in a positive way.

  The future… something I always dreamed I would have with Cora, but wasn’t sure would happen. I wasn’t sure I would ever see her again, but wished for it often. Wished on every star in the night sky. Wished with every penny I threw in a fountain. And wished every time I blew out a birthday candle.

  When I boarded the plane in Los Angeles, the possibility of seeing her seemed minuscule. So outlandish. So impossible.

  But fate intervened. Slapping us together and giving us the opportunity to discover each other again. To learn about all the years we missed out on. Learn how much we have changed yet remained the same. And now that things are lining up for both of us in our respective careers, the possibility of a future with her has greater potential. If a future with me is what she wants.

  Please let it be what she wants.

  If she would be willing to try with me again—if she gave me a chance to explain—I would move my life back here again. Back home. To her. For her. In a heartbeat. Regardless of my life and family and friends back in California, I would leave it all behind if I knew we stood a chance.

  The day I was forced to tell her my mom received a promotion and we were moving out of state was the day my life started falling apart. One speck at a time. When my mom told me the news, I hesitated to tell Cora. Not because I didn’t want to, but because when I did tell her, reality would hit hard. And when I shared the news with her, expressing the pain and anguish I felt at leaving, she held me and soothed me. She was the strong one, telling me we would be apart for less than two years. That we would see each other during breaks and summer. Less than two years and we could be by each other’s side again.

  We had it all mapped out.

  Unfortunately for us, it didn’t work that way. Within ten days of being in California, my life was utter chaos. Upset and angry, I lashed out. Got in fights and provoked anyone near me. I think a part of me thought if I acted out, I would be able to return to where I wanted to be most. Where I belonged. With Cora.

  But it didn’t work that way and I shut down. To my family and Cora. I allowed my anger and frustration and sadness to consume me until numbness took over. A numbness that pushed me forward, but I lost every real part of who I had been. Including Cora.

  It may have taken thirteen years for me to return—by complete accident—but I am here. And I plan to do whatever it takes to regain all I have lost. I will make up for every tear she cried. Every sadness she suffered. I will make up for every pain and absence of love she has endured since I left. She deserves nothing less from me.

  I surveil the shadows as they continue to sway and, within minutes, I drift off and hope I dream about the most incredible woman I have ever loved. The woman who sleeps less than twenty feet from me. The woman I hope will forgive me in the end. And somehow, love me again.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Gavin

  Fifteen years ago

  I jump out of the bus and land on the concrete sidewalk of my new school. High school. I am in the big leagues now. No stopping me.

  Freshman year holds so much promise. Making new friends. Meeting new people. Hot new females. Life couldn’t possibly get any better.

  I toss my backpack over one shoulder and head for the class where my homeroom is said to be. The first day is usually full of chaos, and today is no exception. Even though it is corny as hell, I am glad my mom forced me to come to orientation so I at least got a lay of the land. The last thing I need is to look like a dope wandering the halls while staring at a map.

  Navigating the hall, I locate the correct room and find a desk in the back row. There is still another six minutes until the bell, so I pull out my notebook and begin doodling while I wait. Stomps and thuds and soft pitter-patters echo off the sterile white walls as everyone files into the room. I ignore all their steps and continue my artwork, the buzzing of the bell causing me to stop.

  When I peer up at the front of the room, a raven-haired girl walks through the door, huffing and bending at the waist as she tries to catch her breath. Her skin is pale as cream, her onyx hair as bold of a contrast as her bloodred lips. She reminds me of a modern-day, punk rock version of Snow White, except with shorter hair. And I immediately like everything about her.

  When her breath catches enough, she stands and wanders through the rows of desks, picking an
available seat two over from me. I try not to stare at her, but can’t help how she has caught my eye. Surely, she has caught the eye of many others as well. And not just because of her entrance. Everything about her is bewitching.

  I avert my gaze when the teacher introduces himself and begins going over some of the basic school rules and hands out paperwork for our parents, the code of conduct, and our class schedules. Typical first day of school stuff. I scan over my class schedule, check I was assigned all the appropriate classes, and then wonder what classes the raven-haired girl has. Hopeful we will have at least one or more classes together.

