Page 28 of Go Away, Darling

Summer busied herself in the kitchen, pulling out bread, fruits, and sandwich fixings. “He was safe. You were with him because he made you feel safe.”

That hit me like a ton of bricks because those were the exact thoughts I had about Berlin and Ryker. Was Beausafe?

Yes, actually.

He protected me from the pain I felt towards my parents because he had the same pain. Highly successful parents who expected nothing less from their children. We both had strict, stressful childhoods. We bonded over our shared problems and I always had him as a confidante. Marrying so young was an escape for both of us. A team we built together to face the pressures we didn’t want but couldn’t avoid.

“Fuck.”

Summer giggled.

“What?”

She shrugged, knife in hand as she slathered mustard over bread. “You never swear anymore. I miss it.”

“You miss my foul language?”

“Yeah. You know what I love about swearing? It comes out of emotion. Emotion is passion and creativity. So hearing you swear gives me hope your creativity will return too.”

She might as well have slapped me. My entire business was built on creativity. “Excuse me?” My creativity was notgone.In fact I was excited about working on London’s new book! I loved a new puzzle to figure out and every project was precisely that.

Summer set the knife down and placed her palms flat on the counter, taking a deep breath before looking me in the eye with an intensity that knocked the air from my lungs. “From one artist to another, you’re not creating anymore. You’reproducing.And I get it. Those celebrity portraits pay the bills. And by all means, pay those bills, girl. But you have to have creativity too, or else your art dies. Doing London’s books isn’tyourart. It’s hers. You supply the visual vessel through which her narrative is told. And it pays the bills. The bills are paid, Liv. You are an independent single mother who is taking banging care of her kid. Where’syourcreativity? Where’syourart?”

I was winded by my sister’s attack. Or intervention. Yeah, that’s what this was. A creative artist intervention. Truth being rained down on me whether I wanted to hear it or not. I married for safety. Put myself on a shelf. And lost my art along the way.

Who the fuck was I? I didn’t even know myself.

Suddenly Summer was beside me taking my hands, her voice low and soothing. “I love you. Please don’t hate me.”

“I don’t hate you.”

She searched my eyes, checking for the truth. “Our parents are cold, driven, selfish people. Their art is...crap?” She laughed and it brought a smile to my lips to hear the truth of that as well. “It’s pretentious bullshit. It’s designed to get praise from critics and sell to wealthy people who will never look at it again. That’s not real art and it’s not what you or I want to put out into the world. Remember?”

Oh, I definitely remembered our whispered promises under the covers of my bed while our parents screamed and fought. “Your music is beautiful.”

She squeezed my hands. “And your photography is breathtaking. The world needs to see your vision through your lens again. When was the last time you put out a project foryou?”

The fact that I had to think about this spoke volumes. “Linc was three.”

“The Everglades wildlife project.”

I nodded. It won awards, appeared in magazines, and earned money to safely remove pythons from the Everglades. I was so proud of that project. And then I buried myself in motherhood and paying the bills.

Summer was also right about the bills. They were paid. I had my own money in savings, not just Beau’s. I was safe and I needed to stop living like I wasn’t.

I tuckedLinc into bed and waited for his breathing to grow heavy, then like a teenager, I snuck out of my own damn house. Because I wanted to.

“Chris?” I hissed at the edge of his property.

He appeared out of the shadows, taking my breath away. His post game shower made his hair lighter and his smile waswhoa.

“Get over here,” he urged, reaching for me at the same time he moved toward me.

And then I was in his arms and his lips were on mine. And holy hell what a kiss. I sizzled. My fingers were hungry, needing and wanting to touch him, to massage his neck and thread into his hair. And his seemed to be just as hungry, skating along my back and pressing me to him.

He ended the kiss by pressing his forehead to mine. It was so sweet. “I wish we could do this all night but I’m smashed, Liv. I can barely stay upright.”

He’d pitched the early afternoon game in New York, then the team hopped a plane home. He just got in. “How’s your arm?”

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