37
Ian
Three weeks later…..
The nightof the art show is a relief, if only because it helps take my mind off of things just a little. Still, it’s hard to want to mingle and schmooze all that much, even if it would make Lauren happy to have the photographer of the night milling around the guests. I needed a break, though, so I’m on the upper floor alone, leaning against the railing as I look at everyone downstairs. They’re all dressed up for the night, in suits and expensive dresses. I wore my best black jeans and black button-down with my least-scuffed boots, but I know that doesn’t matter. I’m the photographer, an artist, and I’m supposed to look a little rough around the edges. Adds character and helps flesh out the story people tell themselves when they look at me.
I wonder what they’d all think if they knew the real story.
It’s been three weeks since she came back. Other than that fucked-up conversation I had with Veronica, I haven’t seen her—but I’ve gotten updates. No one seems to want to keep me completely in the dark now, which is a relief. All it took was the possibility of a kid, and now I’m being treated like I’ve got a fair shot at being in Megan—Alana’s—life. It’s almost enough to make me hope they never find Kam. He’s all we’re waiting on for the paternity results. Megan wants him here when they’re revealed, and I can’t exactly blame her—there’s a chance, hell more than a chance, it is the slimy fucker’s. And I don’t want to upset her, either, not when things seem to be going relatively smoothly.
She’s been going to therapy, I’m told, and her doctor’s appointments. The baby is fine and healthy. All good things—especially considering the hell Kameron put her through. I hope the therapist has talked to her about that—Megan, specifically, helped her see that a man who loves her wouldn’t kidnap her or treat her alters the way he did. Kameron has gone crazy, and while I’ll grudgingly admit it hasn’t been easy for me to deal with two entirely different personalities in the body of the woman I love, I haven’t lost my fucking mind over it.
I haven’t heard anything about my girl, though. I’machingto see her, not just her body with some other personality running it, butAlana. My wife, the only woman I’ve ever loved, who I hope like hell, is carryingmybaby. It was good to see Veronica until she dropped a load of shit all over our reunion. I don’t want to talk to Veronica for a good, long time. I haven’t gotten over her fucked up wish to sleep with Blue or how it made me want to shred him to pieces for even considering it. I might have agreed with stipulations, but that doesn’t mean I’ve come around to the idea. If it could give me some hope for a guarantee that, that shit with Blue is annihilated, it’s worth it. If Alana comes back and stays with me, there will be a day Veronica comes out around me. How will that feel, sharing my life for a day, or a week, or a month with a woman who begged me for a night with my cousin, even if functionally she’s Alana?
Megan.Fuck.I clench my teeth as I sip my champagne, wishing like hell it was something stronger even as the bubbles fizz through my veins. It’s enough to drive a man mad, keeping it all straight, thinking through all the weird-ass scenarios, but I still wouldn’t pull the shit Kam did. And besides that—this might feel like hell sometimes, but I’d walk through hell to be with Alana, if she wants me to. All I wanted was for it to be her instead of Veronica that day, but I take what I can get now.
Speak of the devil.It’s not Veronica, but I sure as hell see Blue, and that makes me grit my teeth angrily. I would’ve thought he would have had the presence of mind not to show up after that shit, but here he is, dressed in his nicest jeans and Doc Martens, talking to Hilary like they’re the best of fucking friends. I toss my champagne back, fighting the urge to go down, grab him by the collar, and throw him bodily out of the gallery. The only thing that stops me is the violence that occurred the last time Lauren held one of these shows—I don’t think she’d appreciate it happening twice. And I do appreciate having a place to show my work and get paid for it. Chicago sure as hell isn’t a cheap place to live.
Something catches my eye—Kylie waving at me from her spot on the ground floor before she starts up the stairs, coming to see me. I give her the most genuine smile I can, given how tense I am, as I try to remind myself that even with everything else happening, this is a good night for me. Even if the worst happens—if the baby isn’t mine, if I lose Alana all over again, the world doesn’t have to just be shades of grey. I can still make connections that inspire me, like I did with Kylie and Abby. I can still find beauty in the world. I’ll lose a part of it, but not everything that makes life worth living.
