The Fifth Lesson (The Bay Boys #2) (23 page)

Adam caught her look and he explained, “It’s easier to hold the wood when you’re painting.
 
The figure just sticks to the top of the tape, so you can maneuver it any way you like.”

Then he pulled open another drawer and Christie saw dozens of white and grey figurines, all unpainted.
 
Some were still in their packaging.
 
All blank canvases, so Christie chose her piece wisely.

A bird caught her eye, hidden near the back of the drawer.
 
She reached for it and brought it closer so she could examine it.
 
She smiled when she realized it wasn’t just a bird, but a phoenix.
 
A mythical creature that was reborn from ashes.

How appropriate
, she pondered wryly, thinking of the newfound, timid relationship with her father.

Adam didn’t say anything about her choice and he shut the drawer, repositioning himself on the stool he’d vacated when Christie knocked on his door.

Adam didn’t explain anything to her and Christie was glad.
 
Painting these miniature figures was similar to painting a canvas.
 
Naturally, Christie fell in love with it.

Adam had been right.
 
It was quite relaxing.
 
Christie didn’t need to worry about creating something out of nothing, like her own paintings.
 
Of course, she loved the process of painting, but this was different.
 
She already had something tangible to
be
painted.
 
She didn’t have to think about proper placement, or whether an eye or a hand was out of proportion in the grand scheme of things.
 
The phoenix simply waited for her brush and Christie was happy for it.

As though in a trance, she allowed one of the small brushes she’d chosen to glide over the sculpted figure.
 
She’d mixed a bright, vibrant red for the body, so she’d focus on painting that before she began shading the wings.
 
Although, Christie highly doubted she’d finish tonight.
 
These things took time.
 
And that secretly pleased her because it meant she could spend more time with Adam, perhaps outside of their remaining two lessons.

They were quiet for about twenty minutes or so.
 
It was a comfortable silence.
 
Christie glanced up every now and again, fascinated by the sight of Adam, who looked so handsome concentrating on his figurine.

It was Adam who spoke first.

“So, how’d it go?” he inquired, his eyes meeting her own for a brief second.
 
His voice startled her, even though he said his words softly.
 
She knew exactly what he was referring to…her dinner with her father.

She straightened in her stool when she noticed she’d started to hunch over her little piece of wood.
 
She dabbed her brush in her freshly mixed paints and ran it over a paper towel before bringing the tip to her phoenix.

“It was…” she searched for the right word, but couldn’t quite find it.
 
“Different.
 
Odd.
 
But weirdly enough, it went perfectly fine.”

“Oh?”

“I feel conflicted about it,” she confessed to him, her brush pausing over the now-red figure.
 
His gaze locked onto her own as her brow furrowed.
 
“I feel like I should be more angry.
 
This is a man who I saw more drunk than sober.
 
Who struck me when I was 18 and made me miserable for most of my life.
 
And then he comes waltzing back in and everything’s supposed to be all right?
 
Even I’m not that naive.”

This is what Christie had dreaded.
 
Perspective
.
 
Now that the long-awaited reunion passed by without so much as a hitch, Christie was having second thoughts.

Adam put his brush down, swiveling in his stool to face her.
 
“Christie, you shouldn’t think you have to
feel
a certain way about anything.
 
If you feel okay with the direction your relationship could go with him, then don’t try to complicate it.”

She bit her lip, her throat going tight.
 
“I just feel like I’m weak if I let him back into my life so easily.
 
A darker part of me wants to see him beg.
 
Another part wants to forgive and forget.
 
I both love and hate him.
 
That’s what’s confusing me.”
 
Christie could feel his eyes assess her and for some reason, that irritated her.
 
“Don’t,” she said.

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t look at me like that.
 
Like I’m a problem that needs fixing,” she told him, her brush hand falling away from the phoenix.

“I’m not looking at you like that,” he said calmly, his voice soft, as though he could read her mood.

“Yes, you are,” she argued.

“I’m just trying to help, Christie.
 
I’m sorry if you think that.”

She bit her lip again and dropped her brush so that she could run a hand through her hair.
 
Her bangles jingled, the sound startling.
 
All the fight went out of her.
 
And she wasn’t even sure why she picked something with him to begin with.
 
Tears stung her eyes and in the back of her mind, Christie thought that tonight had been more jarring for her than she’d initially realized.

“I know, Adam.
 
I’m sorry.
 
I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” she whispered.
 
Not thinking, her left hand loosened and the wood post slipped from her grasp.
 
It thudded on the work bench, the paint smearing on the phoenix’s breast.

It was the final straw.
 
Tears started rolling down her cheeks, much to her embarrassment.
 
But once she started, she couldn’t stop.
 
Christie stared at the ruined phoenix through her watery gaze.
 
Immediately, Adam attached a spare clamp to the end of the table and then slotted in Christie’s wooden block, figurine and all, so that it could dry upright.

But she couldn’t stop crying.
 
And, on top of that, she’d started to sob.

Adam’s arms wrapped around her and she felt his lips press into her hair.
 
“Come on,” he murmured, pulling her up from her seat, and leading her downstairs.

NINETEEN

Adam found himself preparing tea.

When he’d been younger, one of their housekeepers had been from England.
 
She was a wonderful lady.
 
She’d always made Adam tea and served him cookies when he’d been upset about something.
 
