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The third is the one that stops me entirely.
It’s her. Alice. Gold, scattered like dangerous hope across the slashes of yellow. The black line shows so boldly it’s like a cat’s eye, slicing through the whole thing, but the line isn’t a boundary anymore. It’s a path. A scar. A question.
This triage before me is us. All three of us, enhanced by Alice’s faultless talent. The night we spent together. The way the bond was first forged in flesh and brought to life through art.
I hear Jack exhale beside me.
Actually exhale.
No joke. No snort. No immediate quip.
That alone tells me everything.
Alice folds her arms, trying to play it cool, but her fingers are trembling. I can see them.
“Well?” she asks. “What do you think?”
I try to speak.
Can’t.
Ridiculous.
I’m a grown man. I present financial forecasts to boards. I can summarise hostile acquisition risks in under two minutes. I can speak when required.
But not here.
Not in front of this.
Jack recovers first, because of course he does.
“Holy fucking shit,” he says. “Well, that answers the obvious.”
She stares at him.
“What do you mean? What obvious?”
“The trip over here wasn’t wasted. They’re going in. All three of them.”
“Jack.”
“No.” There is none of the lazy flirt in him when he turns to her. None of the jester. His face is alive, but serious. “I mean it. These are fucking brilliant.”
She looks at me, as though she needs a second witness.
I finally find my voice.
“They are.” It comes out rough. “Alice, these are amazing. Beyond amazing. I have no words.”
Her eyes fill too quickly, and she looks away. It stabs me in the heart so badly I want to smash that imposter syndrome in its snakelike face.
“It’s not going to help if you’re just being nice. I’d look like such an idiot if they didn’t sell.”
“I’m not just being nice, Alice,” I say. “Of course I’m not.”
Jack laughs, but there’s an edge to it. “He’s definitely not. Look at him. He looks like he’s seen God himself. Praise to Heaven above and splashes of semen.”
A laugh bursts out of me before I can stop it.