It’s a good reminder with everything I’m facing.
I see Abby standing near the picture I took of her, and I feel that warmth again. Even if Alana isn’t here tonight, others who matter are. Abby cared enough to come and see the results of the work I did.Imatter, and I need to remember that.I should go and thank her for coming once I’m done talking to Kylie.
“Are you proud of yourself?” Kylie teases lightly as she joins me in leaning against the railing, handing me another flute of champagne that she grabbed from a passing tray as she takes a sip of her own. “Look at you, the man of the hour.”
“They’re mostly just photos I took that day we rode around and talked,” I say, shrugging modestly. “Nothing all that special.”
“You’re too hard on yourself.” Kylie jabs me lightly with an elbow. “You did well. This is the beginning of a bright and illustrious career for you. I just know it.”
“I hope so.” I hope it’s the beginning of a lot more, but I’m not about to elaborate on that. Kylie doesn’t need to hear all my shit—my wife, who has three personalities at least and left me, only to come back and spend one searing night with me that might mean she’s pregnant with my kid—or someone else’s. And now one of those personalities wants to bang my cousin.
What a fucking soap opera.I toss back the remainder of the champagne, gesturing downstairs. “Come on. I should say hi to Abby. She’s the focal point of one of these pieces, after all.”
“There you go. Mingle and have a good time.” Kylie swishes downstairs behind me, her black dress skimming over the stairs as she sips at her champagne, a slender shadow.
“Ah, there you are, young man.” Abby smiles at me as I approach. “This picture is incredible. All of them are, really. You’ve captured the soul of this city in a way that I don’t think anyone else ever really has. You’ve got a bright future.”
“Thank you,” I tell her appreciatively. “It really means a lot to me that you came. That anyone came, really.”
“I wouldn’t have missed it for the world,” she assures me.
“I’m going to get something else from the bar,” I tell them both, and Kylie follows me, chattering away about some of the other guests who are here tonight. I order a whiskey, neat, wanting something to take the edge off, and lean back as the bartender starts to pour.
“Lauren really knows some important people—” Kylie starts to say, only for the rest of that sentence and all the air in the room to be sucked out all at once as the only person I really wanted to see tonight walks through the door.
I can’t move. I can’t fuckingbreathe. It’s Megan, but it’s not. The instant I see her move, I know it’s not Megan or Veronica in there. She’s not shyly glancing around or turning her nose up, she’s looking at the room like she could command every single one of them to get on their fucking knees, and they would—because it’s Alana.
Alana.My heart is hammering in my chest, my blood rushing in my ears. I want to go to her the instant I see her, but I hang back a little, because I want to look at her for a moment first, too. I want to see her before she sees me, to eat her up with my eyes because, just like always, I don’t know how long it’ll be before she disappears like a fucking mirage in the desert for a man dying of thirst.
She looks fucking incredible. Just her clothing is enough to tell me it’s Alana—Megan would have worn something modest that didn’t show off the baby bump too much, and Veronica would’ve dressed like alady, but Alana is wearing a long-sleeved, body-hugging black dress that stops mid-thigh and clings perfectly to every full and luscious curve, including her belly. She’s showing it off proudly, happy for everyone to see her new body, and it turns me on so fucking much that it’s nearly unbearable.
Cal is at her side, and he leans down, murmuring something in her ear. Alana shrugs him off, but he murmurs it again, pointing in the direction of where my pictures are hanging. I stand there, my drink forgotten, wondering what she’ll do—and then she starts to walk towards them, her gaze open and curious as she looks at the photos I took. The photos that, once upon a time, she inspired me to start taking—encouraged me tokeeptaking.
I might have made other connections and found inspiration in other people and places, but in the end, it all comes back to her.
It’s always going to fucking be all about her. ‘Til the day I die.