Covered In Paint: Book Five of the Art Of Love Series (18 page)

Brooke shook her head, swallowed, and rubbed her own chest. The words were hard, but once the speech was started—it had to be finished.

“I don’t think we should see each other anymore…as lovers that is. I like you and consider us friends. That’s why I made you promise me all those things last night. One day you’ll be glad we never got any more serious than we did. Mom or Carrie can keep you informed if you want to know how it all turns out for me.”

Brooke rose, turned away from him, and headed to his office door. She caught herself moving slowly. Was she waiting for him to stop her…to argue…to protest her departure in some way?

When she swung the door open to leave, she paused once more, but there wasn’t any movement behind her.

Not looking back to see how Drake had taken their breakup, Brooke shook her head and walked away as fast as she could.

Chapter 14

She had replayed Drake’s stoicism about a zillion times and the devastated look on his face when he’d turned from the window to face her. She knew the two things didn’t match up, but it was a puzzle she had no business trying to solve now.

However, the torture of breaking up with Drake was nothing compared to being descended upon by the Larson men with her mother in tow. It was early evening after the eventful day. Apparently the gossip mill had churned at light speed to get the word out that she’d broken things off with Drake. Now the five of them all sat in her tiny, more-claustrophic-than-ever living room on what had to be the most uncomfortable furniture on the planet.

Except for Will—he had nabbed her desk chair when he realized pacing wasn’t an option in the space.

“Shane, are you emotionally attached to this furniture? It’s terrible. I’d really like to replace it.”

“No—do what you want with the furniture. I am emotionally attached to you though. Talk to us, Brooke. We’re your family,” Shane said.

Brooke snorted. “Barely family…and that label seems to only count when you all think I’ve done something wrong…which I would like to point out is just your
opinion
of the matter. If you want to be concerned about someone, why don’t you ask me how I’m coping?”

She winced when Michael reached out and pinched her arm. “Ouch. Damn it. That hurt.” She landed a hard punch on Michael’s arm in return, but it only bounced off muscles honed from pounding metal. Now her hand stung too. She was getting more and more pissed at her frowning, meddling stepbrothers.

“When you get your shit straight, you’re going to regret what you did today,” Michael declared. “I got damn lucky with Carrie. I’m not going to watch you screw up your life and not say anything. I don’t do that anymore.”

“Who says I’m screwing up my life?” Brooke demanded.

“Shut up, Michael. No one is saying that, Brooke,” Shane said, trying to keep his voice soft. “We’re suggesting you might not be thinking clearly under the circumstances. Your thinking might not be completely rational right now.”

“What the hell is wrong with you two? I’m not dead…or dying yet. I found a lump. I’ve found them before. No one came to my house the other times and jumped my ass. Why is everyone determined to consign me to a fate that has not been decided?”

Jessica sighed. “No one is doing that, Brooke. We’re just concerned that you broke it off with Drake prematurely. And we’re worried about him as much as we are about you. Brandon called Chelsea so she could tell Shane how bad it was. It was obvious the boy was hoping we would talk to you about it…” She paused to sigh again. “Brooke, Brandon said Drake’s not handling this well.”

Brooke shook her head. “Drake is going to be fine. I admit it was bad timing on my part to tell him about the lump
and
break up with him during the same conversation. But frankly, I’ve got enough to worry about without worrying about Drake. I’m not the man’s problem. Ergo, the man is not mine. Pure easy-to-grasp logic that even hard-headed Larsons should be able to grasp.”

“Pure bullshit you mean,” Michael declared, crossing his arms to glare. “Do you not have any sympathy at all for him?”

“Of course I have sympathy for him. Why the hell do you think I—?” Brooke stopped, rose, and paced. She was shocked by what she’d almost admitted. “If this lump is cancer, I’m going to need to worry about myself…not about how Drake Barrymore is handling it. I know he’s probably a little hurt right now, but he’ll get over me. I should never have told him I was falling for him. I knew from the beginning it was a bad idea to get involved with the man. We just…we don’t fit well. It was never going to work out.”

“That’s not what the rest of us have been seeing between you. It’s not what Brandon or Chelsea have observed either. What wasn’t working between you? Was your age difference an issue?”

