The Problem with Forever, Page 26

  to spray-paint. But there was no denying the sugary-sweet relief buzzing through my veins.

  I was taking steps—baby steps—but going to the party felt like a huge jump off a cliff with no rope. Swallowing, I nodded. “I’m okay with that.”

  “Good,” he murmured, sitting back. “Then the garage it is.”

  Trying to play it cool, I lowered my gaze, but I couldn’t stop the smile from tipping up the corners of my lips. It was definitely a goofy one, too big and out of control, but I was excited. Nervous. But so much more excited.

  No matter what went down tonight—tonight would be a first.

  Chapter 22

  Rider was behind the wheel of my car for the drive to the Razorback Garage. Made sense since he knew where to go and I was a bundle of nerves. For the first couple of moments, as we made our way out of the parking garage, we didn’t talk.

  I took that time trying to come up with something to say. “Did...did you like the café?” I asked. “I know it was...different.” Once those words were out of my mouth, I winced. Could I have come up with anything lamer? Like, how’s the weather?

  Ugh.

  He bit down on his lower lip as he glanced over at me. “It was cool. How was it different?”

  “I was just...thinking that before, I...would’ve never set foot in a place like that.” I paused, wondering where I was going with this. “We wouldn’t have.”

  He slid his hand over the wheel, easily navigating the turns. “So, what you’re really asking is if I was comfortable in a place like that?”

  I opened my mouth, but the words got stuck again. As usual. Heat swept into my cheeks. That was what I was asking, wasn’t it?

  “Mouse?”

  Shaking my head, I fiddled with the strap of my seat belt. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

  He was quiet as he pulled out in traffic. “You didn’t?”

  I didn’t know what to say.

  “Seems like a pretty obvious question, though. I mean, we don’t have the same lives anymore, do we?” he asked.

  I peeked at him. He was staring straight ahead. One hand on the steering wheel and the other resting on his thigh. My natural reaction was just to stay quiet. If I did, I knew Rider would move on to something else, but I put that out there. I had to own it. I couldn’t stay quiet forever.

  Drawing in a shallow breath, I focused on the red truck in front of us. “We don’t, but I...I really don’t think about it. That’s why I didn’t think twice about...the café.”

  “I’m as comfortable in a place like that as I am anywhere else,” he replied after a few moments, his voice level but devoid of any emotion.

  Glancing over at him, I felt like a total tool. “I’ve probably...offended you. I’m sorry.”

  “You didn’t,” he responded, squinting. “Honestly.”

  I nodded as I pressed my lips together. There was so much that Rider and I shared in the past, but sometimes it felt like there was a gulf between us. I could sit here and think about it or I could try to forge a bridge over that gulf.

  Forcing my fingers to relax around the seat belt, I dropped my hands to my lap. “In...class yesterday, it sounded like...you and Mr. Santos know each other.”

  “He helped me out when I got busted tagging the school,” he replied. “Thought I told you that.”

  “It seemed like...more than that.” I glanced at him. “He put...your artwork in a gallery.”

  Rider didn’t respond immediately. “He’s kind of kept an eye on me since the tagging incident. He’s like that, you know. Pays attention.” One shoulder rose. “He’s always checked in. Doesn’t see what others do.”

  “What...do you mean?”

  His fingers tapped off the steering wheel. “He doesn’t just see neighborhoods and addresses or any of that crap.” Pausing, he looked over at me as we hit a stoplight. “He’s been on my ass about pursuing a future in art. Talked to me about looking into MICA.” He laughed, shaking his head. “He has lofty goals.”

  Maryland Institute College of Art was a well-known art school in the city. Like one of the best. “If Santos thinks you have...what it takes to go there, why wouldn’t you?”

  His brows flew up. “I’m pretty sure a semester there costs more than a brand-new car.”

  “What about financial aid?”

  He didn’t respond.

  And I didn’t drop it. Not for the same reasons Carl was hounding him the night before, but because Rider had real talent. “If not MICA, there are cheaper...colleges. Ones easier to get into.”

  “I know,” he replied, and that was all he said.

  I frowned as I studied him. “When we were younger, you talked about going to college. You did when I...didn’t.”

  His hand tightened on the steering wheel. “I was a kid then, Mouse.”

  “So?”

  “Things are different now.”

  “Things are better now,” I replied. “Aren’t they?”

  He slowed down, turning onto a narrow side road. “Have you noticed that when you feel strongly about something, you don’t take pauses?”

  I had noticed that, and part of me was thrilled he’d paid close enough attention to recognize it. But seriously, that wasn’t what we were talking about. “Things are better, aren’t they?”

