The Art of Rivers Read online

  “He’s still with you. You know that, right?” His other hand cupped hers now, too, and squeezed. He shifted to face her, his gaze fervent. “He hasn’t deserted you, and He won’t. This may or may not be the hardest chapter of your story, but He loves you. His plans are still good.”

  “That’s the thing. My mind knows all the ways to heal. My church upbringing gives me all the right words. But I’m floundering when I try to get the messages into my broken heart. My spirit keeps wrestling with the ancient truths I’ve always believed.”

  “Wrestling is okay.” He squeezed her fingers. “It proves you’re alive.”

  “Yeah.” But maybe the problem was she didn’t want to be.

  “Family of Star Youngblood?” a man’s voice called into the room.

  “We’re her friends.” Cooper gave her hand one more squeeze then stood to face the doctor, leaving cool air where his warmth had been beside her.

  The doctor gave them a suspicious once-over.

  “Actually, I’m Cooper Knight, a therapist from the Re-Claimed sober living house where she was brought with the injury.” He nodded toward Rivers. “And this is Rivers. She’s an art therapist who has agreed to sit with Star. We don’t know if Star has family.”

  With a nod, the physician motioned for them to come into the hallway. Once they were out of earshot of other families, he stopped. “Star was stabbed, maybe with a screwdriver. She was lucky the wound didn’t go too deep. I was able to get it closed. She also has some bruising where she fought her attacker.” The doctor folded his arms over his chest. “I hope she’ll agree to get help once we release her.”

  “When will that be?” Rivers couldn’t imagine the terror of being stabbed. Being shot from a distance had been horrendous enough.

  “A day, maybe two, as long as there’s no sign of infection.”

  That quickly. Hospitals didn’t keep patients long anymore.

  “What about pain management?” Cooper seemed to be moving into his addiction counselor role.

  “We can try to avoid the opioids, if that’s what you mean. We’ll try Tylenol through her IV at first. See how it goes.”

  Rivers let her fingers run across the indention in her shoulder. The searing pain she’d endured after her surgery had been rough. This doctor had said Star’s wound wasn’t bad, but it would hurt while she healed. The area would need to be kept clean, and Star would need to rest.

  “Are you sure you’re okay staying here with her?” Cooper asked.

  Would she be okay? Not necessarily. Rivers shifted her feet.

  “You have so much on you already.” Cooper’s warm hand captured hers.

  Nothing about this trip had been easy, but helping this girl was more important than her comfort.

  “I want to stay.”

  HE REALLY HAD TO STOP touching Rivers. Cooper slid his hand away, immediately missing the contact. But something about her bravery in the midst of her own fragile situation drew him to her even more.

  Like a moth to a blazing inferno or a match to TNT.

  He needed to go to a meeting later. Not thinking about Rivers might be as hard as his previous addiction. Cooper pressed his palm to his forehead while the doctor gave her a few instructions for the night ahead.

  Any other single woman in the world, and these emotions stirring within him might make sense. But this was Jordan’s girl, for goodness’ sake.

  First, she’d never be interested in a guy like him, and second, even if she were, it would be another savage blow to his aunt, uncle, and his parents. They already hated him.

  A month. Thirty days or less.

  Rivers was leaving after that. He could white-knuckle his ridiculous attraction for that long, then sink himself deep into some heavy-duty counseling. That and look for a new place to live, hold art therapy, and sell paintings.

  “Do you have a headache, Cooper?” Rivers stared at him, searched his face, her blue gaze concerned, kind.

  “Something like that.” Not a lie. His brain was scrambled.

  “You go back. They’re sending her to a room now.” Her head cocked to one side. “And didn’t you say something about art therapy with the guys tonight?”

  He gave a slow nod. Yeah. He should go, but something about her gaze was like a whirlpool sucking him in. His feet took him about an inch from her. “Call me if you need anything. Or if you change your mind.” His hands lifted, but he commanded them to stop before he touched her again. “No matter what time.”

  “I will.” Her voice was soft, barely above a whisper.

