“Go.” I tittered. “Before the good lookin’ fucker appears, and I get arrested for attempted murder.”
Bronagh left my apartment, laughing as she went. When she closed the door behind her, my smile remained on my face but only for a few moments. As much as I hated to admit it, Bronagh was right. I did need to talk to Damien. I had no clue what to say to him, but a conversation had to take place, and the thought made me extremely nervous.
I stood, then went into my bedroom and changed into black leggings, a black tank top, and a blue plaid, oversized, buttoned up shirt that I rolled up to the elbows. Each item of clothing had a stain of paint, charcoal, or ink of some kind on them, and the outfit was my go-to whenever I wanted to sketch and paint. Right now, I needed to do both.
I took my easel out of my storage press and set it up. Usually, whenever I painted, it was on paper, but today, something told me I needed to paint on canvas. I didn’t have many of them. In fact, I only had six remaining from the bundle of ten that Bronagh and Nico got me for my birthday a few months ago, so I was selective about what I used them for because I didn’t have the money to replace them just yet. I grabbed the biggest one, placed it on the coffee table next to my easel, and stared at it for a little while. I mulled over what paints I wanted to use, and whether I wanted it to be in colour.
I settled on dark colours to reflect my mood.
I grabbed my pencils, then settling on my settee, I crossed my legs, placed my canvas on my lap, and got to work. I hadn’t decided on what to sketch until the second I touched the sharpened lead to the canvas. And when my hand automatically curved and drew the same pair of eyes I saw in my dreams every night, I realised I wasn’t drawing a what.
It was a who.
When I woke up the following morning, I had a plan. I decided to take Bronagh’s advice from yesterday and put it to the test. I wanted to talk ... but not to Damien. I had to build up to that. The person who I wanted to speak to lived eight floors above me, and as I stood outside her apartment door, I prayed she was in a good mood. I had sent her a text to let her know I wanted to speak to her, and she acknowledged the text and told me to come up to her apartment whenever I was ready.
That was five hours ago, and I was just now finding myself in front of her door. Before I could chicken out, I lifted my arm and knocked firmly on the dark wood. Dropping my arm back to my side, I began to sweat bullets.
“I’ve got it.”
The hollering voice belonged to none other than Kane Slater.
Out of all the Slater brothers, Kane was the one who I was least close to. We didn’t do a lot of talking even though we were in each other’s company a lot. It wasn’t awkward because I knew how reserved he was, but my silence wasn’t because I was reserved; it was because of a conversation I had with him when I was eighteen. He had asked me a bunch of questions about my friendship with Bronagh that didn’t sit well with me, so I called him out on it. He had since apologised, but I never forgot that conversation, and thus remained very aware whenever I was in Kane’s presence, which resulted in my silence.
I smiled politely when the door opened, and Kane gave me a welcoming nod in response.
“Alannah.”
“Kane.”
I could’ve sworn I saw his lips twitch, but I wasn’t sure, so I didn’t mention it. Instead, I scanned his face and focused on his bruised jaw, the one that Dante had mentioned he had when I spoke to him on the phone two nights ago. It looked worse than I thought it would have.
“Let me guess,” I drawled. “The other lad looks worse?”
That earned me a grin.
“They both do,” he replied, “but I can’t take credit. Date and Damien can hold their own, which resulted in them both looking worse for wear.”
I stepped inside the apartment when Kane shuffled back and gestured for me to enter.
“Just what I need,” I grumbled. “Two eejits fightin’ over somethin’ stupid.”
Kane closed the door. “You think you’re something stupid?”
I turned away from him.
“They weren’t fightin’ over me. They were fightin’ over bruised egos.” He didn’t reply, so I asked, “Where’s Aideen? I want to get this conversation over and done with as soon as possible.”