  “Yes, Mouse,” he said with a sigh.

  My eyes narrowed. “When you say it like that, I’m not sure I believe you.” I studied him, deciding I might as well ask more questions. “What happened...between you and Paige?”

  “Why the third degree?” he returned as he pulled into a parking spot in front of the garage.

  “Because I care,” I blurted out. He was right about the third degree. I was kind of doing the same thing Carl had done the night before, but at least I was coming from a good place.

  Rider’s head swung toward me and our eyes met. I didn’t regret spewing those words out, because it was the truth. I cared about him. I had always cared about him. Without looking away, he turned off the ignition and pulled the key out. His hands settled in his lap as he studied me.

  “It wasn’t fair to Paige,” he said. “The relationship.”

  “How so?” I asked.

  He stared at me a moment and then one side of his lips curled up. “I don’t even think we should’ve gotten together. We were better off as friends, and it...” His gaze slid to the gray, squat building. “I mean, I really did care about her. I do care about her. And maybe there was a part of me in the beginning that thought that...that it ran deeper, you know? The thing is, it doesn’t run deep.” His shoulders rose with a deep breath. “I think I’ve known that for a while. And I think I convinced myself that it was the same for Paige. I don’t regret the relationship, but I regret that I waited to end it. I hurt her because of that and, man, that sucked. She is important to me...”

  He shook his head. “After you and I finished at the library, I went over to see her. I ended things like I should’ve done before. So I drank last Thursday—drank a little too much.”

  Pausing, he reached over and his fingers brushed my side as he unhooked my seat belt. “Being with her wasn’t the right thing to do, you know?” He slipped the seat belt off my shoulder. “I felt like I was stringing her along. Especially now.”

  “Now?”

  “Yeah.” His gaze searched mine. “Especially now.”

  My lips parted on a soft inhale.

  A long moment stretched out between us and he asked, “You ready to head in?”

  Pressing my lips together, I nodded. I opened the door and waited for Rider to come around the side. A truck drove past us, the music a heavy thump echoing as it traveled down the block. I looked around as we crossed the street. The neighborhood wasn’t bad. Lots of storefront businesses and farther down, I could see brick row homes.

  “You live near here?” I asked.

  Rider nodded as he stopped in front of a gray, windowless door. “Yeah. About three blocks down.” He fished out a key and unlocked
the door. “The shop is kind of a mess. Sorry.”

  “It’s okay.” It was a body shop. I expected it to be messy.

  He opened the door and stepped inside, holding it for me. I followed him. A heavy scent immediately hit me, a combination of paint and oil mixed with gasoline. It smelled like hard work.

  When he threw a switch along the wall, a low hum reverberated through the building. Hanging ceiling lights flickered on, spaced every couple of feet. The light was faint at first, but grew stronger.

  Rider moved ahead, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Follow me?”

  Wrapping my arms around my waist, I walked behind him as he made his way around a car that was jacked up into the air. Tires were missing, revealing exposed wheel wells.

  Workbenches and tool chests were everywhere. Splotches of oil and grease covered the cement floor. The farther we walked in the long and wide building, the more cars we saw covered by thick canvas, and the heavier the scent of paint grew. It was darker back there.

  Faint yellow light glanced off Rider’s cheeks as he looked over his shoulder. He stopped by a covered car. “I don’t have set hours here. Drew calls me when he has a job. Been lucky the last couple of months. Work’s been steady.”

  Stretching up, he caught ahold of a chain. Muscles along his back tensed, and his shirt strained over his shoulders and biceps as he tugged it. That warm, heavy feeling infiltrated my veins.

  Light flooded the space. The first thing I noticed was a large canvas draped across the wall. It was covered with paint. As if a hundred different colors had been tossed on the canvas in no particular pattern.

  Rider followed my gaze. “That’s where I test out the colors. Sometimes I have to mix them before I put them in the sprayer.”

  “Sprayer?”

  Nodding, he turned toward a bench. Several silver canisters with nozzles were laid out across the top. He walked over, picking one up. “Paint goes in here.” He ran his finger along the canister fitted to the top of the sprayer. “And the bottom hooks up to a hose that runs to the air compressor.” He laughed, sounding a little off as he put the sprayer back on the workbench. “Not that you were asking for a lesson on a sprayer.”

  “It’s okay.” I stepped closer. “It’s interesting.”

  Rider laughed again as he walked away from the bench. He went past me, stopping in front of a covered car. “I’ve been working on this car for the last week.” He grabbed the canvas at the hood of the car and pulled it off. “Almost done.”

  My mouth dropped open.

  I didn’t know what kind of car it was. A white two-seater. Probably a coupe. It didn’t matter. It was what was painted across the hood and front fender that caught my attention.

