Total pages in book: 48
Estimated words: 46619 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 233(@200wpm)___ 186(@250wpm)___ 155(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 46619 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 233(@200wpm)___ 186(@250wpm)___ 155(@300wpm)
“To him, I wasn’t even a nuisance...I simply didn’t exist. Dad also tried to bond with him, but no one could get through his stoic silence. Especially not Mom. It’s like he harbored a deep resentment for her that nullified all our efforts. Then one day, he suddenly left without a word to anyone. He was twenty, and I was just nine at the time. I remember I cried for days for a brother who didn’t even notice me. Mom and Dad looked everywhere for him.
“Mom blamed herself for his disappearance. It’s why she’s so sickly. Years later, I started to see him everywhere in the papers and on the news. He’d become a famous artist. I remember being so happy that I called Mom in tears. I found out all I could about him and flew to London to see him at an award gala organized in his honor, but Abram treated me no less than a stranger. After dad died, I sent him tons of emails, but he never responded to any of them. I know he read them because he sent his secretary down here to attend dad’s funeral. She brought a large amount of money, but I refused it. I gave her the key and the deed to this house. Dad left specific instructions that it be given to Abram after his death. You know that painting of him in the living room?”
I nod wordlessly in response, too overwhelmed to utter a word.
“Abram heard it delivered to me some years back,” Brenda says. “I don’t know why he did that, but I placed it in his living room as some sort of, I don’t know, something that signified his presence, I guess. Later, I read in the news that he’d stopped painting and that painting of him, his last work, is worth millions of dollars. I wanted so badly to ask why he sent me that painting? Why he left home so abruptly? This is the first time in twenty-nine years that he’s returned home, and I don’t get to ask the reason for that, either. Twenty-nine years and he’s not changed his opinion of us one bit.”
“Do you know what happened to him before he came to your house?” I ask, tilting my head to the side in a bid to organize my thoughts.
Abram had mentioned his real father abusing him, and that part had bothered me ever since. And that too seemed to be the root of his trauma.
“I don’t know much about that,” Brenda says with a slight shrug, her brows pulling together in a deep frown. “What I do know is that his real father was a drunk who took out his frustration on his wife and only son. I have reason to believe he was physically and emotionally abused.”
I gasp softly, my heart breaking into painful pieces for young Abram.
He must have been badly hurt to close himself off from people totally.
Unsurprisingly, the one who should have loved and protected him at all costs was the one who hurt him most.
I, more than anyone else, understand how he must have felt. After all, I was in the same shoes...except his shoes probably hurt more.
“Anyway, that’s his story to tell,” Brenda says with a soft sigh. “I believe he’ll trust you enough to open up to you when the time is right. I also believe you’re the only one that can heal his old wound.”
Am I?
I suddenly don’t feel confident about that.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Abram
I stare dazedly at my just concluded painting.
What’s this...? Did I just...?
I run my hand through my hair and stand abruptly, kicking my chair to the ground in the process.
I turn away from the painting, running my hand down my face as an unfamiliar feeling of anxiety lodges itself in my chest. It feels like my chest is closing up, and I can’t seem to breathe well.
I turn back to my canvas and quickly hide it away.
What the hell was I thinking?
I hear the sound of the front door closing softly, signifying Melody’s entrance.
I take a deep breath and ignore the sinking feeling in my stomach.
I exit my studio, leaving behind my momentary foolishness and all the emotions it evokes.
“I was just about to come….”
I swoop in and capture her lips in a hard kiss.
I press her against the door and plunder her mouth with my tongue. Melody returns my kiss with the same energy.
She weaves her hands into my hair and presses herself against me.
I rub my arousal against her, hoping she will feel the depth of the fire that she lights up in me.
We both pull away at the same time, breathing hard from the exertion.
“Wow...” Melody says with a surprised laugh. “That was... What was that?”
I take her hand in mine and lead her to the living room sitting.