15

THE PLACE IS A DISASTER. I stop in the entrance and take it all in. Dirty dishes cover the coffee table in front of the television. Clothing is draped over all the furniture, most of it way past the stage of needing a washing as far as I can tell. There are art canvasses of different sizes leaning in stacks against the walls and what I guess to be an easel in the corner of the room nearest the windows with a sheet draped over the painting that’s underneath. Paintbrushes are standing in old coffee cans on the windowsill and there are multi-colored paint spatters all over the tarp that’s on the ground and even the walls nearby. It smells like a paint store in here.

I could have sworn Teagan told me that she’d been in here before, but she never mentioned any of this to me. I make a mental note to discuss this with her, because if her powers of observation somehow missed all of this, I’m going to recommend she get a brain scan of some sort.

“You want something to drink?” he asks, moving over to the stereo to turn it down.

“Nah. I’m kind of drinked out right now.” I don’t tell him that I’m worried anything that comes out of this apartment is going to be contaminated by some rare and deadly virus. I lick my lips, suddenly very thirsty. That would be my self-torturing personality that likes to make me want exactly what I can’t have at the most inconvenient time.

“Yeah, I’m done too.” He puts his hands in his back pockets. “So…” Grinning at me, he rocks up on his heels a little.

“So…” I cock an eyebrow up at him, “…what’s this mysterious thing you want to show me? I hope it’s not your junk.”

He laughs. “Nah, it’s not my junk. But we can pretend that’s what it was to make Mick crazy if you want.”

I shrug. “Why would I care what he thinks?” My heart-rate picks up at the mere idea.

 

Colin takes his hands out of his pockets and backs up towards the windows. “I don’t know. Kinda seemed like you cared.”

“Nope, not me.” I put extra cheer into my voice to be more convincing. “He seems pretty worked up over your personal business. You sure there’s

nothing going on there?”

I cross my arms. He’s got the most devious expression on his face. “If you really think there’s something going on between us, why did you invite me over here?” I tap my toe impatiently. I don’t like being played.

“Ah,” he says, taking the edge of the sheet and lifting it. “Sometimes life is dull. Maybe I like to liven things up from time to time.”

I’m in the process of responding, but my jaw drops open and the words get hung up in the system somewhere between my frontal lobe and my mouth. For the first time that I can remember, art has made me totally speechless.

I walk towards the easel slowly as he turns a lamp on nearby.

“No! Turn it off,” I say a little too loudly, my arm flying out to somehow protect the vision I saw from the harsh light of reality.

He flicks it off and looks at me with a new expression on his face. A glance at him tells me he’s worried.

“What do you think?” he asks.

“I think I want to have your babies,” I say in a near-whisper as I step up to the canvas and stop. It’s about three feet high and two feet wide. I frown and take a few steps back in the direction I came from. My smile comes back. “Holy fucking wow.”

“I’m going to take that as a thumbs up.”

I look at him, recognizing his expression for what it is now. Vulnerability.

The artist exposes his inner soul.

“You are really amazing, you know that?” The words just pop out of my mouth. “Ten thousand fucking thumbs up. Seriously. Give me your sperm.” I point at the painting. “I want my children to have those genes. I’ll take it in a to- go cup if that’s convenient.”

He grins bigger than I’ve ever seen him grin before. And there’s zero sexiness to it; all I see is joy. He looks like how I’ve always imagined the archangel Gabriel.

“That’s why Mick didn’t want you over here. He knew as soon as you saw my junk you’d be mine.”

I burst out laughing right along with him. It feels good to let all the stress of the night go like that. My eyes are drawn back to the painting and my laughter fades.

“How did you do this? When?” I have never been able to fathom people

 

with this level of talent. It makes me wonder what the holy hell he’s doing living over a car garage. He could be in New York City selling his stuff for a mint. He could at least afford a maid if he sold one of these once in a while. “You seriously need to get this into a gallery.”

My gaze roams every corner of the painting and then the middle too. The image there on the canvas is Teagan, but then again not. She’s looking at something I can only guess is Rebel, because she has that serious goo-goo expression on her face. And for once she doesn’t look stressed or mad or worried about something. She looks older. Wiser. More mature, like maybe how she’ll be in ten years. I used to see her stress-free face once in a great while at school, but this summer it’s been completely absent. I guess I haven’t been around her and Rebel enough. I almost want to reach out and touch it, but I don’t because I wouldn’t want to put a single speck of anything but Colin’s touch on this miracle.

“She’s so beautiful.” Now, instead of laughing, I feel like crying. “You captured the essence of my little Tea-Tea.”

“Tea-Tea?” He leans over to look at the painting. “That’s not Teagan.

That’s Mick.”

For a second I’m stunned because he looks so serious. But then we both start laughing again. I cannot believe the amount of awesome brain chemistry I have floating through my system right now. I’m literally high on life, and it’s all thanks to Colin.

I’m bent over, holding on to his shoulder so I don’t fall on the ground, when the door to his apartment opens up.

Colin flicks the sheet down over the painting and stands up straight, causing my hand to drop back down to my side. I turn my head and see Rebel at the door.

“What’s up?” Colin asks, all signs of humor gone from his face and his voice. Suddenly it’s like that moment of sheer joy between us never happened.

“I need to talk to you for a minute. Let Mick take her home.”

Now my humor’s gone too. Stupid Rebel. “I’m not riding with Mick, thank you very much.”

“Then I’ll take you,” says Rebel. “And I’ll just talk to Teagan when I get back.”

I narrow my eyes at him. Well-played turd-basket. I glance at Colin but his face is a mask of nothing. Since I know that putting Colin in a position of going face-to-face with his brother is a bad idea, I sigh out my defeat. “Fine. I’ll go with Mick.” I grab my purse off the couch and walk over to the door. “But I’m not going to like it,” I say in Rebel’s face.

 

He doesn’t answer me or even act like he’s heard me, and I have to draw up my big-girl panties to keep from bapping him upside the head as I walk by. I grip my purse between my fingers for extra insurance.

When I get out into the hallway and the door shuts behind me, I stop.

What am I supposed to do now? Go knock on Teagan’s door and tell Mick to take me home? Pffft. Like hell. Rebel’s not my father. Mick’s not my big brother. I do what I want, when I want. Fuck this place.

I text Teagan as I’m walking down the stairs.

I’m blowing this popsicle stand. Talk to you laters, taters.

I grit my teeth as I push open the door and go out into the night. I can do this. I can get a ride back. I’ll just call a taxi or something. I chew on my lip as I make my way through the parking lot, my heart beating faster and faster the farther I get from Rebel Wheels. It’s frigging dark out here and the shadows are coming to life around me.