Page 62 of Selling Innocence
He always confused me, somehow swinging between being an insufferable asshole and showing me a surprisingly sweet side, even if he hid it behind a layer of sarcasm.
He turned the pages gently, taking his time on each one. I didn’t stop him because I had no reason to.
It wasn’t some private sketchbook like a journal. Instead, I’d filled it mostly with pictures of landscapes or plants or animals I saw and liked. The artwork inside wasn’t mine—printouts of paintings or sculptures that inspired me—or they were rough sketches that I didn’t care if anyone saw.
“You have strange tastes,” he said.
“Do I? What sort of art do you like?”
“I’m not an art person. People are complicated enough without having to deal with things as undefined as art or culture. I know enough to fit into a group and talk about art, but I don’t really enjoy any of it.”
His statement didn’t surprise me. Most people saw art as unapproachable, like something only for the rich or snobby. It had always broken my heart that people felt that way.
“I always wanted my art to be accessible,” I explained. “I honestly don’t like art museums—too stuffy. I prefer going to the children’s museums. They have to entice kids, and I think the art there is always so much more powerful. What I want isn’t to get my work in some fancy gallery somewhere. I want kids to see prints of my work and beg their parents to hang it on their wall. I want people to see my work and smile or cry or feel something, but I want it universal. I don’t want it restricted to just people who have art degrees.”
Char lifted his gaze to mine but said nothing for a long, tense moment. He narrowed his eyes, then looked back down at the journal as though he hadn’t figured out what to say back.
The way he often went silent made me uneasy, but I’d learned it was just him. I had a feeling he thought of something but didn’t want to say it out loud, to risk anything by admitting it, so he hid those words away deep inside him.
“What’s this?” He turned the journal toward me to show a large sketch I’d done over two pages.
My chest hurt the moment I laid eyes on it. I’d forgotten I’d even drawn that in there.
The picture showed Nem, the only color in the entire thing her red hair, done in colored pencil. Beside her were the Quad, each of them roughly sketched in but so easy for me to identify.
Bray, with his nose ring and sharp eyes. Rune with his long hair. Dane with that half-smirk and Colton, standing back slightly as if to watch over them all.
My eyes burned as I stared at it. Since Nem had come back into my life, I hadn’t gone more than a day or two without speaking to at least one of them, but now?
It had been weeks. It was easier to ignore how lonely that made me when I focused on what had to happen, on living with these men, on what I had to do. Now, however, seeing that picture, it brought it all back.
I miss them so much.
“Who are they?” he asked.
I swallowed and forced a smile. “They’re family.”
“I thought you only had your father.”
“That’s the girl I said was like my sister, and those are the bodyguards who helped raise me.”
He peered hard at the picture, and a part of me worried. I’d refused to tell them anything about the Quad, but now Char had an idea of how they all looked.
California was a long way from Florida, though, and while people knew the Quad, it was far less likely for anyone to know their faces.
Same with Nem.
I could have lied, but with the way my eyes watered and I fought back tears, I was pretty sure it wouldn’t have worked. Char would have seen right through that sort of ploy.
“I miss them,” I admitted softly. “I moved out here to be on my own, but I really miss having them around me.”
A frown touched his expression, but it was yet again different from the others I knew. This one read like confusion. “If it makes you this sad, why move away from them?”
“Because I was used to them doing everything for me. I wanted to stand on my own, to make my own choices. I couldn’t do that if I stayed under their wings.” I laughed softly and shook my head. “And look how well I did on my own, huh? Targeted by some criminal, sold at an auction and abducted by you all.”
“When this is over, are you going to go back to them?” He tapped his finger on the bottom of the page, careful not to smudge the drawing.
“Maybe I should. I mean, I’m causing so many problems for everyone. Maybe it’s better to go back to the cage, huh? I’m just being selfish and making everyone else suffer for me.” I peered around the grassy area in the park, the reality hitting home. “I mean, even right now, you’re wasting your time here because you all are worried about me, because you want to make sure I get to go out and do things. Hayden was hurt because he wanted to take me to an art store to cheer me up. It seems like all my life, I’ve been a burden to everyone around me.”