  “I... I should...” The hospital’s bright overhead lights shimmered in her flaxen hair, which hung in loose strands around her face, framing blue eyes the color of the Caribbean on a clear day. What was it he’d been saying he should do?

  “You can go. Really.” Her brows raised as she gave him a soft nudge on his shoulder.

  His fingers threaded through the front of his hair. “Right. Going.” He turned to leave, realizing as soon as he took a step that the exit was behind her, not the way she’d sent him. Of course, Rivers was the one with no sense of direction. Pivoting back, he restarted on the correct course.

  “What? I’m fine.”

  “It’s actually”—he pointed toward a red exit sign beyond her—“behind you.”

  A giggle slipped through her lips when she turned. “Sorry. I—”

  “I know.” Smiling, he passed her, hands stiff at his side.

  No looking back either, bro.

  Now he was talking to himself. Even more than usual.

  Half an hour later, Cooper stood in the studio in front of eleven men who were already armed with easels, brushes, and acrylic paints. Earlier in the day, he’d formulated his agenda. But with thoughts of Rivers screwing up his mind, he struggled to remember what that game plan had been.

  The great thing was that the creative process allowed his clients to express their emotions, often even in the most closed-off cases. Using art to communicate what was bottled up inside somehow felt less invasive than talk therapy.

  He may as well begin with an old standby. “Let’s explore color with abstract paintings. Use a pencil and draw off a few sections on the canvas. Think of your addiction as a color. Picture your sobriety as another color. Where do they meet? Where does God fit into the picture? What color represents Christ? His sacrifice? Imagine a shade for forgiveness for those who’ve wronged you, and another for forgiveness you receive from God for yourself, your mistakes.”

  A few nods answered him. The group was no doubt somber because of the earlier trauma. Most of these guys had seen violence and tragedy, so a new encounter often dredged those memories to the surface. Another reason he’d been so worried about Rivers. What would the trauma do to her?

  He should say a few words of encouragement. “Tonight was hard. We’ve all been in those dark, dangerous places, but praise God, we’ve been given another chance. So have Star and Blake. Her injury isn’t too serious according to the doctor.” Pacing, he said a silent prayer. God, give me the words they need to hear. “Don’t look inside and get depressed, look up and see a powerful God. Tell every big-mouthed enemy voice whispering those old lies in your ears to get gone in Jesus’ name! Say it out loud if you need to.”

  Some in the group spoke the command.

  Cooper’s passion and volume rose. “There is power in speaking His name. Sing praises, even when it makes no sense. More power. And when nothing’s working, go to the Lord and say, ‘Search me and see if anything is keeping me from hearing you.’”

  “Amen.” Kevin and Davis chimed in. The others nodded.

  “Okay, that’s my sermon.” Cooper removed his phone from his pocket and held it up. “Y’all want a playlist while you paint?”

  No one answered.

  “Playlist it is.” He opened one with his favorite worship bands and turned on the Bluetooth speaker.

  Near the back wall, Kevin sat on the newbie couch with Blake. Frequently, first-timers preferred to
watch, but in Blake’s case, it didn’t really matter what he wanted. The guy probably couldn’t hit the canvas with a brush if they gave him one. His heavy eyes had become almost slits but would sometimes pop open as he mumbled something that sounded like Star. Or Thar or Gar. When clients slurred, it often brought back memories of his own lisp.

  Man, he’d hated the way his stupid tongue had twisted. He’d hated being called little Jaybird too. It reminded him of his lonely childhood, so he’d ditched the nickname Jordan had given him when they were kids and taken his middle name. No one had called him Jay since elementary school other than his immediate family.

  “Coop, you look like the kid on the front of a Sour Warheads package.” Davis laid his brush aside, walked over, and held out his arms, a goofy grin covering his face. “Does someone need a hug?”

  “Don’t even start with your shenanigans.” Yeah, they offered hugs at times, but Davis was messing with him.

  “Let’s go outside and chew the fat a minute. My first layer of paint is drying, and I want this one to be my masterpiece.” Davis motioned with his head toward the door.

