Clicking on the last video I’d uploaded of me painting Olin in her flat that night, I tortured myself with our kiss.
I relived the connection we’d shared.
The goodbye I’d done my best to honour.
My finger hovered over the mouse.
I wanted to delete the video. To put aside those heart pangs for a girl who might be in love with my best friend by now.
But I left it.
I left it as yet another reminder not to ruin her happiness, and used the many videos and photos saved in my cloud to add new content. Previous commissions. Accolades from advertisement companies. Images of magazines and billboards and the many places where my creations had ended up.
I even uploaded a picture of Olive painting a kid from her school while dressed in her hockey uniform. The poor kid had ended up looking like some squashed marshmallow but both she and Olive had had a great time.
It showed in their smiles and splashed paint.
An image of powerful joy.
Once I’d scheduled and arranged a few posts that hopefully would get exposure, I updated my business description.
Experienced Body Painter willing to work for free.
Ex-convict, single-father, determined.
You supply the paint, canvas, and location.
I’ll do the rest.
I was willing to start from the ground up again.
I’d brush the cobwebs off my fingers, raise my business from the ashes, and be worthy of all the wonderful people in my life.
And this time, there would be no one to blackmail or bleed me dry.
No uncle to steal my daughter.
No teacher to send me to jail for rape.
No secrets to make me lose my soul-mate.
People knew the truth.
It was time I accepted that I no longer had to look over my shoulder.
It was time to live.
* * * * *
That’d been four weeks ago.
I’d called Olive once a week—like I used to from jail—assuring her I was fine and not to come and see me. That I couldn’t quite shake the flu and didn’t want her to catch it. A few fake coughs and sneezes, and she agreed to be patient.
I hated lying.
I worried about keeping silent.
I was desperate to see her.
I barely slept with the need to ensure she was safe—to assure myself she was free and no longer prisoner like I had been.
But unlike the panic that’d filled me when searching for her, I could temper my desperation with the knowledge she was happy with Justin and O. She had everything she could ever want. She was loved and protected.
And if I stood any chance of providing for her half as well as Justin and O did...then I needed time to make myself a better man.
To ensure I could be the father she deserved.
And besides...I had a plan.
Four weeks had already given me enough time to paint and get the word out that I was back.
Thanks to the prison selling some of my work, my reputation had been patched up with the underdog tale of a guy incarcerated for putting a psychopath down.
People no longer hated me, and it wasn’t the battle I’d feared to get noticed.
I did three free commissions.
One for a woman on her thirtieth birthday who wanted to wear her ‘birthday suit’ with paint embellishments.
Two for a small pet shop who helped rehome shelter animals and wanted two women painted as one stray looking for a home.
And three for an up-and-coming band with no cash who wanted their drummer to be covered in their logo for their banner and next week’s show.
For each one, I uploaded the time-lapse video of creation, and each one got more and more traction online.
By the fourth one—a law firm who wanted a woman painted as a judge—I deleted the promise of free work and accepted my first paid gig in almost two years.
I slashed my usual rate for the right to share.
The second gig, I increased it.
And by the fifth, I was confident in my skills again.
Confident enough to charge higher prices, invest my new funds into fresh brushes, bottles, and sponges, and dared hope that I could step back into my role as Master of Trickery.
There’d been no hate directly into my inbox.
No beatings or awkward moments when I went to paint.
It was as if everyone had moved on. As if they no longer cared about something that happened so long ago, even if it was scandal and murder.
I didn’t question the luck I had.
I scooped it up as fast as I could, focusing on my goal of a home for Olive and money to pay Justin for caring for my daughter.
I worked every hour I could.
Day and night.
I didn’t rest, even when I had enough for a down payment on a rental only a block away from Justin’s place. My parole officer helped vouch for me and acted as referee on my rental request. Luckily, the landlord took a chance and I signed the lease with a chest-full of relief.
The place came fully furnished, and the first night I slept there and not the halfway house provided for ex-prisoners, I knew I could do this.
I was done taking the scraps life threw at me.
I would make a success of myself and not feel guilty or undeserving.
There was also another reason for staying busy.
Each time my thoughts strayed to O, my heart would buck and writhe. I’d lost her. I’d let her go. And that was the biggest punishment of all.
Not jail time.
Not fighting from the ground up.
Just the knowledge that I’d grown the fuck up finally, I’d let down my guards, and it didn’t matter.
Because the chance of a happily ever after was too late.
Chapter Thirty-Six
______________________________
Gil
SCHOOL LET OUT in a gush of same-dressed students.
Nerves raced down my spine. Sweat broke out on my palms.
I waited until Olive spilled out with her satchel bashing against her side and her smile wide and confident.
She’d grown a lot in the past year.
She was no longer the tiny girl with hurricane love but a timid heart. She was closing in on ten years old and resembled the young woman she’d become.
Wiping sweaty palms on my jeans, I checked that my grey t-shirt was presentable and my new boots—that already held specks of paint—were tied, then crossed the road to surprise my daughter.
“Olive Oyl.”
She slammed to a stop. Her bag swinging and mouth falling open. “Dad...dad?” Then she was running, bolting into my arms and leaping into me.
I swept her from the pavement and hugged her close. Her hair still smelled of strawberries. Her body still felt like her. She’d changed but was also so familiar.
“How? How are you here?” She squirmed in my embrace. “I thought you were sick! And...in jail.”
I put her down, unable to stop grinning. “I wanted to surprise you.”
“Did you break out?” Her voice lowered to a harsh whisper. “Are they gonna come arrest you for escaping?”
I laughed hard. “No. I didn’t break out. I was released.”
Her forehead furrowed. “But...it’s not time yet. O and I have a calendar at home that shows when you’ll be free, and it’s not for ages.”
I fought the urge to touch her ponytail. To cup her cheek. “I got lucky.”
“So...you mean, you’re out for real? Like forever?” Hope exploded in her pretty grey gaze.