Hell. I closed the distance, cupping her face in my hands. “That’s not how I meant it. I’m happy to hold you. But I feel you pulling away every time we get a little closer. Maybe it’s instinct. You’ve been pushing people away for a long time. But I don’t want you to push me away.”
Her eyes shone in the afternoon light. “I don’t want to, but I can’t help it. Every person I’ve ever gotten close to, Michael found a way to hurt.”
I wrapped my arms around Shay, pulling her tight against me. The scars that littered her body weren’t the only wounds she still carried. And the ones in her mind would be much harder to recover from. “Nothing’s going to happen to me. I promise.”
She burrowed into the crook of my neck. “I’m not going to lie. Caring about someone scares the hell out of me. Every time I let you in a little more, my brain screams danger. I don’t know how to turn it off.”
“You don’t have to. You just have to keep stepping forward. Into that unknown. Even when it’s terrifying. That’s relationships. Hell, it’s life. Anything precious requires risk, carries the potential for hurt.”
Shay straightened, her mouth curving. “Are you going to lead by example?”
I fought the curse that wanted to surface. I was a fool of a hypocrite. “I need to paint.”
“Yes, you do. We’ve both let these ghosts haunt us for way too long. We can’t give the monsters space in our brains.”
“How about a trade?”
Shay’s brows rose. “I don’t trade for sexual favors.”
I let out a bark of laughter. “Good to know. I was thinking more along the lines that I’d complete a painting if you played your violin for more than just me.”
She was quiet for a moment before answering. “Deal.”
“And you have to sit for me again.”
She rolled her eyes. “Now, he’s just getting greedy.”
I gave her hand a tug, pulling her towards the sunporch. “No time like the present.” I arranged her in a standing position. The same way I had envisioned the woman on Harbor’s point. “Raise your chin.” I guided it up with a finger. “There. Just like that.” I let my hand slide down the curve of her neck, the feel of her smooth skin such a contrast to the rough pads of my fingers.
Shay shivered. “I thought you were painting.”
My hand kept trailing down, tugging at the material of her shirt so her shoulder was bare. I bent, trailing kisses along each visible scar. I wanted to touch every single one. To heal them. I wished I could make them disappear, but that would somehow take something away from Shay. Because these marks on her flesh were outward signs of how strong she was. Of everything she’d overcome. With one last brush of my lips, I straightened.
No words were needed. And Shay gave me everything in response when she didn’t pull the fabric back into place. When she didn’t hide from me but instead let me in a little more.
I rounded my easel and took in the blank canvas in front of me. The same white space that had been there for the past six days. I’d wandered into the room more than once. But every time, the empty space taunted me.
I flipped open my sketchpad to the drawing I’d been filling in as I waited for Shay to return from Anchor. The day my illusion of sanctuary had been shattered. There was only one way to fix it. And that was to rebuild. One stroke of paint against canvas at a time.
I looked from the rough sketch to Shay. She was so damn strong. She wasn’t fearless. She was something more. Someone who had been terrified but fought to survive. Who’d experienced the greatest depths of that fear and kept on going. That was what I wanted to capture with this piece.
A woman looking out at the storm to come and not turning away. Facing it head-on. And I just had to harness a tiny fraction of that strength to put my first mark on the page.
25
Shay
I looked up from the grocery list I was compiling when Brody set my violin case down with a thud. I glared in his direction. “Watch it. That piece of wood in there is like my child.”
His lips twitched. “Well, what do you say you take your precious baby for a spin tonight?”
I froze, my grip on the pencil tightening as if it were my last lifeline. “Play for you?”
“Hunter and I were talking, and it turns out the band playing at The Catch tonight is bluegrass. They’d love to have a violinist with them for a few songs.”
The casual way Brody shared this news had me fighting the urge to throttle him. “You don’t have to look so pleased with yourself.”
His grin widened. “You want to kill me a little bit right now, don’t you?”
“The plants in the greenhouse do need a little fertilizer.”
“I’ll make sure to watch my back for the foreseeable future. But in the meantime, you should get ready. We’re leaving in twenty minutes.”
“Are you insane?” I barked. I was showered, but that was it. No makeup. Hair not done. And I was currently wearing a pair of sweats and one of Brody’s hoodies.
His brows pulled together. “What?”
“Men,” I grumbled as I stood. “No consideration for what women have to go through.”
“What did I do?”
I ignored Brody’s question as I headed for the stairs, cursing him the entire way. I did a bare-bones makeup job. Some concealer, blush, and mascara. A little flick of eyeliner to make the green in my eyes pop. I didn’t have time to curl or straighten my hair. Hell, I probably didn’t even remember how to style it, it had been so long. But I took some strands in the front and wove a slender braid across my crown, forming its own headband.
I took in my face in the mirror. It had been such a long time since I’d done anything other than sunscreen and lip balm. I had to admit, it felt nice. And focusing on my appearance meant I could ignore that I would be playing in front of more than one person for the first time in over a decade.
I tried not to let the ugly voices take root in my brain. The ones that said this was an unnecessary risk. The selfish ones. Taking a slow breath, I reminded myself how small the island was. That it was winter and mostly tourist-free. The chances of running into someone who would recognize me were slim.
I headed for the guest room’s closet to inventory what my options were. A few days ago, Brody had insisted that I just go ahead and bring all of my clothes up to the main house. I’d drawn the line at placing them in the master closet. While I spent every night in that bed, sharing a closet and dresser felt too much like moving in.
I nibbled at the corner of my lip as I surveyed the things in front of me. I didn’t exactly have a lot to consider. My fingers traced over sweaters and outdoor gear, things that were made for the labor I spent most of my days doing.
I came to a stop at the end of the row. The one nice dress my aunt Georgie had insisted on buying me. It was timeless, she’d said. Black with a fitted bodice that hugged my limited curves, making them look a bit more voluptuous than they actually were. It had long, gauzy bell-sleeves that fluttered when I moved. I could only imagine what they’d look like as I played. The skirt had two layers: a shorter, form-fitting slip, and that same chiffon overlay that allowed you to see the limbs beneath it.