Artfully Yours (2 page)

Standing in the doorway, Alex looked at him until Gabe lifted his brows impatiently. “Why?”

“To get inside.”

“Door wasn’t locked,” Alex told him, and wandered back to the living room.

“Come right in, man,” Gabe said with hearty sarcasm, following close on his heels. “Make yourself at home, grab a beer.”

Alex dropped back onto the couch. “I don’t have any beer.” He’d have to go to the store for that, and he couldn’t seem to get motivated.

“Right.” Gabe spun in a slow circle, looking around. “Where’s the puppy?”

Alex closed his eyes, letting his head drop against the couch cushion. He hitched a thumb behind him. “Damn near peed his pants when you started assaulting the door. He’s hiding back there. And he’s not a puppy. He’s five.”

Heavy boots thudded on the hardwood. The couch shifted as Gabe braced a hand and leaned over the back. “Hey, buddy.”

This was followed by the quick patter of his dog’s tail thumping the boards.

“Come on, Gargoyle. Come out and say hello to Uncle Gabe.”

The pattering sound sped up, but no scrape of claws.

“Come on, buddy. Come on.” After a beat of silence, he remarked, “I’ve had less trouble talking virgin librarians into bed than getting your dog to come say hello.”

Alex pinched the bridge of his nose and let out a sigh. “Not in the mood to hear about your sex life today.”

“I’m offended. He knows me. That stupid squeaky bear he’s holding?
I
gave him that bear.”

“If he’s holding his bear, he’s definitely not coming out for a while. Sit down and stop staring at him. You know he doesn’t like it.”

“Huskies are supposed to be badass.”

“He’s atypical.”

“Atypical is cool. I can identify with atypical.” The couch bounced as Gabe thumped down beside him and propped his boots up on the coffee table. “How you doing, man?”

“Eh.”

“Wow. That good?”

“Worse.”

“Yeah, I figured. What with the not returning my calls. Or my emails. And I saw some of your work out back. What is that hellscape supposed to be anyway? Is it your Kingdom of Despair?”

“It’s my art, Gabe. It’s my soul.” He wasn’t going to argue the hellscape part. He was actually delighted to hear it looked like a hellscape. Mostly, to Alex, the twisted metal sculptures he’d abandoned then hurled into the backyard in a fit of temper looked empty.

“Uh-huh. By the way, nice beard. You know you have a beard?”

He rasped a hand over his jaw with mild surprise. “’Course I know I have a beard.” He had a beard? He thought it had been only a couple of days since he’d shaved. Guess it had been more than a couple.

“That’s why you dropped off the grid, huh? Busy growing your beard?”

“I didn’t drop off the grid. A week of peace too much to ask?”

“Shit, no.” Gabe leaned back and laced his hands over his abs, staring up at the ceiling along with Alex. “Except no one’s heard from you for over a month. I’ve had Justine on my ass for ten days. This is where you say thank you, since it’s me here and not her.”

If he’d had any clue his agent was thinking about paying a surprise visit, he sure as hell wouldn’t have left the front door unlocked. Or the back. If Justine got hold of him, either she’d be on his case to reinvent himself and stage a comeback, or she’d dump him. He honestly didn’t know which option he preferred. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome. How about a coffee? Then we can chat.”

“Ooh. Don’t move. Let me go grab my scrunchies and hairspray, and we can braid each other’s hair while we’re sharing.”

Gabe laughed. “You’re in a pisser of a mood. I love it. I’ve been stuck in meetings for
ever
, and you know how I hate that corporate shit.”

Right. Gabe Sterling was a thirty-nine-year-old tech genius whose staggering fortune had been built on, depended on, and made that corporate shit his bitch.

“Get up, come on.” He hauled Alex off the couch. “I want to hear all about how your artistic soul is writhing in the hell of creation.”

Alex let Gabe pull him to his feet and returned his friend’s grin. “Thought you were here to cheer me up?”

He made a surprised face. “You can be cheerful?”

