Better Than Safe (30 page)

I opened my mouth to tell him to piss off, but he moved away quickly. He turned at the last moment, as though sensing my stare, and raised his wineglass in a mock toast before taking a slow sip and moving purposefully to Seth’s side.

“And let me introduce you to Simon Pickard, a fantastically talented international artist and visionary who thankfully introduced me to Seth last year in London. After a year of planning, I couldn’t be more pleased with the results. Thank you, Simon, for….”

I tuned the gallery owner out and sipped my wine, willing myself to relax. Nothing had changed between Seth and me. We were fine. And Simon was nothing but a troublesome piece of the past. His presence was unsettling, just as I knew it might be, but it wasn’t cause for alarm. Stirring up mischief was his specialty. It was hard to believe I’d loved him once. No, that wasn’t love. It was a naïve sort of worship. It was laughable that I’d even thought to question Seth’s interest in spending time with someone eleven years older when I’d literally dropped everything to do exactly the same thing. Seth was much wiser than I’d been. He knew who he was. When I was twenty-four, I lost myself in someone else. Happily for a while. I loved being near Simon. I loved watching him as he mixed his paints, stretched his canvases, or settled down to paint. I’d loved his fevered concentration and I became a genius at reading his body language. I could tell the moment artistic expression became physical need. And I’d fucking loved the moment all that passion and energy became mine. But when it was over… I was just lost. And afraid.

The suffocating feeling was back in full force. My hands shook and I couldn’t breathe.

Fuck me. Six years later, he was still the bastard who knew how to get under my skin. Taunting me. Subtly provoking me. Standing too close, using the wrong tense.
Belonged, not belongs.
I licked my lips, sternly admonishing myself to get a grip. But my mind flew back to his earlier words about Seth needing him. The studio, the paints, the connections. Was he funding Seth’s art? Was he—

As the first tendril of doubt and dread crept over me, I caught on. The game was jealousy. His talking about having sex with my lover was meant to stir me up. But the idea Simon was acting as a paying mentor, pimping his protégée, was meant to throw me over the edge. And damn… it was working. I had to get out before I got thrown out of yet another art establishment.

I set my wineglass on a passing waiter’s tray and attempted to push my way through the crowd. I made it halfway to the exit when my eye was drawn to a scene I recognized. A dark umbrella, a swath of blue, and falling rain. It was the day we’d been tossed out of the museum. Seth had managed to brilliantly capture my irritation and sheer amazement of being with him without actually painting my face. It was genius. I wanted to linger, but was pushed out of the way by a gaggle of art enthusiasts. I moved on to the next and stopped in my tracks.

The next painting was Simon’s. His style was more violent than Seth’s. The paint strokes were harsh and heavy at times, and his colors collided with a daring quality that shouldn’t work, but did. This particular painting was a riot of reds and black. It gave movement to the subject matter… a naked man with his long dark hair bent over a red guitar. It was called
The Music Muse
. The next one was also Simon’s. It depicted the same man standing in a shower. The next was the man on a motor bike. The one after was him standing in a kitchen. The subject’s face was never shown, but that had never been Simon’s style. The obvious wasn’t his forte. He was a master at subtle machination in art and life.

As I looked around, I noticed Simon’s art was everywhere, intermixed with Seth’s. My boyfriend’s half-naked body was placed all over the room, posed in ways I was all too familiar with. Reading, watching the telly, playing idiotic games with background scenes of mussed sheets and tossed pillows.

I moved toward the exit, nodding my head to a couple of people I recognized as I passed. Someone called my name, but I didn’t dare stop. I had to get out before I was dragged under again.

This was why artists are a bad idea. This was what you were supposed to avoid at all costs.

I breathed a sigh of immense relief when I pushed the door open. It was cold outside, but it felt good. I needed fresh air and space to breathe. This collision of past and present was making me ill.

“Hey! There you are. Where’ve you been?” Seth was panting as though he’d run a mile.

I swallowed hard before turning to face him. “I was late. Bad day and traffic, but—”

“You’re here now. Come ins—”

“I can’t, Seth.” I licked my lips and shook my head sadly. “Go on. Enjoy your night. We’ll talk later.”