  Was Davis having issues, or would the powwow be about tonight’s incident? “Kev, you all right for a few?” Cooper called.

  “Not going anywhere. Take your time.” Kevin’s brows rose as he pointed a gaze on Blake, whose head bobbed, fighting sleep.

  “All right. Let’s talk.” Cooper led Davis out the door onto the small porch behind the gallery. “What’s happening?”

  “So tonight was a little bit of scary town, right?” After pulling a pack of gum from his pocket, Davis popped a couple of pieces in his mouth.

  “You shaken up?” Davis didn’t look it.

  “Nah, not me. But your little woman seemed to be.” He blew a bubble the size of a Ping-Pong ball, then popped it. “I don’t mean to get up in your grill or break man-code, but you got eyes for that Rivers girl. It’s as obvious as a dead skunk on a highway, and I’m worried. Is she in recovery?”

  Nice. What a gross metaphor. And the attraction was that obvious? “She’s not.” Cooper shot Davis a hard look. “Remember when I asked your opinion? Yeah, me neither.”

  “Oh, is this one of those never-miss-an-opportunity-to-keep-my-mouth-shut things?” He crossed his eyes and gave a sideways grin.

  A hearty laugh tumbled out of Cooper. He’d been a tad hard on Davis. The guy was just doing what he’d been taught to do. Be honest. Ask difficult questions. “Sorry. You’re on track. It’s just that Rivers isn’t what you think.” He raked his fingers through his hair. “Between you and me—and Kev and Gabby, of course—Rivers was Jordan’s fiancée. She inherited the gallery and came to sell it.”

  “Whoa. I did not see that one coming.” His head bobbed. “Harsh news about the gallery, and you have a thing for her too. Your cousin’s—”

  “Shut up, dude.” Cooper massaged his temples as if it would do any good. “I never said I had a thing for her.”

  “Didn’t have to, but I’ll keep that part between me and the Big Man Upstairs when I pray for your gooey-eyed self.” He clucked his tongue and mumbled under his breath, “But it’s as obvious as a dead sku—”

  “Enough with the skunk.” Cooper looked up. Please don’t let it be that obvious to Rivers. He’d need to come to terms with his attraction before he messed things up big-time.

  Chapter 11

  THERE WAS NOTHING QUITE like the sterile anticipation of sitting in a hospital room. Rivers let her gaze travel from Star’s sleeping figure to the drab walls around her laden with printed signs about patients’ rights. If these walls could talk, they would likely weep from all the sadness, heartbreak, and difficulties they’d been witness to.

  The aroma of coffee mingled with the scent of cleaning fluid. Maybe a nurse could direct her to the source of the fresh brew.

  “Momma...” Star’s moan interrupted that thought. The sheets rustled as the girl repositioned herself.

  “You’re going to be okay.” Rivers caressed Star’s forehead.

  Star’s eyes closed. No matter their age, it seemed everyone called for their mother when they were in pain. Even when their mother was long gone. Or unable or unwilling to care for them.

  Rivers had longed for her mother’s comfort this past year. The nights in the hospital healing from the shooting. And after her release, through long days filled with grief. Though Mom had done her best to understand that Jordan was gone, because of the short-term memory issues, she often forgot and asked about him.

  But Dad had been there, ever faithful, ever the comforter and caregiver. Maybe Cooper’s sensitive nature reminded Rivers of that. Maybe that’s why she’d leaned into the compassion he’d offered.

  It did nothing to explain the zinging warmth she’d experienced when he touched her, though. Or the fact that she missed his presence the moment he’d gone through that exit door.

  Yep. Crazy thoughts were plaguing her here in St. Simons. It had to be this place. The situation. She couldn’t feel anything for...

  She couldn’t even finish that thought. Cooper was Jay. And Jordan had been her one true love. Not that she believed in the whole Hollywood soulmates propaganda, but she could never love any man the way she’d loved Jordan.

  “Who are you, and where am I?” Star’s scratchy voice held more strength than Rivers had expected. “Where’s Blake? Is he okay?” She lifted her arm and examined the IV. “What’s in here? I need to go.”

