Page 74 of King of Pain (Damaged Hearts #1)

Freeze Frame

Chance

I think this is the nineteenth time I’ve paced the living room. At least. Maybe more. I lost count somewhere around lap eleven. I’m tugging at the knot of my bow tie, running a hand through my hair, then doing it all over again.

The tux fits like a glove, tailored within an inch of its life, and yet I can’t stop squirming. I stop at the mirror and try to fix the tie again, but I don’t even know what I’m doing. My hands drop. I sigh.

I’m not even nervous about the art.

Not really.

It’s everything else about tonight. The real reason I’ve got butterflies ransacking my ribcage. This night is more than my first gallery exhibit.

It’s the start of something new. A future. With him.

And there are surprises.

Plans.

Things I’ve been scheming for weeks.

So yeah. My palms are sweating.

Just as I’m about to pace lap number twenty, the bedroom door opens behind me, and I freeze.

I turn around—and stop breathing completely.

Anthony Pacini in a tux.

He’s art.

He’s everything .

It takes me a second to recover from the sight.

“Jesus Christ,” I whisper, stepping toward him, heart slamming against my chest. I reach out, brush my knuckle down the lapel of his tux. The spice of his cologne surrounds me, making my head swim. “I thought it the first time I saw you and it’s even truer today. You simply take my breath away.”

Ant ducks his head for a second, smiling—shy but smug, that trademark blend only he can pull off—then he lifts his eyes to me, full of fire, and slowly drags his gaze down my body and back up again.

“Well, come on then,” he says, lifting one finger. “Give us a spin.”

I roll my eyes but oblige. I turn slowly, shift my weight onto one foot, and pop my ass out a little.

Ant whistles low.

I feel him step up behind me, the heat of him pressing into my back as he grabs a handful of my ass.

His chin drops to my shoulder and his voice drops low and dangerous in my ear. “Not so bad yourself. It’s a good thing we need to leave now, or I’d have you bent over this couch for the next hour.”

I turn around, bite my lip and raise a brow. “Later,” I say, reaching up to flick my bowtie, “when we get home, I’m going to ride that big dick of your while I’m wearing… nothing but this bowtie.”

His eyes darken, throat working as he swallows. “Yep,” he croaks. Then he grabs my hand and pulls me toward the door. “We gotta go— now —or we’re not making it out of here and you’ll miss your own opening.”

I laugh as he leans down to pet Little G, who’s sprawled near the kitchen, dozing softly.

“We’ll only be gone a few hours, buddy,” Ant tells him. “We’ll take you for a walk when we get back.”

Little G gives us a huff of a sigh and goes back to his nap.

As soon as the elevator doors close behind us, I can’t help myself.

I turn, press Ant against the mirrored wall, and kiss him hard and deep.

He groans into my mouth, hands sliding down to grab my ass.

“Hi,” he says when we finally come up for air.

“Hi,” I reply, smiling into another kiss. Then I rest my forehead against his and whisper, “Thank you.”

He blinks at me. “For what?”

“For… just, everything. For being here. For staying. For loving me. I’m just really fucking grateful and proud that you’ll be by my side tonight.”

His hands move to cradle the back of my head, pulling me in close again.

“I’m the one that’s proud,” he murmurs. “I can’t wait for everyone to see how talented my man is.”

The elevator dings, and we pull apart slowly, fingers still tangled.

The black SUV is waiting at the curb, engine purring, sleek and shining. I step ahead of Ant and open the door with a little flourish.

“After you, Beautiful.”

He climbs in with a dramatic eye roll, and I pinch his ass as he does. He laughs, low and warm, the sound curling down my spine like velvet.

I slide in after him and just as I’m about to shut the door, he leans forward and taps the driver’s seat with two fingers. “Reacher,” he greets.

“Evening,” Deacon replies evenly, without turning around.

Ant furrows his brow and leans further forward, peeking into the front seat. “Wait—” He tilts his head. “That’s a tux. You’re wearing a tux.”

“Nothing gets by you, sir,” Deacon says flatly as he gets us on the road.

Oh boy, here we go.

Ant leans back against the seat, crosses his arms, and mutters, “I’m glad you’re coming in with us, Reach.” Then he slaps the back of the headrest. “And stop calling me sir.”

Deacon meets his eyes in the rearview, and I catch the tiniest twitch of his lip.

“Yes, sir.”

I bark out a laugh. These two, I swear. I’d be jealous if I didn’t know better.

Ant grumbles. “I don’t know why I put up with you two.”

Deacon doesn’t reply. But he does take the next turn just a little too sharp.

Fifteen minutes later, we’re pulling up in front of the venue.

An upscale office building downtown, completely transformed.

Red carpet rolls out from the doors like a runway, velvet ropes flanking either side.

There’s already a small crowd taking selfies in front of the oversized exhibit posters—my name plastered on half a dozen windows. It’s a little jarring.

“I’ll park and meet you inside,” Deacon says.

I give him a nod, then turn and step out, offering my hand to Ant. He hops out and straightens his jacket with a little shake of his shoulders. Damn, he’s hot.

“I still don’t understand why you guys chose this place instead of the gallery,” he says, eyes scanning the building.

I just grin, grab his hand, and lead him toward the entrance. “You’ll see.”