  The bell sounds and I sidle up beside her, trying to spark a conversation.

  “Hey,” I say with a wave. “I’m Gavin. Crazy morning?”

  She glances over at me, confused. “Hi,” she mumbles. “Cora. And yes.”

  Maybe she isn’t a morning person? Or maybe she is not having the best morning. Whatever.

  “Sorry to hear. Anything I can do to help?” Why not offer, right? No harm, no foul.

  “Gavin, is it?” I nod. “Thanks, but I’m good,” she says with a brush-off.

  But I don’t back down so easily. Something about her begs me to keep trying. “Well, let me know,” I offer with a smile.

  When she walks away, I check to see which class I head to first and make my way to the science wing. Honestly, who thinks it is a good idea for people to learn science this early in the morning?

  Slap.

  My geometry book closes too loud in the room and several sets of eyes stare at me like I am their next meal. Sorry. Why does everyone seem so touchy today? Just brush it off, man. No one likes the first day of school. Actually, no one cares for school on any day. But no one needs to bite my head off.

  I shoulder my backpack and head to the cafeteria. After I load up a tray of random crap food, I head out to the tables in the sun. The summer heat still blazes, but I would rather be outside than in the dank cafeteria. The cafeteria feels claustrophobic and I question the cleanliness.

  When I step out and search for a good place to sit, I spot her. The raven-haired girl with bright red lips. Cora. She sits under a tree, eating a sandwich and reading a book. Before I realize what I am doing, I trudge over and stop in front of her. She ignores me for a few seconds, bookmarks her page, and finally looks up.

  Shielding her eyes with her hands, she squints and tilts her head to the side. “Can I help you with something?”

  “Mind if I sit with you?”

  “Gavin… right?” I nod at her. “Well, Gavin, I’m kind of a loner.”

  It is not a denial, only a statement meant to scare me away. But it won’t work on me. If anything, the attempt at a brush-off has me wanting to sit with her more. Cora… what a fascinating creature.

  “We don’t have to talk. I’m just here for the tree,” I joke.

  She shakes her head in disbelief, a subtle laugh under her breath as she gestures to the landscape beside her. “It’s not my tree.”

  I squat down and manage to sit cross-legged without dropping anything from my tray. Thanks to whoever is looking out for me so I don’t embarrass myself in front of this girl.

  We sit in companionable silence—me munching on the cafeteria’s mystery casserole and her eating a banana while reading Wuthering Heights. The book tattered and well-loved—cover curling and faded, multiple pages dog-eared.

  Part of me wonders if she is reading the book for school or pleasure. My bet is on the latter considering the appearance of the novel. Can’t say I have ever read the book. I’m sure it is good, but reading isn’t much of a priority for me. Haven’t heard of anything noteworthy.

  After finishing the semi-decent casserole, I finish off my bottled water. Although our silence under the tree has been enjoyable, I itch to talk with this girl. Spark some form of conversation. Get to know the girl with the bright red lips. But she doesn’t seem like the type of person who fills space with meaningless conversation. Part of me is intimidated by this. Another part of me enchanted. What do I say to someone like her?

  So, I aim for obvious.

  “Good book?” I ask, smacking myself upside the head internally.

  Of course it is a good book, dumbass! Otherwise, it wouldn’t look like she has read it a hundred times. Idiot.

  She finishes the sentence or paragraph she is reading and faces me, a slight hint of annoyance on her face. It both frightens and intrigues me. “Yes.” It is all she says before turning back to the book and ignoring me again.

  Okay…

  I stay under the tree with her for a few more minutes before rising to take my tray back to the cafeteria. After I dump the trash and deposit the tray in the bin, I turn to catch one more glimpse of her before heading to my next class. But the moment I look, she is no longer there. A strange sadness takes hold, but I brush it off.

  “I’ll try again tomorrow,” I mumble to myself.

  The art quad is located at the back of campus, on the farthest outskirts. As if sketching and paints and clays need their own world away from the books and projectors and regimented studies. As odd as it is to be isolated at the back of the school, I enjoy the fact I won’t hear anything else on campus while in this class.

