Page 8 of My End (Iron Fiends #10)

Tilly

Eat. Sleep. Paint. Repeat.

That had been my life for the past five days.

Adam had kept me alive by swinging by with food I didn’t ask for but always devoured. I slept in bursts, crashed on the couch, or curled up in the oversized bean bag in the corner. My hair was a mess, my back ached, and my fingers were cramped from gripping brushes too long.

I’d also never felt more alive.

I stood now a few feet in front of the canvas with my hands on my hips as my eyes scanned every brushstroke like I was seeing it for the first time.

The paint was still drying on parts of the upper right corner, where deep maroon swirled into bursts of orange.

My gaze tracked down to the cheekbone, where a jagged edge of cobalt curved into shadow.

It was… Jake.

His face, yes. But not the literal version. This wasn’t realism. This was something more instinctive. Abstract in color and stroke, yet unmistakably him.

The jawline was bold, sharp with indigo shadows and warm gold bleeding into deep crimson.

The beard was stubbled into form with harsh lines of dark charcoal and a smear of ultramarine that anchored the entire lower half of the piece.

The mouth was set with lips pressed together, but there was something in the curve. Not angry. Not soft. Just… bracing.

But the eyes?

God, the eyes were alive.

A mixture of green, black, and just the faintest dusting of copper to give them depth. They watched you. They dared you to look back.

The whole piece shimmered with colors bright and explosive strokes of coral, turquoise, ochre, and magenta, but despite the vibrant palette, there was a darkness threaded through it. An edge I hadn’t planned on. A weight that snuck in beneath the color like a whisper of something broken.

It was unlike anything I’d ever painted before.

I’d painted portraits before. Hundreds. Maybe thousands. I was known for them. But this… this had been for me.

Just me.

A knock pulled me from the trance, and the door opened without waiting for a response.

“I come bearing granola and protein and things you haven’t eaten in four days,” Adam called, balancing a tray on one hand like a magician.

I laughed and wiped my hands on the legs of my pants. “I’ve only asked for coffee this whole time.”

“You ask. I ignore. That’s our relationship.” He moved toward the coffee table but stopped short when his eyes landed on the painting.

“Oh my god.” He froze in place, and his entire body leaned toward the canvas like he was seeing something sacred.

I chewed on my bottom lip and turned toward him slowly. “Um… well. What do you think?”

Adam’s eyes went wide. “Is that…”

“Don’t say it.”

“Is that Jake Style ?” he whispered.

I groaned and dropped onto the couch. “Don’t make it a thing.”

He blinked slowly. “How on earth did you manage to paint a portrait of that guy from memory?”

I rolled my eyes and pushed my hair out of my face. “It was easy, actually. Jake has one of those faces.”

Adam stared at me like I’d grown another head. “You think it looks like Jake ?”

I shrugged. “I didn’t know you had a thing for Jake,” I added, teasing.

“I’d have to be dead not to notice that man,” Adam said flatly. “And it looks like you noticed, too.”

I gave a theatrical sigh. “I paint portraits, Adam. Is it really that strange that I met someone interesting and painted him?”

“No,” he said and set the tray down finally. “What is strange is that you saw that man for, what, five minutes? And then you went off the grid for five days and birthed this? That’s what’s strange, Tilly.”

I wasn’t ready to unpack that.

Not even close.

“I would buy this one from you if I had the money,” Adam said as he still stared at the canvas. “God knows the only way I’ll ever get my hands on a Tilly X is if I buy one of those overpriced animal notebooks from Target.”

That made me laugh. “You say that like you didn’t already buy six.”

“I bought them as gifts. ”

“Sure you did.”

I gestured toward the painting. “How about I commission your portrait next?”

He wrinkled his nose. “Hard pass.”

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t want to look at my face on a wall. But this hunk?” He pointed at Jake’s portrait. “I’d hang him on the ceiling.”

My eyebrows lifted. “The ceiling?”

He raised a brow back at me and grinned. It dawned on me what he meant, and I wrinkled my nose.

“Oh, now she gets it.”

I held up both hands. “Forget I asked.”

Adam barked out a laugh and moved toward the door.

“I need to get back to the kitchen. Boone’s back this afternoon, and I want his favorite dinner ready by seven sharp.”

My stomach flipped. Not in a good way.

Right.

Boone.

Boone meant formality. Boone meant expectation. Boone meant… I had to leave this room.

“Think I could convince him to eat at a reasonable hour?” I muttered. “Like six-thirty?”

Adam shot me a sympathetic smile. “I’m all for fighting the power, but he signs my paychecks. You’re stuck with seven.”

I groaned. “Fine.”

Adam gave one last glance at the painting. “I’m telling you now that one’s going to sell for big bucks.”

I shook my head. “It’s not for sale.”

That stopped him. “What?”

“I said… it’s not for sale.”

Adam looked at me like I’d grown horns. “You’ve never said that. Ever. You even sold that weird octopus-fireworks hybrid you painted last year.”

“That was interpretive. ”

“That was horrifying. ”

I smiled faintly and turned back to the painting. “I guess there’s a first time for everything.”

Adam didn’t press. He just nodded slowly. “I guess there is.” He stepped back toward the door. “Holler if you need anything. Otherwise, your butt better be in the dining room at seven.”

I offered him a lazy salute and sipped from the coffee cup he’d brought me. “I’ll be there,” I mumbled.

I waited until the door clicked shut before I turned back to the canvas.

Boone being home always changed the house. The air felt heavier. Like everything had to be sharper, straighter, and more serious. Less color. Less joy.

The last time he’d brought a campaign strategist to dinner, she asked me to remove two of my paintings from the dining room because they were “visually disruptive.”

I remembered saying, Isn’t that the point? And she didn’t laugh.

But here in the studio?

This space stayed mine. This space stayed loud but soft and bold yet safe.

I moved back toward the painting and trailed my fingers lightly along the edge of the canvas. The eyes weren’t quite done yet. They needed another layer. More copper. More weight.

Jake’s face was still burned in my mind clearer than most of the portraits I’d spent weeks preparing.

I should’ve been concerned by how often I thought of him.

But honestly?

I wasn’t ready to face it.

And if that meant keeping my head down and painting like the rest of the world didn’t exist?

So be it.

I grabbed my brush and went back in.