“It’s not my thing, but it’s happened once or twice.” He felt the air stir at his side, and a damp nose brushed his hand.

“Hey, buddy!” Gabe said, sounding thrilled, quickly followed by, “Oh, come
on
! It’s personal, isn’t it?”

Gargoyle’s claws skittered on the boards as he dashed behind the couch.

Alex sighed. “You scared him again.”

Gabe threw his hands out to the side. “I said hey!”

“He scares easy. Be patient and he’ll come to you. He hates being ignored even more than he hates loud noises and people screaming hello at him.”

“That is one conflicted pooch.”

“Yep.”

“Like his daddy.”

“Jesus. Don’t call me that.” He led the way to the kitchen and busied himself making a fresh pot of coffee. “And I’m not conflicted.”

“Tortured?”

Great. Alex slid the pot into the coffee maker.
Here we go.
Gabe was never going to let him hear the last of this.

“Genius?” he continued. “‘The tortured genius Zacharov, bad boy of the art world, like an elemental god of the forge.’”

“I did
not
sleep with that journalist.”

“An elemental god. That better than your regular god? ‘Watching him at work is like watching a creationist ballet of heat itself taking form…’” Alex shook his head as the room filled with Gabe’s laughter. “Ballet!” was all he managed to get out between gasps.

“Did you learn that stupid article by heart, just for this moment? For crying out loud, it was almost a year ago.”

“’Course I did.” Gabe leaned against the center island. “I liked Stephanie. She was fierce. None of that crying shit when you dumped her. Went straight for the balls. My kind of lady.”

“I didn’t dump her! I never slept with her!”

“Maybe you should have. Then she wouldn’t have wrapped it up the way she did.” Alex groaned as he continued with glee, “‘What a pity it is that this god of metal and fire who has the ability to transform the forgotten and the discarded into soul-wrenching art seems content to diminish into obscurity, a creatively impotent monk.’”

Alex waited for him to stop laughing. “I’m hoping there’s a point behind your visit. And your performance. And that you’re going to get to it sometime this week.”

“Sure. There’s a point. Wanted to know if you’re okay with me going after her. Think it’s time.”

“Who, Stephanie? I don’t mind. Told you, we were never together.”

He waved this off. “No, not like that. Legally. Want me to sue her for you? Bit of revenge might relight your fire.”

“You’re not a lawyer.”

“But I keep lots of the little darlings as pets, and they need their exercise. You’re too much of a gentleman to do it, I know. You might look like a backwoods serial killer, but I know you’re a marshmallow underneath.”

“
Serial killer?
”

“It’s the beard. Doesn’t work on you.”

“I don’t even… Why do you think I should sue Stephanie? It was a year ago. And didn’t you say you liked her?”

“Oh, I do. That would make it extra fun.” He opened his eyes wide. Then all traces of humor faded, and for a moment he looked like the determined, resourceful man he in fact was, when he wasn’t being a hyperactive jerk. “But she called you an impotent has-been, in print, and you’ve been sliding downhill ever since. I’ve had a year of watching my best friend lose it. I’m done.”

“I don’t care what she wrote. I don’t care what people think. I haven’t lost it.”

Gabe pointed out the window to the overgrown backyard. “Have you actually looked at that? Have you
seen
it? Because you told me that’s your soul, Alex, and that makes me very fucking nervous. What’s it gonna take to get you back on track? Asking for help is the first step.”

Alex considered him for a moment. What the hell, may as well say it out loud. “I lost my muse.”

“Did you check under the couch cushions? Kidding. Easy fix. Hunt her down, bang her again, get back on track.”

Alex gave him a revolted look. “I can’t bang her!”

“Is it the impotence?”

“I’m not impotent. It’s the principle.” His muse was sacred.

“See, that’s where you lose me. Morals, principles. Not my strong suit.”

“Doesn’t matter anyway. She’s not here.” He’d asked around.

“Here-in-Emerson here? Ah. Local chick, is she? That why you bought the old bastard’s house and came back to lick your wounds?”