  It was the American flag. Now, that didn’t sound too special, but the detail of the flag took it to a whole new level. Not a single red line bled into the white lines. The stars were perfect bursts of white among deep navy blue. The flag wasn’t a stagnant square. It rippled as if it were a real cloth placed over the hood, draping the fender, and wind was washing over it. It made it look like the car was actually moving.

  How could he do that with paint sprayed onto the surface?

  “The guy wanted something Americana.” He stepped forward, brushing his hand along the fender, wiping away an imaginary speck of dirt. “We ended up settling on a flag.”

  In awe, I shook my head as I placed my hand over my chest. I couldn’t believe it. I’d seen what he’d painted on the warehouse, and that had been awe-inspiring, but this was something else. “This is amazing.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes.” I looked at him, eyes wide. “How can you not see how amazing this is?”

  Rider shrugged as he flipped his attention back to the car. “It’s just a flag.”

  “It looks real!” My voice pitched, but I didn’t care. Rider came from nothing. Nothing. Was raised in darkness and violence, but he’d had this ability the entire time. What he’d experienced hadn’t snuffed out this talent. “Like I could walk over...and lift it up.”

  “Huh.” There was a pause. “Thank you.”

  “Do you...keep track of your work?”

  He shook his head. “Not really.”

  “You should have pictures of this,” I insisted. “Of all that you do.”

  He lowered his chin. “I have some at the house. Not together or anything. Drew usually takes a picture. Puts it up on the website.”

  “A portfolio book!” Excited, I rocked back. “That’s what you need.”

  The corner of his lips tipped up and then he bent down, picking up the tarp. I watched him drape it back over the car, straightening it as he walked around the sides.

  I inhaled softly. “I...I would like to see more of your stuff.”

  “I can show you some later. Gather up the pics,” he said, tugging the material over the trunk of the coupe.

  Smiling, I unfolded my arms. An idea formed while I watched him fix the other side of the tarp as he made his way back to me. Rider wouldn’t get a portfolio book. For some reason, he just couldn’t recognize his talent, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t help him.

  “Want to try it?” he asked.

  My eyes widened. “Try painting a car?”

  Rider’s hazel eyes twinkled as he laughed. “No. Not painting a car, Mouse.” Walking toward me, he gestured at the canvas tacked to the wall. “Paint there.”

  Turning, my gaze crawled across the canvas. There were spots untouched by paint. Mostly the lower half.

  Rider walked to the bench and opened the drawer, pulling out two white masks. “Fumes can get a bit much.” He walked back to me. “So what do you think?”

  Smiling, I nodded.

  The twist of his lips kicked up higher and he placed the mask over my head, letting it dangle below my chin. His eyes met mine as he scooped my hair out from under the band. He hesitated, staring down at me. His mouth opened as if he wished to say something but then changed his mind. He slipped his own mask on, letting it hang as he pivoted around, approaching a tall plastic cabinet near the bench. He opened it, and out came regular-looking spray cans.

  “Figured we’d start with this before we moved on to that stuff,” he explained, tone light as he handed over a can with a red top. “The color suits you.”

  I felt my cheeks heat as I wrapped my hands around the can. Rider led me over to the canvas, shaking his can as he went. I did the same, probably looking a little deranged.

  “How about we start with just a letter—the letter M.” He tugged his mask up over his mouth and when he spoke, his voice was muffled. “Here.”

  Shoving the can under his arm, he turned to me and pulled the mask up, situating it over my mouth. His hands lingered along the band, sending a shiver dancing down my spine. “There you go.”

  He popped the lid off the can and it hit the floor with a soft clang. Eyes bright, he knelt down and with a series of flicks, he had a bold letter R in black paint. “Your turn.”

  At first I just stood there, frozen with indecision. I didn’t know what I was doing. I mean, spray-painting a letter wasn’t hard, but the idea of even trying to do it was frightening, because...because of what? Failing? How could I fail at spray-painting a letter? I mean, come on. And if I did somehow manage to be that ridiculous, Rider wouldn’t care. I shouldn’t care.

  But I was scared of just trying.

  A tremor curled down my arm, and I stopped thinking, stopped stressing. I popped the lid off and then walked forward. I knelt down and painted a giant, bubbly letter M in red.

  There.

  No big deal.

  No one was injured or killed by my lame M. I looked up at Rider, and even though I couldn’t see his mouth, I thought he was smiling.

  “So...” He added an I beside his R. “You’re looking at college, right?”

  I started to nod as I drew an A, but forced myself to talk. “Yes. I want to...go to College Park, but I...”