Jordan pulled the paintbrush from the cup again and watched the paint drip back into it before swiping the bristles against the rim.

“So you’re saying that I should paint my brother just got arrested for selling dope all over this thing?” Whoa.

“Not that exactly,” I said scrunching up my nose and twisting my lips. “I don’t think that’s what August had in mind, anyway.” Jordan let loose a single laugh. “I do think you should let go of some of the things your brother’s arrest makes you feel onto the mural, though. In color, shape, texture, whatever feels right.”

Jordan took a few careful steps to the wall. He looked up at the nearly finished surface and drew the brush from the cup once again. This time, he looked at the paint and watched it drip, but then slapped the brush against the wall. “Upset.”

He dipped the brush in again and pulled it right back out without a second glance, punching the wall with color. “Embarrassed,” he said a little louder, grabbing Ridge’s attention.

“Deserted.” Swipe.

“Angry.” Swipe.

“Sad.” Swipe.

“Damn, Ms. C,” Ridge whispered next to me.

“I know,” I said placing my hand over my heart.

Ridge and I watched Jordan as he let go on the mural, in a form of silent support. Watching him work through his hurt was both devastating and beautiful. I was so proud of him for allowing himself to feel, but at the same time, I was heartbroken that he had to experience such turmoil. Even still, I was thankful that I was there to help guide him through it.

“Can I come in?” I knocked on August’s office door before helping myself to the chair situated in front of his desk.

“Why’d you even ask?” He chuckled as he closed the bottom drawer of his desk.

The boys and I worked on the mural for around three hours this morning before Ridge’s mom came to pick them up. Thankfully, Jordan seemed to have worked to let go of some of what was holding him back and worked diligently for the rest of our time together. Still, I was shaken by what had occurred, mostly because of what he had revealed.

“Did you hear about Jordan’s brother?” I asked August. I knew he was close with Jordan from when he ran the sports classes in the gym.

“Yeah.” August huffed out and kicked back into his chair. “His mom called this morning to let me know. She said he was taking it really hard. I wanted to catch him before he left today, but I just missed him. How was he?” He sat forward and propped his elbows on his desk.

“Awful,” I said. August winced, his eyes closed. “But, I think painting helped. I mean, I talked with him a little, but after he started working on the mural, he really seemed to settle.”

“Good, good.” August nodded. “Thanks for being there for him. I worry about him, and I’m glad he had you there. You have the biggest heart, sis. He needed that today.” I smiled softly, taking my brother’s compliment.

“He did need that but not so much me being there as he needed his art to be there for him.” I clasped my hands together in my lap and fiddled with my fingers. “I was thinking,” I said, feeling ridiculously nervous about bringing up my idea to August. “After seeing how therapeutic painting was for Jordan, I think you should consider incorporating an art program here. Something they can do to both express their creativity and to escape.” I pushed myself back into my chair, letting space ease my vulnerability.

August scrunched his face at me. “That’s a great idea, Capri.” He brought his arms out to his side. “We haven’t had the need for an art program yet, but it’s something to look into. I’ll check out what kind of funding is it out there for one,” he smiled at me.

“So, uh, speaking of the mural and all.” August leaned in toward me. “Whatsa or how’s…” He stumbled over his words, and I swayed a bit in my chair. My brother was a well-spoken guy, so his stumbling had me a little uneasy. “What the hell is going on with you and Wes?”

My back fell back into the chair. I should have expected he would ask at some point, but I wasn’t ready to be asked what was going on with us because, crap, I didn’t even know what was going on between us. I shrugged my shoulders and scrunched my nose.

“Oh, don’t give me that,” August said.

“I don’t know, August.” I shrugged again.

“Well, obviously you two are in the business of making out on your brother’s doorstep.” He gestured toward me.

“August!” I shrieked, feeling the explosion of color tint my face. “You watched?”

“Of course, I watched, Capri. My best friend flew into my house on a mission to see my baby sister. Then you chased after him all flustered, and Kensie immediately started grumbling about owing Lennon fifty bucks.” Oh, my crap.

“They bet on us?” I fell forward, thumping my forehead onto his desk.

“Seems that way.” August chuckled at my humiliation. Ugh.

“Look,” I said, lifting my head just enough to see August. “We’ve been spending a lot of time together, and we’ve gotten a little closer than we were before.” I let my head fall back down. This was so embarrassing.

“Clearly.” August laughed. “Capri, I don’t mean to embarrass you,” he said, and I looked up again pointing to the heat on my face. He smiled. “I just want to make sure you’re good. That he isn’t, you know, being Wes.” He raised his eyebrows at me expectantly.

“He is being Wes, August. He’s more himself with me than he’s ever been,” I said softly. August’s eyebrows fell along with the shadow of a smile.

“Oh.” He tilted his head and squinted at me. “Be careful okay, Capri? You’re my sister, and he’s my best friend. Just be careful.”

I nodded. “I am, August.”

“Crap,” I mumbled, jiggling my bag. I threw my hand in and tossed it around, searching for the keys. I closed my eyes as I felt around. I didn’t know why. I was sure I would have recognized the feel of my Sephora lip-gloss, my pocket sketchbook, and the bag of Skittles with my eyes open, but my desperation had my eyes squeezed tight begging for the feel of cold metal against my fingertips. They had to be in here. Wait. Is that?

The deep rumble got closer, followed by the turn of the world’s shiniest Chevy into the parking lot. I dropped my arms to my side, and my bag sloshed against my legs with the strap still gripped in one hand. I think my mouth fell open, judging from the coolness and sudden absorption of all saliva.

The car approached me in a slow, steady roll, sauntering up to the curb where I stood. Wes grinned at me with his decorated arm propped out of the window, sunglasses on, and fedora pulled down over his forehead. “Hop in, Capri. We’ve got errands to run.” He tossed his head to the passenger door, and I scurried over. When Weston Monroe rolled up radiating sex, a girl followed.

I flopped into the seat and pulled my bag in over the doorsill, leaving it in a heap on the floor. Sitting back on the leather seat, I let out a huff.

“Rough morning?” Wes asked, handing me a cup of coffee. I finished buckling my seatbelt and took it from him eagerly.

“Thank you,” I said bringing the cup in for an anticipated long, soulful sip. I had my attention directed elsewhere, though. Specifically on the curl of Wes’ long and slightly tatted fingers on the steering wheel. I admired a second too long and missed my mouth entirely, pouring the hot liquid all over my white tee. “Crap, crap, crappity, crap.” I dove for my bag, pulling out a wad of napkins, and started dabbing. “First, I lose my keys, and now, I’ve spilled my coffee. What’s next?” I grumbled to myself ignoring Wes’ sniggering. I stuffed the napkins back into my purse and sat up sharply. “What? What’s so funny?”