Stroke of Love (34 page)

“Hi.”

Her sweet, groggy voice brought a smile to his lips. “God, I miss you.”

“I miss you, too. I just went to bed about twenty minutes ago.”

He heard movement, as if she was sitting up. “Why so late?”

“Just making sure I didn’t forget anything. I also wanted to rearrange a list I had for tomorrow.”

He smiled. “I love that about you.”

“My neurosis?”

Hearing her smile warmed him all over. “Your organization. I just wanted to hear your voice again. I’m gonna be at the show all day tomorrow, so…”

“I know you are, and like I said earlier, you’re gonna do great. I wish I could be there.” She yawned, and Sage knew he should let her sleep.

“I won’t keep you up. I love you, Kate. Can you text me when you get to your parents’ house so I don’t worry?”

“I’d rather talk to you than sleep anyway. Yes, I’ll text, but you said earlier that you probably won’t be checking your phone while you’re at the show.”

“I know, but I made arrangements with Siena. She’s going to hold my phone and pass your messages to me. Otherwise I’ll worry all afternoon.” He was so excited about the painting that he debated telling her about it. She hadn’t seen him painting it when he was in Belize and he’d decided to surprise her with it. Now that it was done and the likeness was so striking, he was going to take it to the show with him tomorrow. He liked the idea of feeling as though she were nearby. He wouldn’t offer it for sale, of course, but he certainly could show her off to the world before hanging it above his fireplace so it would be ready when she came to see him.

“Okay. I’ll be sure to text you. Oh, and I forgot to tell you. There was a scheduling issue and Caleb will be taking over my position for a while.”

“He’s a pretty quiet guy. Is he okay with that?”

“He’s actually really excited. I think it will be good for him. It seems like there’s a lot more to Caleb than he lets on, and I think you brought him out of his shell a little.”

Sage was happy for Caleb, but he had more pressing questions in his mind. “I’m glad. Babe, I don’t want to pressure you, but have you spoken to your parents? Do you know when you might come here?” He paced the floor, his nerves getting the better of him.

She yawned again. “Two or three days. I’ll nail it down once I’m with them.”

Two or three more days
. Why did that seem like a lifetime? And why did Kate seem so nonchalant about it when he felt like he wanted to fight tooth and nail to get her here sooner? He knew he was overreacting. What was a few days, after all?

“Okay. I can’t wait to see you.”

“They’re so happy that you and I have the same visions about helping others. They’re really excited to meet you. I told them we’d try and come back the following weekend, if you don’t mind.”

“Anything you want. We can take a train down or we can fly; whatever you want. Get some sleep, babe, and enjoy your parents.” He looked around his concrete-walled studio, which used to provide the perfect escape. Now it felt cold. Empty. Lonely. Kate couldn’t arrive soon enough.

THE GALLERY WAS packed and had been since ten o’clock that morning. Joanie Remington was as relaxed as ever, in a flowing cotton skirt and a black, long-sleeved blouse. She stood before one of her sculptures, answering questions comfortably before a television camera. She had an easy nature about her, and she was immensely talented. As Sage watched her handle the interview as if she’d been doing them her whole life, when in reality, she’d spent very little time in the public’s eye where her art was concerned, he was filled with pride. Between talking with patrons, taking pictures for the press, and handling interviews with the media, Sage hadn’t had a minute to breathe. He was happy to stand off to the side for a minute, giving his mother the limelight.

“She’s been planning for this for weeks, you know.”

Sage pulled his shoulders back and stood up straighter at the sound of his father’s voice, a reaction he’d had for as many years as he could remember. James Remington wore a dark suit and a starched, white button-down shirt, looking formal and important. His father always looked formal and important. Commanding. Sage glanced down at his dark slacks and loose linen shirt. It always took him a moment to look beyond the sharp edges of his father’s personality, which made him bristle, and remember that beneath that harsh exterior was a loving man, even if he showed it differently than others might.

“I’m really glad we’re getting to do this show together. In all the years I’ve been doing this, this is my first show with Mom.”

