Page 115 of Rush

It’s cool.

Not that I’d ever have the balls to dye my hair like that.

I’ve just walked down the aisle where the oil paints I use are when I hear my name being called.

“Arianna Petrelli?”

I turn at the voice, and a smile breaks out on my face. “Declan Wiseman.”

Dec and I used to go to art college together.

“How the hell are you doing?” he asks as he comes over to give me a hug.

“I’m good.” I smile at him as I pull away.

“It’s been how long since we last saw each other?”

The sad thing is, I can’t actually remember the last time I saw him. Because most of those years and the subsequent ones blend together.

“Too long,” I say instead.

“Hey, you fancy having a coffee? There’s a coffee shop a few doors down.”

“I’d love that.” I smile again. “Just let me grab these paints, and then I’m good.”

I get what I need, and we head to the counter together. Dec pays for his charcoals. He does charcoal drawings, and from my memory, they are amazing.

I pay for my paints, and then we head out of the store together and take the short walk to the coffee shop.

We order coffees, and Dec insists on paying for mine. Then, we take a seat by the window.

“So, what are you up to nowadays?” Dec asks me. No hint that he’s seen the news stories about me recently or earlier this year.

“I was working for a gallery there for a few years, but I, um…lost my job…and…” I pick my coffee cup up, sipping it, delaying my words. Be truthful, Ari. Stop hiding who you are. I put my cup down and look up at him. “The truth is, I had a drinking problem, and I got in some trouble earlier this year, as I had an accident while drunk-driving, so I had to go into rehab, and I lost my job at the gallery.”

Surprisingly, his expression doesn’t change. “Shit,” he says. “But you’re doing okay now?”

“Yeah.” I smile. It’s a little forced because the reality is, I’m not doing great. I have this huge hole in my chest where Ares used to be. “I’m eight months sober.”

“That’s great,” he says, smiling. “My older brother has been to rehab a few times. Opiate addiction,” he explains.

“Is he okay now?” I ask sympathetically because I know it’s hard for those who deal with the addiction, but it’s equally as hard for those people’s loved ones who have to watch them destroy themselves.

“He’s four months clean at the moment. But my mom and I have been down this road with him before. So, we’re just hoping it sticks this time.”

I nod, understanding.

“So, what are you doing for work at the moment?” he asks, sipping his coffee.

“I’m working for my dad.”

“He coaches the Giants, right?”

“Yeah. I’m currently an assistant to the team.”

“Sounds good.”

“Not really.” I shake my head. The guy I love is the quarterback, and we’re no longer together because he doesn’t trust me. “I mean, it’s a job. But it’s not what I want to do with my life.”