“Remember when we were fifteen, and

“Remember when we were fifteen, and my parents took us to Gettysburg? You loved Devil’s Den, so that’s what this is.”
Unfolding the painting, I held it up for him even though he didn’t look. It had taken me a few hours over the course of the week to paint the sandy rocks overlooking the grassy meadows, to get the right color of the boulders and the pebbles in between them. The shading had been the hardest part since it was in watercolor, but I like to think it came out pretty damn cool.
I stood and walked the painting to the wall across from his bed. Fishing a tack out of the desk, I hung it next to the other paintings. There was one for every week I visited him. Three hundred and twelve paintings.
My gaze traveled over the walls. My favorites were the portraits I’d done of him—paintings of Charlie and me together when we were younger. I was running out of room. Would have to start with the ceiling soon. All of the paintings were of the . . . past. Nothing of the present or the future. Just a wall of memories.
I made my way back to the chair and pulled out the book I’d been reading to him. It was New Moon, and we’d gotten to see the first movie together. Almost got to see the second. As I cracked it open to the last page I’d left off at, I was convinced that Charlie would’ve been Team Jacob. He would never go for emo vampires. Even though this was the fourth time I’d read the book to him, he’d seemed to like it.
At least, that’s what I told myself.
Not once during the hour I spent with him did he look at me, and as I packed up, my heart was as heavy as that rock that had changed everything. I leaned down close to him. “Look at me, Charlie.” I waited a heartbeat as my throat clogged. “Please.”
Charlie . . . all he did was blink as he rocked slowly. Back and forth. That was all, as I waited a full five minutes for a response, any response, but none came. My eyes dampened as I pressed a kiss against his cool cheek and then straightened. “I’ll see you next Friday, okay?”
I pretended he said okay in return. It was the only way I could walk out of that room and close the door behind me. I checked out and as I made my way outside into the blistering heat, I found my sunglasses in my tote and slipped them on. The heat did wonders for my chilled skin, but didn’t warm my insides. It was always like this after I visited Charlie, and it would take until my shift at Mona’s started before I was able to shake off the coldness.
As I walked toward the back of the parking lot where my car was, I swore.
I could see the heat wafting off the pavement, and I immediately wondered what colors I’d need to mix to capture the effect on canvas. Then I saw my trusty Volkswagen Jetta, and all thoughts of watercolors vanished. My stomach flopped heavily and I almost tripped right over my feet. There was a nice, practically new truck sitting next to mine.
I knew that black truck.
I’d driven it once.
Oh Man.
My feet refused to move so I came to a complete standstill.
The very bane of my existence was here, who oddly was the same person who had a reoccurring starring role in all my fantasies, even the really dirty ones—especially them.
Reece Anders was here, and I didn’t know if I was going to punch him in the nuts or kiss him.