When she left their household to return to England, Adam, for some reason, kept that tradition alive.
 
Whenever his mother had seemed detached, he would make her tea.
 
He liked to think it cheered her up, but he knew that depression was the absence of feeling, even the good ones.

So, once he led Christie downstairs and situated her on his couch, he padded over to his stove and filled the kettle with water.
 
As he waited for it to boil, he rummaged through the drawers, searching for something with no caffeine.
 
Since Adam was particularly fond of caffeine, the best he could come up with was a somewhat rumpled bag of chamomile he found hidden amongst his black teas.

Sneaking a peak at Christie, he was glad to see she was calming down.
 
She wiped away the tracks of tears lining her cheeks, but fresh ones still appeared.
 
Although, they were gradually slowing down.

The sight still made his chest ache.
 
He felt helpless, watching her sadness, not knowing how to help her.
 
Because he wanted to, desperately.
 
He wanted to take her pain away.

Once the tea was ready, he brought it over to her with a steady hand.
 
She didn’t say anything when he offered it to her, but she managed a smile through her tears.

Adam sat next to her and gestured to the blanket draped over the back of the couch.
 
“I know it’s probably not as fuzzy as your infamous blanket, but it’s pretty damn comfortable.”

Her lips twitched and she nodded.
 
Adam tugged it and settled it over the both of them.
 
Christie automatically crawled over so that she was cuddled into Adam’s side.
 
And Adam thought that nothing had ever felt so right in his entire life.

Adam didn’t know what to say.
 
Other than his mother, he’d never really comforted women before.
 
But all he ever did was make her tea.
 
His inexperience with women, once again, reared its ugly head.

Christie sipped her tea quietly and only let out a shuddering breath every so often.
 
Adam thought of something he could say to make her feel better.
 
Nothing came to mind.
 
But he desperately wanted to take her mind off her father.
 
Tonight had obviously been quite hard on her, more than she’d probably wanted to admit…even to herself.

Eventually, he thought of his own father.
 
And if he couldn’t distract her from tonight, then at least he could share something personal with her that he’d never talked about before.
 
He remembered the way he closed himself off from her when she’d asked about his mother.
 
He didn’t want that to happen again.

Which was how he found himself asking, “You know that software I used to hack into your boss’ computer?”

He felt her nod against his chest.
 
“Yeah.
 
What about it?” she asked, her voice soft.

“I learned how to do that when I was a teenager.
 
Hacking was easier back then, but I wanted to know every possible way.
 
A kind of twisted hobby, I guess, looking back on it now.”
 
He gave the wall of his living room a wry smile.
 
“Anyway, I first used it on my dad’s home computer.
 
It was the only one in the house besides my own.
 
I remember being absolutely terrified that he would catch me because you had to use dial-up back then.”

“I remember that,” she commented.
 
“I can still hear that annoying ringing tone sometimes.”

“The good ol’ days, right?
 
I had to be quick.
 
I remember my hands shaking over the keyboard, but afterwards, I got a weird sort of rush.
 
Even back then, I tried to defy my dad any way I could, so it felt good.”
 
He shook his head, remembering the kid he’d been.
 
“I found emails between him and another woman.”

Christie tilted her head up in astonishment.
 
“Adam…”

“I hadn’t even thought that there could be a possibility that I would find anything.
 
It hadn’t crossed my mind.
 
I just wanted to prove to myself that I could do it on someone else’s computer.
 
But there they were.
 
Plain and clear.
 
Some woman he’d met through a work function.
 
They’d been secretly meeting for months.
 
She was young and single, so she had a place of her own.
 
That’s where he’d go after work sometimes and he just told my mom he was working late.
 
I still remember the address.

“We never talked about it.
 
But I think my mom knew.
 
She had to have.
 
That’s when she started getting all the botox, plastic surgeries…just messing with her face when there was nothing wrong with her in the goddamn first place.
 
I hated that she felt inadequate.
 
I went through a really rough time with my dad that year.
 
In some ways, I’m still at that place with him.
 
I don’t respect him, but I feel like I should since he’s my father.
 
So, I know where you’re coming from when you say you both love and hate your dad.
 
You shouldn’t feel alone in that regard.”

“I’m sorry that happened to you, Adam,” she murmured into him.

“And I’m sorry about you and your dad,” he returned.
 
“But shit happens.
 
It’s how you deal with it that makes the difference.
 
Will my dad and I ever get back to where we were?
 
Probably not.
 
Will you and your dad ever be the same?
 
Probably not, but at least you can try and build something meaningful.
 
At least he
wants
to.”

Christie looked down at the blanket and he could see her mind working.
 
“I don’t know, Adam.”

“You have time to think about it,” he murmured, turning his head to kiss her forehead.
 
“You don’t have to decide tonight where your head is at.
 
In fact, it’s probably for the best if you don’t think about it at all.”

“Hmmm, you’re smarter than you look,” she teased, but it was only half-hearted.
 
She sounded tired, drained.
 
“And you already look pretty damn smart.”

He couldn’t help but smile at that one but he was more glad to see the little quirk that appeared on her lips.

Adam noticed the time on the stove and was startled to find that it was almost midnight.
 
He nudged Christie, who’d closed her eyes, and all he received was a soft little sigh that made him chuckle.
 
He gazed down at her, feeling his chest warm with affection.