Brooke gave Shane her best go-to-hell look. “I can’t believe you’d have the nerve to ask that question after marrying someone so much older than you.”

“I have all kinds of nerve, but this isn’t about me. I’m not the one who broke up with the love of my life just before having some scary-ass surgery.”

“I hope like hell you never hang out a shingle…”

“Brooke Renee Daniels…stop throwing insults. It is not helping.”

Brooke gave her mother the same look she gave Shane. “Did I ask you all to come here and harass me? No—I did not. Well, let me tell you something…you four carried your guilt trips all the way over here for nothing. I have no regrets about breaking up with Drake. It felt right at the time, and I would do it again.”

“No one is suggesting you get back together with him.”

Will’s quiet statement had Brooke rubbing her nose. “Really? What are you expecting from me then?”

Will sighed. “Talk to Drake. Talking seems like the least you can do for someone you cared enough to have slept with all these weeks. Anyone with eyes could see you two really liked each other. Maybe you weren’t serious about what was happening between you, but apparently Drake was. Talking to him wouldn’t kill you, but your guilt might.”

Brooke raked her fingers through her hair, yanking out tangles as she went. “Getting involved again will only make things worse.”

Will rose and walked to the woman who didn’t realize she was as bad off as the man who loved her was.

“Maybe it will or maybe it won’t. At least you have all of us to lean on if it doesn’t help. We’ll be there when you go into surgery, when you come out, and when you get the news—no matter what the news brings. All Drake has is a teenage boy to lean on, who’s already had to be far more mature than someone his age should ever have to be.”

Brooke groaned and leaned her forehead on her kind, responsible stepfather’s broad chest. “Oh God…a Brandon guilt trip too? Now you all want me to worry about Drake
and
his son?”

Will rubbed her back and smiled. “You’re already worried about them, honey. We just want you to do something about those feelings. We’ve come to help you be brave.”

“
Brave?
” Brooke pushed away and glared at everyone staring at her. Then she turned to her mother. “You chose
now
to give me a meddling family?”

“Yes, but it could have been worse. At least I waited past your teenage years.”

At her mother’s soft smile and shrug, Brooke rolled her eyes.

Turning away from their hopeful gazes on her, she rubbed her eyes and moaned.

“Okay. I’ll go talk to Drake…and I’ll check on Brandon. Tell Chelsea to stop worrying.”

***

Brandon’s relieved smile and hug when he opened the door and saw her did more to make Brooke feel bad than anything her mother or any Larson male had said to her. She barely stifled her surprise when the boy took her by the hand and starting leading her to his father’s studio.

Brooke sighed and tugged him into stopping. He dropped her hand and stood still.

“Brandon…wait…before we go in there, you might want to find something to do outside the house for an hour or two. I can’t promise you things won’t get ugly between me and your father. He might be upset at me for…”

“Dad’s not in there. He’s passed out in his room. The cognac bottle is by the bed and nearly empty. Based on his usual lack of tolerance, he’s not going to be waking up until tomorrow sometime. I’m taking you to Dad’s studio because I want to show you something.”

Brooke hung her head and studied the floor before finally raising her gaze. “Okay. I’m sorry, Brandon. I never meant any of this to happen to you or Drake. I thought your father would get angry with how I had treated him, and then he’d get over me. Every other time I’ve broken up with a guy that’s exactly what has happened.”

“My Dad is not like other guys. Do you really have a lump in your breast?”

Brooke nodded. “Yes…I do. But that’s all I have. I’m having it removed next week to see what’s going on. I just…can you see I was trying not to put him through hell again?”

“Yes,” Brandon said firmly, picking up her hand. “Dad knows that too. He’s just working through his reaction.”

“Will was so right about you,” Brooke declared, squeezing his fingers.

“Mr. Larson? He was my principal. What did he say about me?”

“That you were more mature than you should be. Next time you go to a drunken frat party, I hope it’s just to hang out. You deserve a chance to be a kid.”

Brandon shrugged and snorted at her concern. “Oh, I get to be a kid plenty. And I’m not really worried about Dad pulling it together. I know he will. It’s you I’m worried about.”

