"No." Charlie took a shaky breath and let it go. "Neither of us listened." Then she'd woken up this morning and found she simply couldn't breathe anymore. "I didn't even give him a chance to listen today." She'd blasted him with all her frustration, then told him it would be best if she processed everything alone. As though she would be a better, smarter version of herself without him. Only, that could never be true.
Her mother held her gaze, her eyes serious and full of deep love. "Then go back. Make sure he hears you. And while you're at it..." Her mother squeezed her fingers with the little strength she had, and yet it seemed so mighty. "Make sure you're always listening to what's in your heart too. Even if it scares you. Even if it doesn't feel like it makes sense. Trust yourself, honey. I always have."
The tears spilled down Charlie's cheeks. Her mother's words seemed to echo what Charlie had tried to make Sebastian understand about his art. Trust your heart. Because Sebastian's art came straight from his heart. He just hadn't learned how to trust it yet.
Her mother had asked Charlie what her mile was, the one she needed to walk every day. Now she knew. It was this--committing to Sebastian with no more reservations, no more holding back, no more running away or keeping secrets, no matter what.
Charlie wasn't a quitter.
And Sebastian was worth fighting for.
*
Sebastian had been sitting at his computer for the past hour trying to write the damned email that would set Charlie free. An email that would let her know he loved her with every beat of his heart and every breath he took. That was why he had to let her go. Because he was toxic for her. Because he knew she'd be happier without him pushing her into a scene she didn't want to be a part of. Because he knew the art world was her oyster, even if he wasn't there with her. And that he would always be her biggest fan, would always appreciate every single masterpiece she created.
But just like his drawings, the words wouldn't come out right. Dear Charlie was as far as he'd gotten. Hell, it felt like he barely had a grasp on the English language, for all the success he'd had stringing together sentences that made sense.
Maybe because his chest was so tight he couldn't get enough oxygen to his brain.
Maybe because nothing made sense without Charlie in his life, without holding her in his arms or waking up to see her beautiful face lit by the first rays of the sun.
Or maybe it was because he'd been lying to himself all these years about knowing the right words, about believing in yourself. Just believe and all your dreams will come true. Charlie was his dream, so much more than any dream he'd ever dared to have.
And now...
He shoved his chair away from the desk so hard the whole thing toppled over, crashing to the floor. He didn't care. Didn't care if every piece of priceless art sitting on his shelves fell and shattered into slivers.
He'd never let himself get truly drunk before, not even when he was a teenager. He'd always been so careful not to turn into his father.
It had happened anyway, hadn't it? He'd become toxic to the woman he loved.
His hands shaking, he poured himself a full glass of whiskey. With his gut a coiled mass and his chest so tight he was choking, he raised his glass to the memory of his father, then tossed back the liquid in one harsh gulp. The whiskey seared his throat going down, burned all the way into his heart, setting fire to the image of his father laughing at him.
His grip on the glass tightened until his knuckles turned as white as the ghost of his father. Then, with all his anger, all his fear, all his grief, he threw it against the brick fireplace.
"Sebastian?"
He spun. Charlie, lips parted, eyes wide, stared at the mess in his office, the remaining whiskey in the bottom of the glass still dripping down the brick. He'd never needed to let her go more than he did in this moment. Right now, when she saw it all, saw him at his worst.
But he couldn't get the words out. Couldn't find the strength to tear off the shackles he'd bound her with. Not even when she strode to him through the glass, her steel-toed boots crushing the shards. She was so beautiful, everything he'd ever wanted, everything he could ever want. She owned his heart and soul.
"I'm not running again." Her words were quiet but firm. Utterly determined. "No matter what."
"Charlie." It was the only word he could push out of his burning throat. Her name was both a prayer and a desperate plea not to give up on him, even after he'd given up on himself.
"I have so many things I want to ask you. So many things I want to tell you. But first--" She held out the clipboard of sketches he'd worked on this morning, forcing him to look. "I'm going to tell you what I see when I look at this drawing." She traced the lines of the sketch with one fingertip. "I see me. The real me."
He had to say, "You're far more beautiful than that." His hands could never bring out her true beauty.
"Maybe I am, but this is my essence," she insisted. "This is when I'm at my best. When I'm working. You show that with every look you give me, with every kiss, and with this too." Another step closer, glass crunching beneath her boots. "Now it's your turn. Tell me what you see, Sebastian," she whispered. "What you really see, not just what you're afraid you see."
He was afraid. Not only of being an artistic failure, but also of somehow diminishing her in the drawing, as his father had accused him of doing so long ago.
"He threw my sketches into the fire." The words were out before he even realized he'd opened his mouth. Tonight his control had fled, gone after all these years of locking his secrets deep inside, hiding them from the Mavericks, from Bob, even from Susan. "My father found my drawings. When I was twelve. Of him and my mother. He hated the way I'd sketched him. Said I made him look like a weak drunk." Only Charlie's hands over his kept Sebastian from falling back into that night in the filthy living room. "All I wanted was to help him, help my mom. But he and his friends tossed my drawings into the fire, and they all burned while they laughed." Angry, bitter laughter that had echoed inside him with every chink in his walls. So he'd built those barriers higher, thicker, hiding that secret part of himself. Until Charlie. Until he fell so deep, so recklessly in love, that all the walls had shattered like the whiskey glass against the fireplace.
; Charlie gently cupped his cheek. "What did your mom do?"