“No.” Primarily, yeah. “And she moved away about ten years ago, I heard.”

“You know, that’s what Facebook’s for. Stalking your ex. Should have looked her up before buying a damn house in her hometown.”

“I wanted to buy this house anyway.” To get back at his asshole of a grandfather, who’d died and left it to some third cousin he’d never even met rather than let Alex have it. To come back to the place where he’d become the artist he was today. But yeah. Mostly because he wanted to see her again.

“All right, then. Forget this girl. Find a new muse.”

“She’s the only muse I’ve ever had. I can’t go out there and pick another woman. I can’t
choose
.”

“You ever try?”

“No.”

“Then give it a shot. Let her go.”

No.
His muscles locked tight at the thought. “I don’t think I can.”

“Why’s she so special? Oh. Did she make you a man, Alex?”

“It wasn’t like that. She wasn’t my girlfriend. We kissed once. Well, I kissed her. That’s about it.”

“Huh.” Gabe stared at him. “Must have been a heck of a kiss to have powered your career all this time. Okay. Alex.” He snapped his fingers in Alex’s face. “Come back to me. Come on. Snap out of it.”

“It
was
a hell of a kiss.” Chaos. Creation.
Everything
. “Gabe. Do you believe in—”

“If you ask me if I believe in soul mates, I’m leaving. And I’m taking your husky with me, because he may be a scaredy-cat but he’s still too badass for a dude who’s hiding in the woods crying about soul mates.”

“He’s only part husky.” Alex scowled. “I’m not hiding. Do you think I’m hiding?”

“Buddy.” Gabe reached over to clasp his shoulder. “I think you’re having a midlife crisis.”

“I’m thirty-five.”

“Congratulations, you’re ahead of schedule. Come back to San Francisco. Forget your muse, forget your work. Stop forcing things. You’ve been running hot your whole life. Why not cool it?”

“What if I never heat up again? What if I can’t sculpt again?”

“Then I’ll teach you how to knit, and you can become a yarn artist.”

“Right.” He laughed. Gabe’s expression remained serious. “You knit?”

“No. I
know
how to knit. I don’t
do
it. But I could.”

Alex was struggling to get over the image of Gabe Sterling knitting. Why the fuck would he…? “You learned to impress a woman, didn’t you?”

“And yet, for some reason, she remained unimpressed.”

Their thoughtful silence was broken by the mournful squeak of a well-used bear as Gargoyle, who’d been standing unseen behind Gabe for the last ten minutes, got up the courage to reach out and mouth his beloved toy against the back of Gabe’s knee.

Gabe froze. “He’s behind me, isn’t he? Shit, always wanted to say that.” He turned and crouched to let Gargoyle importantly give him the bear.

“Told you. Patience is all you need.”

Gabe took the bear, said, “Eww,” when it squished, then manfully squeaked it a few times before throwing it for Gargoyle. He wiped the drool off on his jeans and directed his sharp green gaze at Alex as Gargoyle snatched up his bear and came bounding back. “Then be patient, Alex. Things will take a turn sooner or later. Trust in— Oh God,
how
? How can he drool this much?”

Once Gabe had driven away at his usual old lady cautious speed—seriously, why buy an Aston Martin if you’re going to drive ten miles under the limit?—Alex wandered out to the backyard and gazed at his hellscape. The abandoned carcasses of five pieces that he’d lost his grip on halfway through their creation arched up in the fading light, taunting him. He stomped through the overgrown grass toward the barn, tripped, and swore. Six. Six fucking pieces he’d stalled on. He’d forgotten this one. He glared down at the wretched little hulk. Did it even count? He’d made, what, three welds before he’d given up on it? Using the toe of his heavy work boot, he kicked it out of his way.

He slammed into the barn, scattering dust down from the rafters. The fall of particles glinted gold in the last fiery gasp of the sun, and Alex watched it somberly. Was this it? Had he reached the end? Had the fire that had burned in him since he was a kid burned out? He rubbed his hands over his face, felt the beard scrape rough against his palms, and swore again.