Truth in Watercolors (Truth Series Book 2) Read online

  Truth in Watercolors

  Copyright © 2015 by Kimberly Rose

  Formatting and interior design by JT Formatting

  ISBN: 978-0-9909103-2-9

  All rights reserved.

  Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products, bands, and/or restaurants referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  License Notes

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Title Page

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  He was looking a little soft. The edges of his body appeared bent in the shadows, but his skin had turned clammy under the glow of the streetlight. Even with the sheen of nervous sweat covering his face, his features appeared matte.

  “Hello, boyfriend.” My cool voice opposed the heat within me.

  “Hey, baby,” Tanner said equally as smooth, which opposed his sticky and slimy insides. The girl I’d just witnessed him choking with his tongue stood aloof.

  “Thought you were at your parents’ house?” I asked tapping my Dirty Laundry booty on the sidewalk outside of a stranger’s house. A stranger who coincidentally lived a block from my house. Idiot.

  “Yeah, yeah, I was. I came home early though to—”

  “Cheat on me.” I finished his sentence for him.

  “It’s not what it looks like,” he said gesturing toward the girl at his left, who was twirling a tendril of her hair around her acrylic fingertip.

  “So your tongue wasn’t just down another girl’s throat? You do know I live down the street?” I pointed in the direction of my parents’ house.

  “Obviously,” he said flipping his head to toss his limp hair from his eyes, “I’m not stupid.”

  “Obviously,” I said fixing my eyes on acrylic girl. I was just about to go off on a tirade about how tacky it was to cheat on me on Thanksgiving. Also, about how ridiculous it was for him to lie to me about where he was, and then show up on the front lawn of a house I drive past every day. Except, the rumble of an unmistakable engine stopped my words and easily stole my attention from Tanner.

  He swung his car door closed from where he’d parked behind my car a few feet away and sauntered up the sidewalk. The extended stride from his long denim legs added a permanent swagger to his gait. “Everything okay, Capri?”

  Weston Monroe—the object of my every pre-teen desire, and perhaps a few current desires, though I’d never outwardly admit it. I watched as he unzipped the black canvas jacket he wore and revealed the angles of his chest and stomach molded under his brownish Henley.

  He tossed the jacket at me. “Put that on C, it’s cold.” I rolled my eyes and slipped my arms into the jacket. I reached for the zipper and yanked it up snagging my dress into the teeth along the way. Despite my now ruined dress.I relished in the warmth of his woodsy and clean scent around me.

  I heard a sigh and looked at the girl next to Tanner. Her beady eyes traced Wes’ body from head to toe. I huffed under my breath. Weston Monroe, the object of every woman’s desire.

  “I’m over this,” I said with a wave of my hand and turned on my pointed heel toward my car. Tanner cheating on me, Wes, just…Wes, I’d had enough.

  “Capri,” Wes said reaching out a hand for me. He caught my elbow in his palm. “You want me to handle things here?” he asked with concern swimming in his blue eyes. The warmth caught me off guard, and I found myself perplexed by their glow.

  “C?” Wes’ voiced whispered, but I couldn’t break my stare. I felt the roughness of his finger graze across my cheek, and my eyes fluttered closed relishing the familiarity of his touch. It was an artist’s touch, one I knew well. It was gentle, yet purposeful. It was spontaneous, yet intentional.

  “Capri, what should I do here?” he asked gruffly. I opened my eyes and looked into his. I couldn’t help but feel they were asking for direction on more than what to do about Tanner. His eyes sought an answer for a question I wasn’t prepared for. I slowly shook my head and took a soft step, backing out of his touch.

  “It’s okay, Wes,” I said and turned around to keep walking. It wasn’t okay, though. Nothing about catching your mediocre boyfriend cheating on you was okay, and there was really nothing okay with the way my heart beat into my spine, pulling me back toward Wes.

  I felt the rumble of Wes’ lowered voice tangle around me through the breeze as he spoke to Tanner. I knew he’d say something to him whether I’d approved it or not. A smile tugged at my lips.

  “Haven’t we hooked up before?” a singsong voice interrupted my escape as I’d reached my car. I peered over my shoulder.

  “Uh, I dunno,” Wes’ mumble rode the wave of another breeze to me. I didn’t wait for her reply and climbed into the car, gathering my heart back into my chest.

  Weston Monroe, resident man whore and my brother’s best friend.

  Knock.

  Knock.

  Knock.

  Correction.

  Pound.

  Pound.

  Pound.

  My manly pound on August and Kensie’s door alerted them to the stallion awaiting them. Me.

  “Oh, hey, Wes. I didn’t think that would be you.” Kensie opened the door wide and smiled at me. She was lying, by the way. She knew it was me, and she didn’t want to offend Augie when she immediately recognized my knocking. I mean, pounding.