  Rivers stared at her. The girl sure had woken up.

  “Are you deaf or something?” Star snapped. “Can you answer me?”

  “You’re in the hospital. The doctor thinks you may’ve been stabbed. There’s a gash just below your ribs, but it wasn’t bad.”

  “Easy for you to say.” Star tried to lift herself and groaned.

  “Here’s the remote for the bed.” Rivers pointed at the buttons.

  “I’m not an idiot.” Star pressed the arrow, and the head of the bed rose. “Where’s Blake? Did he bail on me?”

  “He’s at the Re-Claimed house sobering up. I offered to stay with you tonight. I’m Rivers.”

  “Great. What kind of name is that? And I said I need to go.” Her fingers found the button to raise the bed and pressed. “Like now.”

  A girl named Star criticizing her name? “You need to stay here tonight.”

  “Ms. Do-Gooder, I mean I need to go to the bathroom.” A bitter scoff pressed through her clenched teeth, and she twisted her feet to hang over the bed. “Are you here to help, or do I need to buzz a nurse?”

  “At your service.” She tried to sound perky.

  Help me with patience, Lord.

  Rivers placed her arm below Star’s, careful to avoid her wound. “Let me get the IV pole.” At least she had experience. Her mother had been a difficult patient too. That was the reason Rivers had worked hard to be kind to her own nurses after the incident, despite feeling angry at the world.

  Star showed no such inclination. “What’s in my IV?” she asked as they made a slow walk across the room.

  “Antibiotics and Tylenol.”

  “Figures. Not much of anything. When will they release me? No reason to stay if they won’t treat my pain.” Star pinned her with a hard look. “And they’re not taking me to psych.”

  “They said you could leave tomorrow or the next day, depending on the wound and whether there’s an infection. But you need to heal someplace safe. And clean.” Rivers stopped at the restroom door. “You want me to go in with you?”

  “Do. Not.” Star’s brown eyes hardened. Hands shaking, she grabbed the IV pole from Rivers. “I got this.”

  The pole’s wheels scratched across the tile, and the door closed. Rivers sighed. She should’ve called for the nurse.

  The door opened, and Star held out a hand. “I’m dizzier than I expected.”

  Rivers took her arm. “Lean on me. We’ll get you to the chair. It’s closer.”

  “No.” The sharp tone again. “The bed. I need to
sleep.”

  They took slow steps across the whitish floor.

  Looking up, Star begged with big, sad eyes. “Please ask the desk for something to help me sleep. It’s not fair. I mean, I was stabbed.” A curse word followed the plea.

  “I’ll buzz the nurse once you’re safely in bed.” But she doubted they’d supply a sleeping pill.

  “They won’t listen.” Star scoffed. “I should call a lawyer. People should be treated with respect.” More cursing.

  “They’re taking care of you. I’ve been watching.”

  With a quick jerk, Star yanked her arm away. “I don’t know you. Blake said he’d take care of me.” She reached the bed and climbed up, her face taut and pale, the pain evident. A moan slipped out as she leaned on the pillow and her eyes fluttered shut. “Buzz the nurse. I need something.”

  Rivers complied. The emotional whiplash Star displayed grated on her nerves. Somewhere in her purse, she had some lavender essential oil her friend had given her. She usually forgot to use the stuff, but it was supposed to be calming. Maybe she should slather the entire contents all over the both of them. She grabbed her handbag and dug around. At the bottom, she felt the small bottle and retrieved it. After pulling the top, she dotted her wrists, her neck, then rubbed some on both of her temples.

  She put the lid back on, but popped it back off. A little on the back of her neck wouldn’t hurt.

  A quiet knock followed, and she turned, expecting the nurse.

  “Hey.” His voice barely above a whisper, Cooper entered. “How’s it going?”

  “About as expected. Why are you back already?” Did he not trust her?

  Nearing, he sniffed her hair, his presence sending warmth to her cheeks. “What’s that aroma? I can’t quite place it.”