At the host station stands a woman in a hot pink tux, pink hair, and a studded nose ring to match. She brightens the second she sees us.

“There’s the man of the hour,” she says, coming out from behind her podium and giving me a tight squeeze.

I hug her back. “Ant, this is Cindy. She’s the head of marketing for the gallery. Cindy’s one of the main reasons this turnout’s gonna be insane.”

Ant smiles and reaches out to shake her hand. “Good to meet you, Cindy. Chance did mention your efforts on filling this event.”

Cindy beams. “Oh, I can’t take all the credit. Your boss, Meg? She knows how to bring the star power. PR goddess, that woman.”

Ant laughs. “Yeah, she’s pretty great.”

“In fact,” Cindy adds with a twinkle in her eye, “she just arrived with a certain very handsome pitcher on her arm.”

I slide my hand to the small of Ant’s back. “We better get in there, then.”

Cindy nods and holds the door open for us.

The moment we step inside, I feel Ant’s body shift beside me. His eyes are darting everywhere, wide and electric.

The space has been completely transformed. Neon arrows snake through the lobby like breadcrumbs. Blacklight installations pulse against the walls. ‘80s music thumps from the DJ booth—he’s decked out in full club kid gear, white face paint, mirrored sunglasses, and glowing neon bracelets.

And my work…is everywhere.

Every painting Liz and I selected is woven into the space, displayed with care and intention. Lit up beneath blacklights and neon signs, they’re framed by bursts of color and nostalgia.

Ant’s eyes catch on the Keith Haring-inspired selfie station backdrop in the far corner, and he leans in and says, “We are taking so many photos in front of that.”

I snicker. “I figured you’d say that.”

We keep walking, hand in hand. But then Ant stops.

I turn back and follow his gaze—and there it is. The exhibit signage, printed on a tall and wide elegant canvas banner that hangs completely on its own, isolated from the chaos of color behind it.

Just one word in stark black letters:

HIM

Beneath it, in smaller print:

A Celebration of Beauty

Ant stills.

I slide a hand over his arm. “Are you okay?”

He swallows. “Yeah, I—” He turns toward me. His eyes are wet but shining. “I just wasn’t expecting that.”

I press a soft kiss to his lips and murmur, “And I wasn’t expecting you.”

Ant closes his eyes for a beat. When they open, I see something settle behind them. A calm. A quiet awe.

“Come on,” I say, tugging his hand. “There’s so much in store for you tonight.”

He blinks at me. “F-for me? This is your night.”

I spin as I walk backward, facing him with a grin. “Is it, though?”

He narrows his eyes, suspicious. But he still takes my hand.

We reach the official starting point of the exhibit, and a cheesy grin spreads across my face.

A foam 3D print of an old-school arcade cabinet, complete with faux buttons and a joystick glued to the top sits like a beacon on a hill. It’s ridiculous and amazing. Across the screen in pixelated font are the words:

START

Player 1

Level 1

I feel Ant squeeze my hand, and when I glance at him, he’s smirking too.

“God, I love your brain,” he mutters.

“Wait until you see level two,” I tease.

Just then, I spot Liz weaving through the crowd, heading straight for us in a pristine white pantsuit that screams elegance with a side ofbadass. Her hair is twisted up in a French knot, and as she gets closer, I spot something glinting on her lapel.

A gold pin.

No—wait.

I squint.

Is that a…?

“Oh my God. Is that a Rubik’s Cube?” I say as she steps up.

She opens her arms and pulls me into a hug, pressing the side of her face against mine.

“I’m so fucking proud of you,” she murmurs into my ear. “Murph is pissed he couldn’t be here.”

I laugh and lean back, keeping my hands on her elbows. “Thank you, Liz. Seriously. For everything. This whole thing kind of fell in my lap, and I appreciate how rare that is. Especially in this world.”

She smiles, her eyes sharp but warm. “Maybe so, but if you didn’t have the talent, I wouldn’t have put my gallery or my name on the line. Believe that.”

I drop my gaze, a little bashful now, but her words hit hard and settle deep. She believes in me. That matters more than I ever expected it to.

Then she turns to Ant.

“Ah,” she says, voice dropping an octave into a kind of reverence. “The muse.”

She wraps him in a hug, and Ant hugs her back, eyes a little wide.

When they break apart, she looks around, gesturing to the space. “It’s stunning, isn’t it?”

Ant nods and works his throat like he’s trying to find the right words. Finally, he says, “It’s one thing to see them all stacked in a spare room,” then he sweeps his hand around the room, “but to see them properly displayed, up on a wall with perfect lighting, is another thing entirely.”

Liz gives a knowing smile. “Yes. Yes, it is.”

She turns to me again, businesslike now. “I wish I could stay with you boys for the whole walkthrough, but duty calls. I’ve got collectors to charm and critics to avoid.”

I pull her in for another quick hug. “Thank you again. For everything. Truly.”

She squeezes my arm. “You’re welcome. I’ll grab you later when it’s time to say a few words.”

I nod, and just like that, she’s off—swept into the crowd.

A crowd .

I stand there a moment, watching the pulse of people moving through the space—gathered around pieces I painted. For a second, it’s almost too much.

As if he knows, I feel Ant’s hand in mine again, steady and warm.

“Come on,” I say, turning toward the first neon-lit painting. “Let’s go see what level one has in store.”