I moved toward the valet, but he stopped me with a hand on my chest. “Is it Simon? It was too late to ask Harry to un—”

“Yes, it’s all a big coincidence.”

Seth cocked his head. “What’s wrong? What did he do?”

“Nothing at all. He was a shit as usual. No surprise. However….”

Don’t do it. Don’t do it. Don’t do it.

“He mentioned something rather curious.” I winced at the accusatory tone in my voice and my thickened accent. I fumbled for my valet ticket nonchalantly as though I were in no particular hurry and didn’t have a care in the world. Fuck, I was a better actor than I imagined. Unfortunately I’d signed up for the wrong part… an action flick instead of a romantic comedy. I was stepping off a cliff and seemingly desperate to drag someone with me.

“You know better than to listen to him. He’s a snake.”

“Then why are we here?” I yelled.

Seth’s expression went dark. He yanked my elbow and pulled me away from the gallery so we stood in the shadow between the building and the one next door.

“What the fuck is wrong with you? You know why I’m here. Why are—”

“Is he funding this? Is he your benefactor?” I crossed my arms over my chest in a defensive manner and tried not to flinch when he backed me into the brick wall.

“Is that what he told you?” His eyes blazed with fury.

I held his gaze and nodded. “He began with schoolboy taunts about sharing you, but the real zinger had nothing to do with you fucking him and everything to do with him being your sugar daddy.”

Seth stepped back. Heat and anger, and yes, jealousy, coursed through my veins like wildfire. I was primed and ready for a fight. I didn’t care who heard and I knew I couldn’t trust my tongue. I was drunk on jealousy. It controlled me.

“And you believed him.”

“I—” Some of my righteous indignation fled. I didn’t believe Simon. Not really. The truth was I was a bloody head case. “I don’t know what to believe,” I sighed in defeat.

His intense scrutiny made me uncomfortable. I felt itchy and out of sorts. I hated scenes. This entire evening was steadily descending into my version of a nightmare. Angst and ugliness on public display. All I needed was a fucking microphone now.

Seth remained eerily quiet with his head tilted to the side, searching my face for clues. It was all very clear. I was losing my mind.

“Aren’t you going to say anything? He’s a monster. He’s using us. Your art and the fact we’ve basically all been in the same fucking bed together to—”

“Stop it.”

“I can’t. I can’t unsee that every painting in that gallery is you. You’re mine. Not his. He—”

Seth pushed me against the wall and set his hand over my mouth as he molded his body against me. There was nothing sexual in his stance. But there was something sickeningly satisfactory in knowing I’d finally gotten a response out of him. I wanted him to rage and yell at me. I wanted him to tell me I was crazy or—anything but silence.

I went completely still. So still I wasn’t sure I was breathing. Why wasn’t he saying anything? Was Simon telling the truth?

“Baby, look at me.”

I started at the word “baby.” He’d never used it before. If he meant to get my attention, he certainly had it. He traced my jaw and gazed deeply into my eyes as though he wanted to see what he was up against. I closed my eyes, hoping it would keep me from coming apart here and now. I bit my bottom lip and looked longingly at the valet. I was a mess. I couldn’t trust my mouth and I hated feeling so damn vulnerable.

“You’re afraid, aren’t you?”

I stared blankly at him, willing him to step aside and let me go.

“You want to trust me, but you don’t think you really can.”

I sighed. “I trust you, Seth, but you’re—”

“An artist. An unreliable, unpredictable taker. A bad bet for a guy looking for stability. A bad bet for someone who was burned once and can’t help thinking he’s being set up again. Maybe even with the help of the same guy who fucked you over the first time.”

“He’s using your work, the fact you know me to fuel his art. He wants this. The jealousy, the hurt, the anguish. He’s a bloody puppeteer! He knows you matter to me and he’s using it to his advantage.”

“What advantage? And what do you think he knows about me?” He jabbed my chest angrily and closed the space between us.

“He’s using you—”

“He’ll never use me! He’ll never touch me. I won’t let him,” he roared. He let go of me and ran his fingers through his hair in a rush of frustration.

Someone called his name from the gallery. He acknowledged with a short wave, but he didn’t look away. Heat came off him in waves, securing me to my spot against the wall.