  I walked past her, letting myself in, and flopped onto the chair by the door. “August here?” I tapped my feet on the ground.

  “He’s at work.” She held
up a bottle of water to me, but I shook my head. I wasn’t here to socialize. This was business.

  “I’ve gotta get to the shop, but I needed to ask you something.” I stood back up because I just couldn’t get comfortable.

  “Okay, shoot.” She sat on the couch across from me. My legs itched to move, so I paced back and forth in front of her.

  “We’re still doing that ornament exchange thing here on Christmas Day, right?” I sat back down in the chair because my legs got tired from pacing. To be honest, I thought the idea was stupid at first, but then August told me that it was Capri’s idea. She was a pretty smart chick, so ornament exchanges were phenomenal, I bet. Probably the best time I’d have all year.

  “Yeah, we’re still planning on it.” Kensie twisted her face at me. “Do you need to use the bathroom, Wes?”

  “What?” I stopped in the middle of the floor where my legs had brought me to move again. “No. I just got this pedometer thingy. I’m trying to take lots of steps. Lots and lots.”

  I forced myself to sit back down on the chair. “Okay, I’d like to put in a request to obtain Capri’s name for the ornament exchange.” I squeezed the whiskers of my beard in my hands and kept my eyes on Kensie.

  A slow smile crept across her face. “Why?”

  “What? What do you mean why? Can’t a guy request whom he wants to give his ornament to? Is this not America?” My feet tapped on the floor.

  Kensie snorted at me and leaned into the couch. “Yeah, Wes, this is America, land of free ornament giving. Okay, you’ve got Capri.”

  “Yesss.” I jumped up from my seat. “I mean,” I smoothed my jeans and sat back down, “I’ve got this ornament I’ve had for a while now. I think she’d like it, so thanks. Now I can get it off my hands.”

  “Oh, you just have Christmas ornaments sitting around your house?” She laughed, and I blew out a puff of air that had been threatening to strangle me since I got here. Only I would die by the death of my own air.

  “Yes.” Lie. Lie. Lie. Shut up, head. Kensie didn’t need to know that I’d spent three hours at the mall yesterday looking for just the right ornament for Capri, or that I let Bernadette squeeze my bicep before sending her into the stock room for thirty minutes looking for this one particular ornament. She tried to sell me on a heart, which was lame, and then on the snowman with snowballs, which was amazing. I knew the paintbrush was the one.

  “Well, I suppose it’s lucky for you that it’s the perfect one for Capri.” She grinned at me.

  “Lucky me,” I grit out. I was not lucky or getting lucky, at least not since Thanksgiving night two weeks ago. Bearing witness to the breakup of Capri and the tool Tanner left my manaconda out of service to any other woman. It was like the big guy suddenly saw a window of opportunity and refused to let me think of anyone other than the blond-haired beauty. I literally couldn’t get her off my mind. History had been made. I was smitten.

  “Is that your phone?” Kensie asked, startling me from my thoughts of my best friend’s pretty little sister.

  “Where?” I looked around.

  “Ringing, or I guess barking? Your phone barks?” She scratched her head and looked confused, which was uncalled for. Of course, my phone barks.

  “Oh yeah, sorry, let me get that.” I stood up and pulled my phone from my pocket.

  “What’s up, old man?” I stretched my arm above my head.

  “Morning, Marilyn.” Blue hacked into the phone so loud that I had to pull it away. Kensie curled her face up, and I motioned to the door to let her know that I’d see myself out. She nodded and waved good-bye.

  “Need you to—” He stopped to cough again. “Need you to manage the shop today.” He wheezed out another series of coughs. So glad I quit smoking. I slipped out the front door and waited to hear Kensie lock it before heading to my car.

  “No problem. Everything okay?” It wasn’t every day that Blue asked me to cover as manager. Actually, I could only think of one other time and that was when he had to sit in a hospital bed while waiting to piss a stone out.

  “Do dicks rise every morning even without a pussy close by?” Blue gruffed out.

  “Mine sure does; not sure we could say the same for you, old man,” I teased him, swinging my legs into my car.

  “Fuck off and thanks.” He hung up. I held the phone away from my ear and shook my head. Whatever happened to manners? I tossed my phone into the passenger seat but fumbled for it when I saw it bounce off the bag that had Capri’s crystal ornament in it. I hoped I didn’t break it. What was I thinking anyway? I had no business giving that to her, but I had to. I couldn’t squelch the need to do something to get her to look my way, and once she did, no doubt homegirl would like what she saw.