“Me?”

“Yes. Because I don’t think you understand my Dad, and I think it’s important you do.”

Brooke sighed as Brandon dropped her hand and walked to an enormous stack of wrapped paintings. They looked ready to be shipped off somewhere. He looked over the stack next to it and then shifted a few around. He pulled a couple out and motioned her over.

On the first portrait, an emaciated woman hugged her knees. Her hair was sparse and scalp showed through the remaining strands. Wrinkles and lines adorned her neck. Her cheeks were sunken.

Brooke’s lips firmed and thinned. She blinked the hotness from her eyes.

“Dad painted over sixty of these. They show every step of Mom’s disintegration. Some are not quite this horrible. Some are worse. After she died, I used to come in here when I got home from school and go through them. They reminded me she was better off dead than living this way and being in constant pain. It helped me not to miss her so much.”

Brooke’s bottom lip quivered. “I…don’t know what to say.”

Brandon shrugged. “There’s nothing to say. I just wanted you to see…and to maybe understand. Dad felt ravaged by every moment of Mom’s illness as much as she did. That’s why she allowed him to paint her at every horrible stage. I’ve come to see the paintings were Dad’s way of sharing Mom’s suffering. He’s never sold these. He’s only ever sold the beautiful ones of her. I think that’s his way of honoring her memory best.”

Hot tears leaked down her face. Brooke used both hands to dash them away. “This is worse than I ever imagined.”

Brandon shook his head. “No. Actually, it’s better than I can explain. Maybe better than Dad can.” His hand swept to the paintings. “This was my mother’s reality. Her fate was not to beat the thing that took her from the world.”

She watched Brandon sift through the paintings until he pulled out another. He put it in front of the emaciated painting. The woman was beautiful. She reclined on a red couch, her smile brilliant as she glanced over her shoulder at the artist.

Brooke tore her eyes from the woman to look at the woman’s son.

“This is my mother too. This is how beautiful she was…how full of life. This is the gift Dad gave me…gave the world. Whoever buys these paintings keeps my mother alive for the world to know she once lived and was full of this kind of love.”

“Brandon…” Brooke raised a hand to her mouth, to stifle her sobs. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry now for all the narrow-minded thoughts I had about your father’s art. Thank you for sharing this with me.”

“I’m not done…there’s one more you really need to see.”

Brooke watched him walk to an easel. She started forward when he motioned to her.

“It’s still a work in progress. Dad’s just started covering the drawing in paint. Come look.”

Feeling numb, Brooke rubbed at her eyes again, sniffling back tears as she shuffled her feet. Finally, she stood by his side. Her gasp was audible in the room.

“It’s me.”

Brandon nodded. “Yes. And it’s beautiful. He has your hair perfect, even the way it catches the light. When he hit the cognac bottle this time, he’d just finished your hair. Instead of crying like he did with Mom, Dad started drinking. Then I heard him wrapping up more of the cancer portraits. I think he’s giving them away. I don’t know what’s on his mind. He’s drawing inside him again.”

Brooke let the tears fall, blinking away what she could. “This…do you think this is how he sees me?”

Brandon nodded again. “Yes. Dad has only ever painted two women. I knew he loved you when you were only graphite lines on his canvas. For a week, I couldn’t tell who the woman was—just knew it wasn’t Mom. You need to understand that Dad will feel for you whether you let him share what happens or not. And you will live on now, no matter what happens, because Dad will make sure you do. This is more than Dad’s art. It’s how he shares his life with the world. Your decision about whether or not to be involved with him won’t really change what he goes through. Or at least…that’s my guess.”

It was her turn to nod. She lifted her arms and the boy came into them. “Thank you for helping me understand,” she whispered.

The tight hug she received back was more than forgiveness…it was absolution. And it was a bit like being reborn.

***

Drake rolled to the floor and stumbled to his bathroom to relieve himself. Leaving the door open, he switched on a nightlight to avoid the blinding overhead lamp.

After taking care of necessary business, he took stock of how bad off he was. His head was thumping something fierce—probably from dehydration. He had only himself to blame. He needed to get some water in his system to counteract the drying effects of the alcohol.