“I think you’re forgetting one.” His father’s eyes remained trained on his mother. “Your mother was exhibiting in the Mason Gallery when you were just a boy—seven or eight, maybe. You had been shadowing her in her studio for years by then. She took you and your artwork right along with her.” He turned to face Sage and lifted his brows. “She was very proud of you. We both were.”

Sage felt a pang in his heart as he tucked away the rare compliment. “I do remember that. I was never more proud as a kid than that afternoon.” Sage was dying to get outside in the cool October afternoon, away from the stifling crowd, but based on the current state of affairs, it didn’t appear he’d be getting a break anytime soon. He checked his watch. It was almost three. He should have heard from Kate by now.

“Have you seen Siena?” He scanned the crowd for his sister.

“She and Dex went to grab a bite. They should be back any minute. Jack and Savannah are here. They’re in the room with that painting you brought back of Kate.”

Sage’s muscles tensed. This was the first time his father had mentioned Kate since Sage had come home. He waited for his father to say something about the painting. About the nonprofit. Hell, he waited for him to even acknowledge that he’d wanted to make a change in his life.

“I think I’ll go find them.”

It was his father’s firm hand on his arm that stopped him from walking away. Sage looked down at the hand of the man who had raised him. He’d never once lifted a hand to any of his children. Sage was rooted to the floor.

“Stay.”

One word.
A command
. Sage took a deep breath and clasped his hands in front of him to keep from removing his father’s hand and making a scene. He clenched his jaw and focused on his mother as she wrapped up her interview.

“This business of yours. The well business. Please tell me your motivation behind it.” His father released Sage’s arm, but continued to stare straight ahead.

Suddenly Sage was eighteen again, trying to find the words to convince his father that he wasn’t cut out for the military, which is where James Remington would have liked at least one of his children to end up. Jack had eventually become a Special Forces officer, but only after first going to a college of his choice, disappointing his father by refusing to even consider West Point. His father hadn’t pushed Sage or his other siblings toward the military the way he’d pushed Jack, but the implication was understood. Sage had always been artistic, and his penchant for coloring outside the lines made him a bad candidate for anything regimented. The military would have been a grave mistake, and somewhere in his father’s broad chest, Sage believed there was a heart that understood that.

He wasn’t eighteen anymore, and as he turned to face his father, a new and different feeling came over him. He and Kate were about to take a significant step toward a future, and he had to stand up to his father and take a stance that would define him in his father’s eyes as the confident, intelligent man he was. The gallery, however, was probably not the place for such a discussion to take place.

“Dad, let’s go talk outside.”

His father drew his brows together, then shot a look at his mother, who was heading their way with a warm smile on her lips. Her eyes darted from Sage to his father, and the edges of her smile drew down. Her eyebrows knitted together as she cast a stern, questioning gaze toward his father. Sage looked down, his gut clenching. All he wanted to do was find Siena and make sure Kate’s flight had arrived safely, and now he was stuck dealing with whatever bullshit discussion his father felt was critical at that very second.

The sooner he got this over with, the better, and it was obvious that he wasn’t going to be able to escape his father’s scrutiny.
The hell with it
. He planted his legs and flexed his muscles, readying himself for the conversation. “Hydration Through Creation. HTC. That’s what we’re calling it.”

“Why, exactly, are you doing it?”

His father held his stare.

Sage felt as though he were facing an opponent. He moved in close and spoke in a harsh whisper. “I don’t want to do this here, but if you must…All this shit is great, Dad, but I want to do more. I want to make a difference in people’s lives in a meaningful way. I want to experience the harshness of the world and then help to fix it.” The words tumbled from his lips fast and heavy. He felt his mother’s hand on his arm but could not tear his eyes from his father’s. “We’re not so different, Dad. Maybe our personalities are different. Hell, we’re miles apart in that department, but you want me to be a good man. I want to be a good man in every way I can. Your definition of a good man is strong, responsible, and dedicated. That’s what I am. Just not in the same realm of what you deem important.”

His father opened his mouth to speak, and Sage cut him off, unable to turn off the anger that expanded his chest with heavy breaths.

