Mismatch - By Nana Malone Page 0,71
with enough force to carve him in half. He'd spent so many years trying to look after his brother and failing.
“Sam, I—”
Sam dragged a breath in and braced an arm against the tarp-covered bureau. “Don’t okay? Just don’t. I don’t have the energy to fight with you tonight.”
Eli sat forward in the chair. “I actually came to apologize.”
Sam's brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”
“Well, it's generally what you do after you fuck something up. Open your trap and let an 'I'm sorry' make its way off your tongue. I should probably try it more often.”
As Sam began wiping the paint off with hot towels, he muttered, “I'm listening.”
Eli scrubbed a hand in front of his face. “I should have trusted you. I'm sorry I didn't. My whole life is this fucked up carousel where I look at beautiful things all day but tell myself none of them will be real, so all I see is the ugliness underneath them instead of the beautiful things they are, regardless if they're real or not.”
“I thought I was a mess.”
“Yeah, well,” Eli muttered. He was the one lying to the woman he’d fallen in love with. “I should have trusted you more. I guess I always see us as sixteen, me trying to do anything to save your life, and you trying to do anything to destroy it. I can’t see sometimes that you don’t need me anymore.”
“Oh, shit, we're not going to do some emo-hugging shit, are we? 'Cause I gotta tell you, that would ruin your nice suit. And I happen to know that we have a very eager agent out there waiting to talk to us. Me. Whatever.”
Eli smirked. “I’ll hug you later.”
“Oh, good, then I at least will escape that humiliation. Seeing as I only shower about once a week, you'll have to try and find me at some point I’m not covered in paint or dealing with some crisis of the muse.”
“Maybe I’ll risk getting a little paint on me.”
Samson chuckled. “Apology accepted, big brother. Besides, it's not like I’ve made it easy on you. I do sort of have a past as a forger and a drug addict, and a liar, and a cheat, and a thief.”
Eli winced. “Easy, Sam.”
“Hey, it's part of recovery. We speak the truth. I have been all those things. I might lie occasionally to a woman or two, but I'm not that same guy now. You helped me change that. And if Jessica's bouncing is any indication, I won’t ever have to live hand-to-mouth again, thanks to your looking out for me. You pulled me out of the gutter, and I can’t ever say thank you enough for that.” He sniffed deep. “Shit, now you got me all emo and shit. Well, at least I have an excuse. I'm the artist. You’re the buttoned-up art authenticator.”
“Is this the part where you say, ‘I love you, man,’ sniffle, and slobber all over me, and cover my nice suit in paint and scent of woman?”
Sam grinned. “You know full well that I don't actually touch any of the models while we're painting.”
Eli couldn't help grinning back at his brother. “No one said anything about before the show, right?”
Sam grinned. “I have to do something to relax.”
Eli chuckled as he shook his head. “Oh, hey, one question, do you remember an art patron by the name of Michael Fenton? I met him the other night and he said he was a huge fan of your work in San Francisco.”
Sam frowned. “No. Never heard of him. Why?”
Eli shrugged. “No reason.”
Chapter 22
After leaving the hotel room, Eli made a quick call to Vince before heading to Jessica’s suite. Voicemail. Damn it. “Hey, Vince. I got a lead on the case. Drop me a line.” He didn’t really have a lead, but at least he could sort of point Vince in the right direction. Someone was trying to set up his brother. He didn’t know who, but at least they had a starting point. It had to be someone who knew about Samson’s past. And Michael Fenton was a good place to start.
It would have to be one of Sam’s old acquaintances. If they worked those leads, one of them would shake something useful loose. The way that crew had been going, there could only be a few of them out of jail anyway. They’d start there.
Stopping in front of Jessica’s door, Eli drew in a deep breath. This woman had him in knots. She was confusing as