  6 weeks later

  Spinning the brush in the glass, I watched the translucent water swirl as tails of Onyx spun into each ring of the vortex. I pulled the brush from the glass and gently tapped the bristled edge to remove excess water before blotting it on the paper towel. Then I smothered the brush in Kettle and turned my attention back to the iris on my paper.

  I’d taken up the habit of painting him sporadically over the last few years. Though, I never painted his entire likeness, just bits and pieces; an under-shaved cheek with a dimple, a set of full lips quirked up in mischief, a bicep with a marlin wrapped around it. In the last few weeks since Thanksgiving night, he’d haunted my creative mind.

  That very night I sat up until the early morning hours painting every detail of his eyes. I hadn’t even changed from my clothes; feeling the immediate need to purge his concerned eyes from my brain. No matter how many times I attempted their warm tone from that night, I could never perfect it on paper. I’d tried a variety of brushstrokes but could never get the right texture to pull off the depth in his stare.

  A dash of light flashed across the irises on my paper.

  I glanced over my shoulder at the crystal paintbrush ornament Wes had gotten me. I was stunned at the perfection of it and even more stunned that he’d chosen it for me. I had hung it from my curtain rod as soon as I got home on Christmas night. It was the perfect place for the sun to seep into the faceted glass every morning and burst a monochromatic rainbow into my stark white room.

  The light bounced to the photo on my desk of August and me with our grandfather. I smiled, touching my finger to it. I’d gotten my love of art from him. When he passed away a few years ago, he left me with my talent, a small inheritance, and a lifetime of memories with him showing me how to turn a talent into my passion. I wondered what he’d say about what I’d done with my passion now.

  I looked back down to my painting and tossed my brush into the cup of water. Time to get this thing out of sight with the rest. I turned down Florence and the Machine’s version of “Addicted to Love” that had been on repeat and pulled my phone out to check the time. Much to my despair, I had plans to go shopping with my best friends, Kensie and Lennon, this afternoon for bridesmaid’s dresses.

  With my vast collection of accessories and shoes, they’d never guess how much I disliked shopping. I’d play it off today, though. Plastering on a cheery façade while rifling through the racks of monotony.

  Kensie and my brother, August, didn’t waste any time in planning their wedding. Although Kensie and I had been friends for three years now, she and August just met a few months ago. I tended to steer clear of spending time with August and Wes, but after he had found out I knew Kensie, the five of us often ended up in cahoots.

  Engaged for only six weeks, they had a wedding happening in another few weeks. I couldn’t blame them, though. I found it completely romantic that, once finding each other and falling in love, they didn’t hesitate to make a lifelong commitment. Life was too precious to live without purpose, and memories were too fleeting to not cherish each moment. We’d all learned that when we lost my niece and August’s daughter, Ella, in a tragic car accident five years ago. It changed life for us all.

  I walked to my closet and pulled out the bla
ck portfolio case I kept hidden behind my longer dresses. The amount of paintings and drawings I had collected in this thing was embarrassing. It was almost like a diary for me, or maybe a graveyard. Everything that I needed to purge from my head and bury wound up collected in it. I walked back to the desk and leaned the portfolio against it on the floor. As soon as this painting was dry, it would join the rest.

  “What do you guys think? Mint green or coral?” Kensie asked, pinching her straw between her fingers and taking a sip of her iced tea. We’d spent a few hours at the bridal shop trying on a variety of dresses in both long and short styles. Kensie ultimately decided on the short ones to keep with their casual wedding but couldn’t choose between the two colors she liked best.

  “Mint green. I can’t wear coral with my red hair. I’ll look like a Crayola reject.” Lennon voiced her opinion from across the table first. We’d decided to come to Tommy’s afterward for a little post bridal shopping rendezvous to help Kensie finalize her choices.

  “Scarlet Spice,” I said taking a sip of my Cosmo and nodding toward Lennon.

  “What’d you call me?” She arched her eyebrow up into her hairline.

  “That could be your Crayola name. Scarlet Spice,” I said adjusting the strap on my white tank.

  “Oh, I like it.” Lennon waggled her eyebrows at me.

  “Sounds more like a stripper name.” Kensie laughed, and Lennon and I joined in.

  “Even better,” Lennon said. “I’d have to dye the downstairs to match,” she spit out, making Kensie choke on her tea. I shook my head. That was Lennon. No shame. Sometimes I wish I had her moxie. Then I might be in a completely different place in my life now. One I’d always wanted to be in.

  “What do you think, Capri?” Kensie asked me after her choking fit.

  “I’m good with whatever you want, Kenz.”

  “You have to have an opinion,” Lennon said taking a healthy chug from her bottle. I did have an opinion. I liked the way the longer dress fit the shape of my slight curves the best, but this was Kensie’s wedding. I would happily wear whatever she chose. I had complete confidence in her choosing something we would both look great in.