“I’m everything you taught me to be, but my focus isn’t politics. It’s people. You’ve taught me to stand up for what I believe in. That’s what I’m doing.”

“Sage,” his mother said.

Sage felt his nostrils flare, his jaw clench. He could not pry his attention from the man who was staring at him with an equally angry look.

“Sage,” his mother said in a harsher whisper.

“One second,” he snapped. “Go ahead, Dad. Get it out. Right here, right now. In front of all these people.” When his father didn’t answer, Sage did the unthinkable. He grabbed his father’s arm and pulled him toward the room where the painting of Kate hung on the wall.
Emergence
. That’s the name he’d given the painting.
An awakening
. Kate had awakened him in so many ways, from the love she inspired to helping him navigate the confusing depths of his life. He felt his father resist, and he held tight. He pulled his shoulders back and lifted his eyes to the painting.

“And I’m doing it with her.”

His father shifted his eyes from the painting to Sage’s hand on his arm. He peeled his fingers off of his suit coat, his eyes shifting to the crowd. No one seemed to be paying attention to the two of them.

“Son, I suggest that you take a deep breath now.”

“You sugg—” Sage ran his hand through his hair.

“I didn’t ask about the company to argue with you, but to tell you that I had a long talk with Jack about it.” He looked across the room and nodded to Jack and Savannah.

How had he missed his six-foot-four brother and Savannah’s long, fiery hair?
Jesus. Why the hell did you talk to them about this?

“You’re right, Sage. What you said to me when you were in Belize, and what Jack said to me about the person you are, it all hit home. I fought for our country. That wasn’t my decision in the beginning. It was expected of me.” He narrowed his eyes in Jack’s direction again. “Jack had me take a good, hard look at you and your life. There isn’t much difference between us, son. Not in the ways that matter.”

Sage was breathing so hard he could barely comprehend what his father had said. He shot a look at Jack, arms crossed, powerful legs planted hip distance apart in his typical watchful pose. He lifted his chin toward Sage.

You did this for me
.

Jack and his father had just repaired their own relationship after two difficult years, and now he’d gone to bat for Sage. Just as Jack had stood up for Sage, Sage was standing up for himself and Kate.

“Sage, I am not a risk taker the way you are.”

His father spoke in a calm, even tone—so different from the gruff, judgmental tone Sage had expected—and it rattled his nerves.

“Are you kidding? You risked your life.” Sage shook his head, still reeling with confusion.

“Yes. But I did it because it was expected of me. And then it was the man I had become. You’re changing your whole life. Risking everything. Income, stability, your health. You’re doing it out of the goodness of your heart, and you’re ready to come up against me to do it. You’re stronger, braver, than I could ever be.”

Suddenly, Sage felt as if the air had been sucked from his lungs.
Strong? Brave?
His father’s eyes softened; his thick brows relaxed.

“I could not be more proud of you, son.”

Sage sucked in a breath. “You…” He’d waited his whole life for his father to appreciate him for who he was. Twenty-eight years of holding his breath when his father walked into a room came at him all at once. He felt something slide across his lower back to his waist.
A hand
.

You’re proud of me
.

“I’ve always been proud of you. Of the boy you were, so thoughtful and generous, and of the man you’ve become.”

Always
.

Sage was knocked completely off-kilter. He couldn’t pull his thoughts together enough to focus. His eyes darted from his father to the picture of Kate.
Kate. Oh God, Kate. Did you get home okay?
He caught a glimpse of Jack moving toward him. The hand on his waist slipped away and his eyes drew back to the painting.
God, I miss you
.

His mother’s voice sifted through the air. “Honey?”

His father’s eyes shifted to the left.

“Mr. Remington?” A young blond reporter held a microphone at her waist, expectation in her blue eyes.

Sage tried to lift his lips into a smile but could not muster the mask. A lump had lodged itself in his throat.

“We’d like to interview you about this painting.
Emergence
? Do you have time?”

Emergence.
The painting of Kate
.
Kate. Shit. I need to find Siena. Get my phone. No. I need to leave. I need to find Kate
.