Page 4 of How You See Me
Jordan agreed not to drive to appease my worry—a promise he could easily keep while in the military—but the day he became a civilian and bought his dream car, he was T-boned by a drunk driver on the way to his celebration. He spent three weeks in the hospital after that, his heart stopping several times as his body fought multiple devastating injuries.
So yeah. Relaxing on trains with my sketch pad or walking are my preferred modes of transportation. No exceptions granted.
It was easier in Manhattan. Everything I needed could be reached within a short walk or train ride. Unfortunately, that isn’t feasible here and certainly not when I need to get somewhere nearly across the country on a deadline.
“Have any ideas?”
“Hire a big, sturdy bodyguard to drive and protect me?”
He rolls his pretty sapphire eyes, looking like the boy I remember growing up with. “How would you manage that?”
Thinking of the earnings from my sold-out show in New York, I start to respond, but he raises a hand to stop me.
“Never mind. Don’t answer that.”
“Jordan Ian Jones.” I sit up. “Are you insinuating that I would sell my body to some hunky stranger in exchange for driving me?” I grin at him, knowing the vision is killing him. I consider adding a few spicy details to torture him for even thinking it. “It’s not a horrible idea. Might make the trip more entertaining . . . and satisfying.”
“Please shut up.” He groans. “You want a serious idea?” he begins to avoid the topic of his big sister’s sex life. “Self-defense training. It would empower you. Help you face your fears.”
“Jordan, I weigh a hundred and fifteen pounds. I paint for a living. Even proven techniques couldn’t overcome that disadvantage. Anyway, I’m a lover . . .”
I smile at his cringe.
“Let me guess. Not a fighter.”
“Bingo.”
“Well, whoever you find to drive you, make sure they know what they’re doing.” He pats my hand. “I want you home safe.”
“Me too.”
???
Later, after Nora arrives and we celebrate my news again, I head back to my tiny apartment. The second the door shuts behind me, loneliness creeps in like a cold draft.
I’ve never lived alone. Not really. From foster homes to raising Jordan after I aged out and we got our own place, then dorm rooms to living with my boyfriend in New York. My life has always been full of background noise and someone to talk to.
Now, it’s just me.
I flip on the Bluetooth speaker, letting the music fill the depressing silence, and settle in front of the easel. With my brush in hand, the canvas takes me away.
Painting is the only thing that quiets my mind. My one real escape when too many shadows encroach on my peace.
I lose myself in a sunset lake scene—tranquil and untouched by the pressures of the world. The kind of place I’d rather be right now.
Tomorrow, I’ll think about all the logistics and start problem-solving. I promise to concentrate on getting to Vegas without flying or driving.
For now, I need to paint and clear my head.
???
Before going to bed, I text Grant. Maybe he’ll get it wherever he is and come up with a grand idea to solve my problem. At the very least, I need my best friend to lift my spirits.
Me:Hope you’re having fun! Wish I could be there to celebrate with you.
Me:If you’re not busy, I need your brain and calming BFF vibes. Nothing hard.
Me:That’s a lie. Freaking out slightly. Painting didn’t help. I was so unfocused I had to toss it and start over.
