Over the Edge (Bridge #3)(41)

He laughed softly. “Blue.” Without asking, he knelt down, popped the top of the can open, and handed me a brush.

I took it, though it felt foreign in my hands. I stood frozen in place while he opened the rest. Every color in the rainbow was set before me. Still, I couldn’t move. Seconds passed in awkward silence while I contemplated my next move.

“What’s wrong?”

I gnawed on the inside of my cheek because I couldn’t put it into words. Maybe I wasn’t ready. Maybe I never would be.

This place meant so much to Ian, and here I was, challenged to put my imprint on it. I felt beyond unworthy for the task.

“I’m not sure I can do this. This place means so much to you…”

“Liv.” He brought his hands to my face and forced my gaze to meet his. “Listen to me. It’s a floor. It will see wear and tear. It’ll get dirty. The paint will chip. And one day, a long time from now, maybe it will be painted fresh. Today, I want you to make it yours. Give yourself permission to do this…for me.”

I wanted to say yes, even as I doubted my ability to do what he was asking. I wanted to thank him for caring enough to see the empty place where creating used to fill me up and make me whole. But my throat was tight with emotion and I couldn’t speak, so I nodded and swallowed hard.

“Blue.” He pointed to the brush and then to the waiting blue paint.

Brush in hand, I knelt on the concrete. The floor was cool on my knees where my ripped jeans didn’t cover. He’d told me dress in clothes that I could get dirty, and now I knew why.

I took a few deep breaths, trying to catch the ideas floating across my mind. Lines and colors. Shapes and feelings. I pushed the paint tins out of the way so I could focus on the center, which seemed like the best place to start.

Ian’s steps moved away from me, and a second later, I jumped at the sound of music echoing off the walls. Loud rock filled the space. At the workbench, Ian stood beside a stereo.

“Okay?” he shouted over the music.

I smiled broadly, happiness bubbling up inside me. “It’s good.”

Returning my focus to the center, I dipped the brush into the paint, all the way to the metal, and pulled it back. A solid cyan coated it. The music was loud enough to silence the little voice in my head that tried to tell me I couldn’t possibly do this. Not after so long.

Instead, I thought in visuals. This place had meant pain for Ian for so long, so I searched for happiness and found a sliver of memory.

The ocean and long summer days at the beach with my brothers. Those few days every year as a child when everything felt perfectly right. Salt on my skin, laughing and exploring the shore. My mom’s smile was warmer than the sun, and my dad’s time was only ours. Everything around the memory blurred, growing darker when I started to think about how we’d grown apart in the years since. I returned to the happy memory. It was decidedly blue.

The first stroke was emotion—raw and unafraid. That thick wash of blue invited more. More colors, uneven lines, mistakes, and feelings that only had one outlet. I took the rest of the brushes out of their packages to see what I had to work with. I pulled my hair into a messy knot on top of my head and returned to mix up a soft gray—early morning clouds that hovered above the water.

The music played, and the world disappeared. The once daunting canvas beneath my feet disappeared bit by bit, under an ocean of memory. I felt Ian’s gaze on me at times, but when my focus broke, I found him sifting through boxes of broken glass at his father’s workbench, seemingly adrift in his own creative magic.

I lost time. I had no idea how many minutes or hours had passed, but eventually my back and hand began to ache. I sat back on my heels and rolled my shoulders. I couldn’t finish tonight, but I had definitely left my mark. The design had worked out from the center, layers of color, uneven rings, and diversions. Seagulls cut through the waves of blue. Sand melted into the waves and clouds. Next time I’d bring out the sun.

I cocked my head, strumming with energy and unexpectedly pleased with the results. The painting was abstract but bright and vivid. Folding my happy memory into the piece for Ian to gaze upon felt right. I hoped I’d given him a measure of what he wanted to add to the space.

“That’s awesome.” Ian stood behind me a few paces, his focus fixed on my design.

I smiled broadly, pride beaming out of every pore. “You really like it?”

He nodded with a sweet grin. “I love it, Liv. Why the hell did you stop painting?”

I drew in a deep breath. Then I let it go the same way I’d let go of the fear that had held me back for so long. “I guess whatever made me stop is in the past now. If I weren’t so sore right now, I’d keep going. I feel like I could go all night.”

When I glanced back at Ian, a familiar heat darkened his eyes. His lips curved up into a wicked grin. “I can go all night if you can.”

A rush of desire surged between my thighs and made my breasts tight and heavy. “Ian…”

He held out his hand and I took it, rising as he lifted me against him.

“I’m a mess,” I murmured.

But he didn’t seem to care as he crashed his lips against mine. I moaned and melted into him. That familiar frenzy worked its way through me. It tingled along my limbs and exploded at my core, making me want him with a fierceness that made me question my own sanity.