  Walking into the large and open classroom, I scan all the various projects the teacher has kept throughout the years. Oils and watercolors, charcoals and pencil. Each unique on their own. The air rich with canvas and pencil shavings and earth. As my eyes follow around the room, they stop when they spot a head of black-as-night hair.

  Cora sits at one of a dozen long, rectangular tables. Her head down as her fingers draw vigorously on a sketch pad. Almost like the artist version of a mad scientist. No one sits beside her, so I gather myself and head for the table. Of all the classes I could share with her, art feels beyond perfect. A way to express yourself without speaking.

  When I sit down beside her, my wooden stool squeaking against the linoleum floor, she doesn’t move. Doesn’t lift her head or greet me. She is so focused on what is in front of her, it’s as if the rest of the world isn’t really here. And a part of me kind of digs her level of concentration.

  Seconds pass and her head remains down, hovering six inches above the table. I peer around her hunched body and sneak a peek at what she sketches, my eyes widening and breath falling short as I see it come to life.

  The trunk of a tree. Shade and foliage hovering above. A raven-haired girl, her face hidden by an open book. And a boy. Taller than her, lean in stature. He watches her from the corner of his eye, a timid smile on his face.

  It’s her. And me.

  A strange contentment washes over me. Although the image is nowhere near done—no shading or fine lines and details—the outlines are all in black and white. She abandoned the tree early to come draw the two of us beneath it. My stomach is sort of queasy, and I don’t think it is from the mystery casserole.

  How has she put this on paper so quickly?

  And it occurs to me. Maybe she had previously drawn herself alone under a tree. She did say she was a loner. Five minutes was definitely not enough time to have this much detail on paper. Not even by the best.

  The bell rings and I inspect another twenty bodies in the room, all seated at the other tables. Footsteps tick on the tile and the teacher walks to the front of the room. But I don’t look at the five foot, four inch red-haired woman at the head of the room introducing herself as the art teacher.

  Because just as the teacher begins speaking, Cora lifts her head and realizes I’m sitting beside her. And that I have seen her drawing. Her face is stoic and as unreadable as a professional poker player.

  A smile breaches my lips and I face the teacher at the head of the room. Beside me, I hear the sketchbook close and a soft sigh. A sigh I will remember for the rest of my days.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Gavin

  Present

  The sun wakes me up just before seven, although sections of the house remain somewhat dark. Cora still sl
eeps and the house is quiet. Too quiet. As if no noise exists here. Seems odd to have no noise. No cars driving by. No people talking outside. Not even the chirp of birds in the early morning light.

  I should leave. The last thing I need is for Cora to wake up, find me in her house and not remember why I am here in the first place. All it would do is freak her out and set us back. When it comes to Cora, I need all the forward momentum possible.

  Rising from the couch, I stretch out my limbs then fold the blanket and drape it over the couch. I tiptoe through the house in search of the bathroom. After I relieve myself, I wash up and tiptoe back out.

  Finding a piece of paper and pen on the desk nestled between the living and dining area, I write a quick note. As I set the pen back in its place, I bump the corner of her open laptop and the screen lights up.

  Shit.

  Snagging the note, I go to close the lid of the laptop and hide its bright light. But just as I begin to push the top down, I see a photo from one of our shoots this week. A photo she left open. A photo of me.

  Confusion flickers in my veins. Rapid-fire questions pop up left and right. Was the photo left open because of work and editing? Or was it left open for other reasons?

  A strange, woozy sensation floats in my chest at the possibility of her ogling a photo of me. Of her sitting in this very spot and gawking at my images. But I shut down the idea, not wanting my hopes to get the best of me.

  I ignore the laptop and leave it open since it will return to sleep mode within minutes.

  Walking over to her bedroom door, I stand in front of it and close my eyes. Do I go in and leave the note where I know she will find it? Or should I slip it under the door? This isn’t my house. And technically, Cora isn’t my girl.

  My internal battle continues a minute before I choose the obvious path.