By Degrees (20 page)

Tarin sighs and grabs a tube of black paint.
 
His back is to me, but I can see that the palette remains untouched.
 
Seconds later he’s pushing his hand into the canvas, leaving a giant black streak behind.

I shake my head.
 
Finger-painting?
 
We’re doing finger-painting?
 
I can’t help but smile.
 
He can’t see me at this angle, so it’s safe to let my feelings show.
 
He is such a total brat.
 
I should probably be mad about this, but I have to admit, I admire his spirit.
 
Austin would have done the same thing.

Chapter Eighteen

“CAN YOU COME OVER HERE for me?” Tarin asks about ten minutes later.
 
He moves to the side as he turns to look at me, and I can see he’s got the entire canvas covered in blobs and streaks of dark colors in black, blue, and a red so deep it reminds me of blood.

I get off the stool and move forward, not getting close enough to be touched. I don’t trust him not to mess up my clothes out of revenge.
 
When I’m parallel to him, I stop.

“I need you to pose for me,” he explains.

My right eyebrow goes up.
 
“Excuse me?”

“I need a model and you’re the only one around.
 
Just go sit on that table over there, would you?”
 
He motions to a table behind his easel that has paintings stacked on it.

I search his face for guile but see none there, so I walk over and move the paintings to the side so I can sit on the table.
 
I dangle my legs over the edge, my jeans and sneakers in no danger of being ruined. Everything over here is long dry, and the dust doesn’t bother me when I’m dressed this casually.

Tarin puts some paints on the palette finally and picks up a brush, wiping the water off on his rag.

“So, tell me about you,” he says out of the blue as he dips his brush into some yellow paint.

I frown.
 
His face is hidden behind the easel and canvas, so I can’t see his expression.
 
The tone of his voice makes me think he’s not even really paying attention to my answer much. He’s concentrating on what he’s doing with his brush, his arm moving in small circles.
 
I can’t imagine what about me says he should be painting in bright yellow, since my shirt is white and my jeans dark blue, but I withhold my comments.
 
At least he’s doing something other than staring at a blank canvas.

“There’s not much to tell.” I’m looking down at my nails, trying to decide if I should put polish on them later.
 
Going to Jack’s show is occasion enough to put up with the hassle.
 
I love when they’re painted but hate when they chip just hours later, and I never was one for acrylics.

He leans out and looks at me. “Chin up,” he orders, gesturing with his own chin.

I drop my fingers and do what he says.
 
His face disappears back behind the painting but comes out now and again as he pauses in his brush strokes.

“How about a husband?
 
Got one of those?”

“No.”

“Boyfriend?”

I squirm a little, hoping we aren’t going to get any deeper into my life than this.
 
“No.”

He leans out.
 
“In the market for one, or do you play for the other team?”

I can’t help but smile.
 
“Isn’t there a third option?”

He disappears again.
 
“No, not really.
 
Isn’t everyone looking for love?”
 
His arm swoops around.
 
I think he’s picked up blue on his brush now.

“No, not me.
 
I’m straight, unattached, and happy to stay that way.
 
I’m not looking for love.”
 
I already had my chance and blew it.
 
I push aside the pain, knowing this isn’t the place to wallow in it.

“Bullshit.”
 
The frame jiggles with his efforts.
 
I can’t tell if he’s reacting to my answer or using an especially inspired painting technique.

“It’s not bullshit, it’s the truth.
 
Not everyone has to be in a relationship to be happy.”

“You do, though.”

My mood is quickly slipping south.
 
I don’t like his completely assured tone.
 
“You don’t even know me, Tarin.”

“I talked to Stick about you.
 
He knew Austin pretty well.
 
Better than me.”

I don’t like where this conversation is headed.
 
“I don’t like to talk about Austin.”

“Why not?”
 
Tarin picks that moment to stick his head out from behind the canvas, and he catches me scowling.
 
“Miss him too much?”

“Yeah.
 
I miss him too much.
 
Talk about something else.”

His head is hidden again when he says his next words.

“Or maybe you feel guilty about something.
 
Maybe that’s why you don’t like to talk about him.
 
Guilt will do that to a person, you know?
 
Makes them avoid things.
 
Hide from things.”

My throat feels like it’s closing up on me.
 
My face goes red with heat and tears threaten.
 
I jump off the table without thinking and stride to the door.
 
All I can think is that I don’t want him to see me like this.
 
He can’t know that his deliberate jab hit me right where it hurts.

“Where are you going?
 
I wasn’t done.”
 
He sounds a little too happy about my departure and my reaction.
 
Now I know he did this on purpose.
 
This is my punishment for making him paint.
 
Fucking bastard.

“I’ll be right back.”
 
I step outside and close the door behind me, gulping big breaths of air.

Scott sees me through the car window and gets out, jogging the few steps it takes to get to my side.
 
He puts his hand on my shoulder and stares at me.

I can’t meet his gaze.
 
I look away, forcing the tears to re-absorb themselves and not fall.
 
I don’t trust myself to speak right away, so I remain silent.

“What’s wrong?”
 
When I don’t answer, Scott sounds alarmed.
 
“Seriously, Scarlett, what the hell happened?”

I shake my head.
 
“Nothing.
 
Really, it was nothing.
 
He just … said some shit about Austin that got to me.
 
I had to get out of there for little while.”

“What a dick.”
 
Scott lets go of my shoulder and moves towards the door.

I grab him by the arm and yank him back.
 
