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“See? What use would it have been to meet Aden before that point in time? You might not have hit it off, but now the two of you work much better than anyone else I know.”

“Do you really think so?”

“I know that Aden has never been with someone like he is with you,” she says.

“Not even with Emil?”

“Oh, so you know about him?” Lynn asks, before she nods. “Not even with Emil.” She pauses. “Being with Emil changed him, for the worse.”

Her words surprise me. “What do you mean?”

“Well, you know his history with his family, don’t you?” She rummages through some stuff and shows me more of Aden’s early drawings. The date he signed it shows that he was in his late teens when he drew this. It’s obvious how talented he already was back then. “I met him when I was Oliver’s girlfriend. Instantly got weird vibes from the family dynamics, and at the same time clicked with Aden.”

“Aden told me you were turned off immediately when you saw how the brothers treated him.”

“Yeah, you can imagine, can’t you? I was so pissed off.”

I laugh. “I can absolutely imagine it.” She looks to be the type of person who would immediately call someone out for their bullshit.

“Seriously,” she grimaces. “Oliver was a nice guy, genuinely nice, you know? But it was a turnoff for me to see how he didn’t stand up for his youngest brother. Maybe I am unfair, but back then, I thought, if he can’t even stand up against the bullying of his youngest brother, will he ever stand up for me? Or for our future kids? I gave him a couple of chances, but realized he just wasn’t the guy for me.” She smiles. “Mateo, on the other hand, would totally stand up for someone in need.”

“He would!” I agree enthusiastically. “And he always did!”

“See, I just knew.”

“You said you and Aden immediately clicked?”

“We did.” She takes a sip from her glass of wine while I continue going through the canvases. Now that we have freedthem of all the surrounding mess, we can finally sort through them. “I am from a very conservative family. I know the struggle to grow up, not being able to be yourself, and holding back. Aden’s struggles really spoke to me. Even back then, he was very strong. After I broke up with Oliver, I didn’t see him for a while, but when we met again, we hit it off immediately.”

“And Emil?” I ask.

“Emil just pulled him down again,” she frowns. “Man, Noel. I know I shouldn’t talk badly about the deceased, but Aden was a wreck thanks to that guy.”

Maybe it’s because I met Aden at a different time in his life, but it’s hard to imagine him being truly broken. However, he did mention that meeting me in that small grocery store was a crucial moment for him also.

Lynn rummages through the paintings before pulling out two separate ones. One is dark and full of sorrow, the other much lighter. It still has its signature touch of melancholy. It seems that’s definitely his style. Even his painting of a beautiful landscape has that touch of heaviness. However, it’s also what makes his work so intriguing. She points at the dark painting. “Aden, when he was with Emil. Don’t get me wrong, great painting, but obviously the artist struggled mentally.” Then she points at the lighter one. “Still his style, but in a much more healthy way. Aden, when he met you.”

“Wait a moment!” I exclaim, inspecting the painting with a frown and checking the date. “You are right, he already was with me when he drew this one.”

“Like I said, he has never been with someone the way he is with you,” she repeats. “I am very happy for him.”

Her words make me insanely happy, but there is also a dull feeling in my stomach, something I can’t quite put a finger on yet. What if I disappoint him? I am almost certain I will. I alwaysdo and end up disappointing those I love. Why should it be any different this time?

No, Noel, not the right time to panic.

There is no reason for it!

Lynn, fortunately, hasn’t noticed my anxiety spiking and has turned towards a different painting. On it, I can see a young man with soft features, his eyes are red-rimmed, his face pale, the whole vibe around him is dark and depressed. It’s not a particularly flattering image, but it strikes something in me. It’s sad, and heavy, and almost desperate. It must be a painting from Aden’s more depressive phase. Lynn shakes her head. “Emil,” she mutters. “I wonder if things would have been different if you had let Aden help you.”

“How did he die?” I hear myself ask.

“He overdosed,” Lynn says quietly, still looking at the image sadly. “He broke Aden’s heart every time he fell back into taking drugs. But when he died, it truly broke Aden.”

He overdosed?!

That’s what Aden meant when he said it wasn’t a healthy relationship. He was an addict. That’s why the picture just struck something so dark in me. He looks like Mom looked when she was younger and lived off her drugs.

And it looks like I did when the addiction started to chip away at all of my remaining personality, and all of the love I could feel, because I was too weak to stay away from what killed my father and ruined my mother.