Total pages in book: 130
Estimated words: 131651 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 658(@200wpm)___ 527(@250wpm)___ 439(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 131651 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 658(@200wpm)___ 527(@250wpm)___ 439(@300wpm)
That’s why I feel this small, innocent collision everywhere.
We sit there in silence, watching the movie. We walked in while it was halfway through, but I think it’s an old experimental art film, tough-looking biker dudes mixed with Christian imagery.
Interesting, until the part where the bikers walk into their clubhouse and these prancing, smiling strippers start undressing them in pure drunken revelry.
Awkward. Definitely way too much skin to take in with this bear of an older man pressed up next to me.
“Do you want to talk about it?” Holden whispers, his voice low and unbothered by the X-rated movie rolling.
“Huh?” For a second, I think he means the sexy business. I link my hands together in my lap. “Oh, the art, you mean… There’s not much to talk about.”
He keeps quiet, a human mountain, solid and so, so warm.
God, why is he so warm?
“You sure, Nile? Seems like your old man taught you a lot about what not to do.”
My mouth twists before I answer. “No denying that. It’s just… I want to forge my own path. Sculpture was his thing, whatever he did or didn’t do right.”
“Mm.”
“And… and things weren’t always good. You remember what I said about art being personal? There’s no avoiding your own experience when you decide to go all in. The good, the bad, the beautiful, the depressing.” I pause. “I don’t remember much about when my mother died. I was small. But I do remember Dad was never the same. All his worst impulses just took over.”
I don’t know how much he knows or doesn’t know about my family, but it’s a relief to say this out loud. Even while we’re ignoring the craziest stuff happening on the screen.
“I get it. You want to carry that shit without letting it define you.” He nods gruffly. “Same with your art. You want it to be you, your emotions, your history. No one else’s.”
Speechless.
I can’t believe he gets it.
We sit a while longer, watching the film while my face turns into a cherry tomato. And it’s not just what’s playing in front of us, though that’s not helping.
Holy shit, why did the art films of the 1970s have to insert a ten-minute sex scene?
It’s almost worse that Holden keeps watching me more than the debauchery flickering on the screen.
I’m so flushed and I don’t dare look at him.
I’m not a shy girl with sex. But I am with him.
I just can’t take the light and shadows dancing across his smug face right now while bikers groan away. There’s too much contrast there. So many hard lines. So many unreadable thoughts.
If I start trying to guess at what that means… yeah, this won’t end well. Wouldn’t that be a shame when we’re having a decent time?
Minus the unexpected porno movie, I mean.
I idly wonder if charcoal will do a Holden Verity portrait justice after all. Maybe he needs harder lines—hard, but still messy, rough like the scruff on his jaw and the black starlight in his eyes.
The thought makes my fingers itch, eager to try.
Once this egg run blows over, if we’re still on decent terms, I might throw it together and ship it back to him as a thank-you.
“I don’t know everything, you know. Leonidas never said much about his nephew when he wasn’t ranting,” he says after a long moment.
I release a breath I didn’t know I was holding in.
“I don’t think Gramps liked to dwell on disappointments. He had enough of that with Elvira and Scott. It’s really sad how much went sour in this family.” I shake my head. “If you listen to Dad tell his version, he’ll make it sound like PopPop threw him on the street and never gave him a dime.”
“Mr. Blackthorn tried to make it up to his grandkids after so much got fucked up with more immediate family. You, Margot, and Ethan were all he had.”
“And I’m so glad he had us. Even if I was the baby and a third or fourth wheel sometimes,” I murmur.
Holden stretches, pressing his knee against mine for a split second before his leg shifts away.
“It was different with you,” he whispers. “To him, you were his granddaughter, no matter what the family tree said. You stuck around longer. You had more time alone with him once life got busy for Ethan and Margot. He loved you to hell and back, Cleo.”
Oh, my eyes.
I smile painfully, pinning my eyes to the screen until my face hurts. I’ve never been so happy to see a scene change back to creepy skulls and guys in leather with Grizzlies MC patches dancing around.
“Gramps tried to patch the holes in the family quilt, I think. The people he lost, and I don’t blame him one bit. I’m glad I could be there for him.”
“He cared about the people who mattered, the ones who stayed and loved him,” Holden says warmly.