Truth in Watercolors (Truth Series Book 2) (19 page)

“Good. You remember Capri. My friend August’s sister.” Wes motioned toward me in an introduction, but he took a careful step in front of me.

“Can’t say I do. She sure is a pretty thing though, isn’t she?” Wes’ mom smiled at me, but I didn’t say anything, just gave a single nod.

I didn’t have many memories of her growing up. Not much more than the few times she would drop Wes off or pick him up. I did remember, though, that every single time she referred to him as
boy.
Each time I heard it, the word splintered into me and slithered down my spine.

“The prettiest,” Wes said placing his hand on my lower back.

“Don’t be a stranger,” she said and turned away. Wes shook his head and scoffed, guiding me toward the garage from the point where his hand fit perfectly across me. I dug my heels into the pavement and threw my hand up in the air gesturing toward him and his mom.

“What the crap was that?” I squeaked earning myself a small smile from him.

“Not much.” Wes looked over at the trailer and shrugged. “I lived there until I was eighteen. I moved out.”

“But she was so, you two were very, I mean, ugh—” I threw my arms to the side trying to find the right words.

Wes’ hand left my back and grabbed hold of my hand, effectively pulling me along with him. “We’ve never been close, C. I come back only to see Blue,” he whispered into my hair and kissed my temple.

“Well, I’ll be damned. Look at you, boy. Pussy whipped looks good on you.” Blue hacked his way down the steps. “Didn’t wanna ruin that little moment, but I’ve gotta get to the shop. Ya got my shader?”

“Yeah, I got it, Bluebell. Hang on.” Wes jogged back to the car.

“How ya doin’, sweetheart?” Blue tossed his cigarette and scuffed it into the ground.

“Good.” I smiled at him.

“You taking care of Marilyn?” He tossed his chin toward Wes.

“As much as he’ll let me,” I said honestly. I didn’t know if Wes and I were at a point where we could claim one another as someone to take care of, or that we’d ever be there. I did know that I cared for him though, and I always had, and I didn’t doubt that I always would.

“Good.” Blue smiled back at me, and Wes jogged back up.

“Here it is. Thanks for letting me borrow it. I should have a new one by the end of the week.”

“Anytime, Marilyn. You know that. Anytime. In fact, I think I’ve got the one you used to practice on in the garage over there.” He pointed to the carport with a box of cigarettes in his hand. “You find it, you can have it.”

“Really?” Wes asked rubbing his chin in his fingers. I was sure he was thinking what I was thinking. I mean, there was a lot of crap.

“‘Course,” Blue mumbled around a fresh cigarette. “I gotta roll, though.”

“Thanks, Bluebell.” Wes reached out to Blue for what I thought was going to be a pat on the shoulder. Instead, he wrapped tiny Blue up in his arms in a quick hug complete with back pats.

When they pulled away, Blue tossed his hand at me. “Whatcha smiling at, sweetheart? You never seen two grown men hug it out?” he asked with a twinkle in his glazed eyes.

“Certainly not such manly men,” I quipped earning myself a set of chuckles.

“I like her. Don’t fuck it up,” Blue said patting Wes on the shoulder and making his way to his Harley.

“To make sure, C,” Wes bit his lip and motioned his hand between us, “there is something for me to fuck up here, right?”

I scrunched my nose up in a smile. “I think so. So don’t fuck it up.”

“Okay, but there will be fucking, right?” Wes' eyes rounded with his eager nod.

“Wes.” I laughed and shoved his shoulder before heading to the carport.

“Really, though? Yeah? No?” Wes’ voice trailed behind me.

“I sure hope so. I’ve been dying to get my hands on that manaconda,” I shouted behind me and giggled when I heard his gasp for air.

“You coming?” I looked over my shoulder and waggled my eyebrows laughing even harder when I saw Wes bent over with his hands on his knees. He held his finger in the air to indicate that he was catching his breath. Sometimes it was so easy.

“I don’t know how we are going to find this shader thing in here,” I said spinning around and taking in the enormity of the clutter.

“Blue has a lot of junk.” Wes strolled by me with his swagger intact.

I picked up an old snow globe from its wobbly perch on a dusty box. Giving it a shake, I watched the white flakes fall onto the poised ballerina, littering her perfect form. I gave the globe another stiff shake until the flakes detached themselves from her and settled onto the floor of the globe. “I don’t think it’s all junk. I think these are his memories.” I set the globe delicately back into its place.

The prickling sensation across my skin told me that Wes was watching me, but I didn’t look up. I was caught up in the abundance of cardboard memories Blue was holding on so tightly to. Each one packed up and put away as if he hoped he’d forget them but never really could. A lot like a black portfolio hiding deep within my closet.

“I spent a lot of time in here, and with Blue. Worked on my car right there.” He nodded at the rusted truck behind me. “It looked a lot like that truck, too. Blue told me if I helped him fix her up, she was mine. So I fixed her.”

Nodding, not at all shocked by Blue’s generosity or by Wes’ devotion to restoring his car, I took careful steps to Wes. Not careful enough, though, because just before I reached him, I stumbled.

Wes reacted quickly, catching my elbow in one hand and my waist in the other. “You okay?” he asked helping me to get steady on my feet.

“Yeah, I tripped over something I think.” I scanned the floor behind me, and then I saw it. “A guitar?” I bent down and pulled it from the ground, holding it in the air. “It looks like it’s in really good shape still.”

My eyes went to Wes and narrowed at the look across his face. His smile was soft, wistful even, brushing up slightly on just one side of his mouth. His eyes though, they seemed to crouch behind the veil of his lashes.

