Chapter 51: : Chapter 51

I sit up in bed at the sound of Tyra’s agonized cries, and Archer’s soothing voice soon follows. “Tyra,” I hear him say. “I’m right here with you. You’re safe in my arms, Ty.”

Her cries start to sound muffled, and my eyes flutter closed when I realize he must be hugging her, the two of them cuddled up in bed.

I sniffle softly, fresh tears escaping my own eyes. I’ve never felt such intense self-loathing, nor have I ever felt this kind of twisted jealousy blended with shame. He tells me he loves me, but it’s clear he still loves her too. Maybe not in the way he used to, but he does, and if I didn’t love her just as much, I’d resent him for it.

I slip out of bed as she begins to cry in earnest, repeating his name over and over again, almost like she’s stuck in a memory. The mere thought of her having prayed his name like that while she was held hostage tears me to pieces, and I can’t listen to this. Not without hating myself for every touch, every stolen moment that should’ve been hers.

I pause in surprise when I walk into the hallway to find Ezra standing in front of their door, his gaze cutting to mine. He doesn’t say anything as I walk past him and into the living room, his footsteps quiet behind me. “Let’s have some tea,” he says, his voice hoarse. “I can’t sleep either.”

I hesitate, my fingers itching with the need to paint. It’s the only way I know to process my emotions, to ease the pain. My eyes flutter closed when I remember that some of my supplies are still in Archer’s spare room—Tyra’s room. It’s irrational and it’s unfair, but for one single moment, bitterness rushes through me.

“Here,” Ezra says, taking a seat at the kitchen island. I join him reluctantly, wishing I could just walk out of here and escape for a few hours. Instead, I sit down opposite my brother and warm my hands on the mug he hands me, my favorite one, the one Archer and I bought when he took me to Italy.

“You look like you haven’t slept in weeks,” I tell him, knowing full well that I probably look the same.

He grimaces and takes a sip of his tea. “How could I?” he asks, his voice breaking. “It hurts to hear her fall apart like that every damn night and being unable to take away her pain.” He pushes a hand into his hair and takes a shaky breath. “Hell, even if I could, it isn’t me she wants.”

Ezra looks away, almost like he realizes what he just said, and I stare at him in disbelief, unsure what to say. That look in his eyes…it isn’t just concern. His feelings for her extend beyond friendship, and I can’t believe I missed it. How long has he felt that way? “I’m sorry, Ezra,” I murmur, my heart aching. “Give her some time. He’s just…Archer is just the person she’s most comfortable with right now, but that doesn’t mean that—”

“It’s fine,” he says, cutting me off, forcing a smile. “It’s just that she’s been my best friend my whole life, and it’s killing me that I can’t be there for her when she needs me most. I get why it’s Archer she needs, but fuck, I wish she’d rely a little on me too.” He knocks his tea back and rises from his seat. “I’m just going to try to get some sleep,” he tells me. “I’d tell you that you should too, but I know you won’t. Just be careful, okay? Wear a thick coat when you go out, and don’t get caught.”

My eyes widen a fraction, and my brother smiles at me knowingly. I part my lips to ask him how he knows what I’d been planning to do, but he just gently pushes a strand of my hair out of my face. “The charm you lost on the night Archer caught you? The one that he now wears around his neck like a damn trophy? Did you forget I had that handmade for you? It’s one of a kind.” He smiles ruefully. “You also seem to have forgotten that we can track each other’s locations.”

My breath hitches. “You knew,” I murmur, and I think we both know it’s not just my art we’re talking about now. He knows about all of my trips with Archer, the fact that I was always with him while Ezra was gone.

He nods. “I wish you’d told me, and honestly, I wish you hadn’t ever felt the need to resort to it at all. Your work belongs on canvases, not on abandoned buildings. I should’ve stood up for you when I noticed Mom pressuring you to give up painting. I should’ve realized that you’d stopped painting when you went to college, and I should’ve asked why. Tyra would have.”

I look away, unable to refute his words. If not for her, I’d have given up so much sooner. Even when I first tried out street art, it was because of her. I owe her so much, and all I’ve given her in return is betrayal of the worst kind.

“She needs him,” Ezra says, his tone pleading. “You know that, don’t you?”

My head snaps up, my stomach dropping. That look in his eyes renders me speechless for a moment. “I…yes, of course I know that.”

Ezra studies my face, and then he looks down at his feet. “I’m sorry, Serenity.”

I almost ask him what he’s sorry for, but I don’t want to talk to him about Archer. Not when it’s clear that he doesn’t think Archer would ever choose me. I’d been hopeful when he told me that Archer seemed happier after we’d been together awhile, but I should’ve heeded his warning.

I’m worried about the girl he’s seeing and what it’ll do to her to realize she’ll never have all of him.

I’d dismissed it then, quietly confident in what we were building together, only to realize we set our foundations on quicksand. Now here I am, watching everything we had collapse and disappear, and I’ll have to do it with a smile on my face because this is exactly what I signed up for.

I’m still thinking about Ezra’s words as I stand in the same spot where Archer asked me to date him officially, a beautiful city skyline behind me. My mind tortures me with images of Tyra wrapping her arms around his waist and him placing his chin on top of her head, his warm body pressed against hers and his cologne enveloping her.

The worst part is that it isn’t even my imagination; it’s my own memories that are killing me as I paint a piece depicting a man holding a woman’s hand—except he looks past her with an expression conveying longing, at the woman standing in the background, a red thread connecting him to her. I hesitate for a moment before filling in the details, giving the woman by his side wild, curly hair, just like mine, before adding a pair of pink pointe shoes dangling from the hands of the woman in the background, her long, blond hair illuminating her features, making her look near angelic.

I choke back a sob as I stand back to look at it, my heart shattering in a thousand pieces. For the first time ever, painting didn’t ease my soul. It didn’t take away my tormenting thoughts. I don’t think anything ever will. Archer will forever be the man I won’t get over—the one that got away.