Scott’s shoes slide in the small rocks sprinkled over the blacktop with the sudden loss of momentum.

“No!” I say too sharply. I calm myself before continuing.
 
“Don’t say a word.
 
He can’t know it affects me like this, all right?
 
He’ll just keep pressing my buttons over and over.
 
I have to show him it doesn’t matter, that it won’t change things.”

Scott pulls his arm out of my grip. “What you
should
be showing him is that real people don’t fucking
do
shit like that.”
 
He kicks a stone.
 
“Spoiled, arrogant, ass fuck, prima donna, butt munch.”

I nod, smiling at his outrage.
 
“I know.
 
You’re right.
 
But let’s give him some more time.
 
I have a feeling part of the reason he’s acting out so much is because he’s got a block on his creativity right now.”

Scott takes a deep breath.
 
I know he remembers when it happened to Austin.
 
It was devastating for everyone at the time, and we’re still living with the fallout.
 
“Tarin trashed his studio,” he finally says.

“Yeah.
 
And the garbage he was playing before he did that was bad.”

“I heard it.
 
What are we going to do?”

“What we always do. Get rid of the noise that’s drowning out the voice of his muse.
 
Get rid of the poison.
 
Get back to basics.”

“What if it doesn’t work this time?”
 
Scott’s brows are drawn together, and I can’t tell whether his concern is for Tarin or me.
 
I step over hug him without thinking about it.

“We don’t fail, remember?” I say over his shoulder, trying not to sound weak.
 
“We don’t fail.”

Ricky’s standing next to us.
 
I didn’t even hear him get out of the car and suddenly he’s just there.

“What are you?” Scott says to Ricky, pulling out of my hug, “a fucking ninja?”

Ricky doesn’t smile.
 
“What’s going on?
 
Do you need me to go in there?”

I shake my head.
 
“No.
 
Just leave him alone for a little while.”

“Guy’s being a dick,” says Scott, not as ready as I am to forgive and forget.

“What’d he do?”
 
Ricky looks angry, but not at us.

“Scott just let it go,” I warn, but there’s no stopping Scott when he’s offended for me.

“He’s fucking with her head.
 
Saying shit about Austin.”

Ricky’s nostrils flare as he presses his lips together.
 
He shakes his head and looks at the ground, saying nothing.

“Let’s just take a breather out here for a little while and then I’ll go back in,” I say, trying to diffuse the anger building up around me.
 
No matter how in control I am, Scott always knows when I’m hurt and jumps to my defense.
 
Apparently Ricky is joining the party.

“You’re not going in there alone again,” insists Scott.
 
“I’ll go with you.
 
He wouldn’t say that shit with someone else there to hear it.”

“It wasn’t that big a deal,” I say.
 
Tarin’s words were so simple and basic.
 
The fact that they caused me so much pain is my fault, not Tarin’s.

“Bullshit.
 
He knew exactly what he was doing … punk.”
 
Scott is furious.
 
The more we talk about it, the angrier he gets.
 
“None of our other clients went there.
 
They knew better than to talk about Austin.”
 
His voice cracks when it gets to his brother’s name. “It’s just … not cool.
 
Not cool at all.”
 
He runs his hand through his hair, making it stand on end.

I grip his shoulder and shake him a little, trying to pull him off this track he’s on. I can’t forget that Austin was his big brother.
 
Scott is hurting for me over Tarin’s careless words, but he’s hurting for himself, too.
 
Being around people like Tarin makes the pain of Austin’s loss especially raw for us, even though he’s been gone for two years now.

“I’m going in there,” says Scott, making a move towards the door.

I grab his shirt and yank him back.
 
“No!
 
I’m serious.
 
Stop, Scott.
 
Don’t undo what we’ve accomplished so far by losing your cool.”

“What have we accomplished?
 
The guy’s a douche!
 
He needs to know.”

“He knows.
 
Trust me, he knows.
 
He’s just acting out against his loss of control.
 
You know this is normal.”

“No it’s not.
 
He’s fighting dirty.”

I shrug.
 
“So we fight dirty too.
 
Come on.
 
We’re in this to win it.”
 
I punch him lightly in the arm.
 
“Don’t make our job harder.”

Scott huffs out a breath.
 
He looks at the sky for a few seconds, collecting himself, before finally capitulating.
 
“Fine.”
 
He checks his watch.
 
“But we’re out of time, so we need to go anyway.”

“I’ll go tell him,” I say, heading to the door.

Scott’s right at my heels and Ricky’s behind him.
 
“I’m coming,” Scott says.
 
“Don’t try to stop me.”

I smile.
 
He can’t see my reaction, but I’m sure he can hear my gratitude in my voice.
 
“I won’t.”

I open the door and step inside, my eyes taking a moment to adjust to the dimmer interior.

“I’m almost done,” says Tarin, all of his concentration on his work.

The three of us stand in the entrance, waiting for him silently.

He looks over a few seconds later and freezes.
 
“What?”

“Time to go,” says Scott.
 
He’s making no effort to disguise the fact that he’s not happy.

“Check out my masterpiece.”
 
Tarin puts down his paintbrush and picks up the painting, carefully turning it around so we can all see it.

I stare at it for a while, trying to figure out what the hell I’m looking at.

“What is that …?
 
Pac-Man?”
 
Scott looks at Tarin and then me.
 
“Is it Pac-Man?”

“Yeah.
 
That’s Pac-Man,” says Ricky.

“No,
it’s not Pac-Man,” responds Tarin, obviously annoyed.