“Jesus, Paul. No one has that kind of power unless you give it to them! Why are you letting him in? I’m here because I was given an opportunity. This isn’t personal. This is professional. Having his art hanging next to mine isn’t what I wanted, but I’m not in control of that part yet. I
am
in control of how I view it, though. It means nothing unless I let it. He and I weren’t special. He was easy to leave. Obviously that wasn’t the same for you, but I thought… I thought you knew me.”

“Seth—”

“No. Listen. I know I’m not easy and I know part of you thinks this is a big fucking mistake, but I’m not with you because of anything you have or because I think you can do something to further my career. It isn’t because I need someone older and supposedly wiser in my life. I don’t need your money or your connections. I can figure my own shit out. I….” He swallowed hard and pursed his lips together as though he wasn’t sure he wanted to continue. “I see who you are. The real you. I see past your slick suits and your fancy car. I see the lonely guy who doesn’t like his food to touch, hates being late, and has this weirdass compulsion to watch from the sidelines. I know sad movies make you cry, Chinese food makes you smile, and jazz makes you horny as fuck.

“I know
you
. I’m your friend. Friends don’t use each other. They support each other. They know how to be there when things go sideways. But most important… they trust each other. I’m not going to defend myself. You believe what you want. I’m not going to try to change your mind. Life’s up to interpretation. It’s up to you to decide what you believe.”

“I can’t do this, Seth. I just… can’t.”

“Can’t do what?” His forehead was creased with confusion.

“This. Us. I’m coming apart at the seams. Again. I almost didn’t survive the first time but this—I know I can’t do it again.”

“Paul, stop it. You’re upset. Go home. We’ll talk in the morning. It’s okay and—”

“No. It’s not. I’m not… okay. This is over.”

I stared at him for a long moment, then shook my head, mortified when my eyes welled. I looked unseeing down the busy street, wishing myself miles away. Why did I do this to myself? Maybe one day I’d catch on that a geographical move would not save me from heartache and unbearable loneliness.

“Paul!”

I could hear him calling me back and someone else calling him to come inside as I moved to the curb in a curious state of detachment. The city moved around me in a flash of neon and noise. Yet everything seemed so still. I reeled in a state of unreality. My past tried to usurp my present, only to be beaten down by a wild-eyed rebel warrior with a wisdom far beyond his years. He was chaos and frenetic energy. And I was… a shell. A hollow shell of a man dressed in a designer suit, waiting for my sleek car to whisk me away to my well-appointed and well-ordered life. I’d never felt so lost or alone in my life. My wish to become a ghost had finally come true. I was dying inside, and every step I took leading me from chaos seemed as final as the lid being closed on a coffin. But I wasn’t dead. This hurt too much to be death. The pain in my chest felt like a thousand knives to the one Simon had slashed across my wrist years ago.

No, the sound of my labored breathing indicated I was alive. Though it was easy to see I certainly was not well.

I
AWOKE
early the next morning, alone in my huge bed with a grating headache and a hollow feeling in my gut. His things were all over my house. His sketchpad was on the nightstand, his toothbrush was next to mine, and his stupid video game system was plugged into the flat screen downstairs. I sipped my coffee and stared into space, wondering if I should call in sick. I wasn’t ready to be in the real world today. I wanted a break. I glanced at my cell when a message lit up the display. It was my office reminding me I had a lunch meeting with Aaron Mendez and was scheduled to be on the nine o’clock train to Baltimore the following morning. I closed my eyes briefly, then turned off my phone. I didn’t want to look at any messages. As much as I hated the idea, if I didn’t want anyone to know I was unraveling, I had to go into the office. I could only hope to somehow make it through the day with my sanity in check.

My office was buzzing with rave reviews for Seth’s exhibit. I’d heard endless praise from my staff and friends regarding his incredible talent. Kerri couldn’t stop gushing about how gorgeous the art, and the artist, was.

“I went with Jenna in accounting and she absolutely agreed. Wow! The best thing is he’s so personable. At least he was at first. He seemed a little worried later. I think he was looking for you. It was hard to find anyone in that crowd. It was crazy!”