“A memory?” I spoke softly.

“Yeah.” He reached out and removed the guitar from my grasp. His eyes darted from top to bottom, and his hand brushed along the grain, fingers plucking at the strings. I’d lost him to his memory.

He searched around him and dusted off a nearby crate to take a seat. I didn’t dare ask him what he was doing or why. He was so deep in his thoughts, in the past, and something told me to let him rest there for a little while before I pulled him back.

Propping the guitar on one knee, he tuned the chords with shaky hands and rapid breath. Then he began to play. At first, it was a soft and stumbled sound, but when his eyes fell shut, he allowed himself to immerse. The song became strong and steady.

I stood silent, completely captivated by this gorgeous man. A man who could bring life to an empty room with a laugh. A man who was always the center of attention, be it with jokes or pure sex appeal. A man who, right now, had vanished into his past. This introspection, this vulnerability that I was witnessing in Wes was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen from him.

“I used to play out on Mission Bay Drive.” His ragged words startled me from what I’d recognized as an Incubus song.
Drive
, I thought.

“You peddled?” I asked holding my hands to my cheeks imagining the Wes I knew playing music for a little money. It hurt.

He stopped abruptly. “I don’t beg. I never begged.”

“Of course not. I’m sorry.” He nodded and went back to playing.

“For the longest time, I took the money people gave me and dropped it into an old milk jug of the guy who played the keyboard a few blocks down from me. Blue is the one who convinced me to start saving the money for myself and for my future. It took a while for me to change my way of thinking, but I eventually was able to see the bills in my guitar case as a thank-you and not a hand out.”

“You’re really good,” I said honestly. He played effortlessly, and even though I reminded myself that this was a serious moment, I couldn’t stop myself from openly checking him out as he played. His fingertips plucked and pulled at the strings rippling the muscles in his forearms to the beat. It was lovely. Lovely in a
you can play me like that any time you want
sort of way. “Where’d you learn to play,” I asked mesmerized by his movements.

“When I was a teenager, Blue taught me how to play this guitar, and as soon as I could carry a tune on it, I hit the streets.” I pressed my thumbs into my jaw.
“I didn’t have a lot growing up, almost nothing of my own.”

“My parents would have helped you out, Wes. We would have helped you,” I said lowering my hands from my face, and Wes abruptly stopped playing.

“That’s not what it was about,” he said sternly but didn’t meet my eyes. He sighed out a deep breath and set the guitar aside, then flashed his eyes to me. Then it was my turn to sigh.

His eyes were haunted. Dark. Shaken. Desperate. “I needed to make the money on my own and prove that I could take care of myself.”

“Did you?” I asked sitting on a dusty box across from Wes.

“I’m still working on it.” He leaned forward placing his elbows on his knees and took my hands in his. “The thing is C, how can I ever take care of someone else if I can’t even take care of myself?”

I winced at the physical tear of my heart, understanding what he was saying. How could he ever have a serious relationship? How could he ever be with me if he couldn’t take care of himself?

“Wes.” I whispered his name and squeezed his hands in mine. “You already take care of the people you care about. You were there for August better than any of us when Ella died. You’ve taken care of me these last few weeks in a way no one ever has because I’ve trusted you too like no one before.”

Wes pulled his hands from mine placed them on my face. His fingers brushed my jawline briskly and almost frantically. “We don’t need money, Wes. I don’t need money or things. Just you.”

His fingers stopped. Then he pulled my face to his and softly kissed my lips. That was it. Lips to lips, nose to nose, breath to breath. I couldn’t help but feel he’d just given me what I asked for. Him.

“S
ome people have to work, you know!” I shouted down from my balcony to the group of college kids making a ruckus in my complex courtyard. Moving into my Pacific Beach pad a few years ago was the perfect idea. I was young, just rented my first place, and looking to party.

Things were different for me now. I still liked to have a good time, but I had responsibilities. Maybe it was time I moved. I drummed my fingers on the banister. My business was good, great even, so I could afford something a little bigger in quieter neighborhood with better airflow.
Fuck, this courtyard gets no air.

I pinched my shirt between my fingers and fanned my chest with it. I didn’t have much, so it wouldn’t take me long to pack up. Maybe just a load or two with August’s truck would do it.
Whew, it’s hot.
“Turn the grill down, too!” I shouted. “I can feel its heat rays all the way up here for crying out loud.”

“Dude, there’s never anywhere to park here.” August’s bitching announced his arrival.

“I know. I think I need to move,” I said reaching for the handle to slide the door shut, but my hand slipped on the metal. Instead, I stuck my foot to the glass and kicked it closed.

“You think?” August busied himself putting a twelve pack into my fridge.

“Make sure you put those in a row.” I peeked over his shoulder and swiped one from his hand. He glared over his shoulder at me.

“God, you’re weird sometimes.”

I shrugged my shoulder and twisted off the cap. I liked my stuff neat and tidy. There was nothing wrong with that.

We each sat back into my sofa, but a little too close. “Dude, scoot down. I know you’re my brouse, but I don’t wanna feel your leg hairs tango with mine.”

August huffed and shifted down toward the far end. “What on Earth is a brouse?”

“Bro spouse. Homie.” I grinned and held my beer up to him. He laughed and cheered back.

“So, you moving?” he asked after a sip.

“Nope,” I said before taking a sip. “Girls at your place?” I asked knowing exactly where Capri was. She’d reduced me to a stalker. If she wasn’t with me, I wanted to know where she was or what she was doing. I liked hearing about her day.