Outside the Lines Page 18

  Lydia was perched on one of the stools at the kitchen island, bent over a thin laptop, her head in her hands. Her rounded shoulders shook, and I stopped short, because she was crying. Not loudly, but unmistakably.

  Shit. Was it me? No. Couldn’t be. Not after the conversation over dinner. Still, nervousness etched itself into my bones. “Lyds?”

  She started and glanced up. Yup, wet eyes. She wiped her tears away with her hands. “Oh, God, Ian. I’m sorry. Did I wake you?”

  “No.” I covered the distance between us and stood by her side. “You okay?” Next to the laptop was a crumpled T-shirt. Looked like one of the new Wolf’s Landing ones.

  “Um, yeah.” She hesitated. “Well . . . no. But it’s not you!”

  Good. I knew. But good. “Sweetie, you wouldn’t have left me with Simon if it was.”

  That earned me a chuckle and her smile, though another tear slipped from her eye.

  “Let me get some coffee—then tell me about it?”

  She nodded. “Okay—yeah. Maybe you can figure out how not to have Simon lose his mind over this.”

  That didn’t sound so good. I found the coffee maker and took a chance the mugs were stored in the cabinet above. Yup. Bingo. There was cream in the fridge and every movement of pouring myself a cup in this kitchen felt perfect. The only thing that didn’t was a distraught Lydia. I pulled out one of the stools and sat next to her. “So, what’s up?”

  She blew out her breath. “Well, last night, I walked past Howling Moon and saw this shirt.” She smoothed out the T-shirt, and yup. It was one of the new Wolf’s Landing designs.

  I studied it, not quite understanding what she was getting at. Then my heart dropped. “This . . . kinda looks like that poster you showed me.”

  She nodded slowly, then turned her laptop. The poster was on the screen and the top right corner, the one with Gabriel Hanford and a wolf, was exactly the same as the T-shirt image, albeit mirrored.

  Ice washed over me. “You didn’t submit the design.”

  “No.” She wiped her eyes again. “I never would . . . or could.”

  “Wait—why couldn’t you? Your art is great!”

  She twisted her lips. “Well, one, it’s fan art. And two, remember, I’ve also drawn some . . . explicit . . . stuff of the actors. You know, the ones that live in my town.”

  Oh. Yeah. She’d mentioned that before. Could be embarrassing. “So, no one knows it’s you?”

  “I use an alias online, and I only post on Fandom Landing.”

  One of the big Wolf’s Landing fan sites. I think I was about the only person at work who didn’t have a covert account. “Someone stole them from there?”

  Another nod. “Or someone posted them elsewhere or something.” She crumpled up the shirt. “Doesn’t matter how it happened.”

  Her art had been stolen and sold as official Wolf’s Landing merchandise. If she stood up and claimed the image, everyone would know her identity. Part of me didn’t see the issue with that, but clearly Lydia had deep reservations. “What do you want to happen?”

  “I’m not sure. Simon’s gonna freak and tell me to fight. I hate that my art is being used. It’s not the money—I didn’t draw them for cash, you know? I did it because I love the books and the show and—” She wiped away another tear. “Fuck. I hate crying.”

  I placed my hand over hers and gave hers a little squeeze. “You’ve never sold any pieces, right?”

  She tapped on her laptop with her other fingers and blushed. “I did once, but it was completely behind the scenes and an entirely different piece of art. This guy begged me to make a print of one of my drawings so he could give it as a wedding present to two big-time Wolf’s Landing fans he knew.” Her smile was faint. “I couldn’t say no.”

  Probably not him, then. Why pay for something you could steal? “I could poke around a little at work and see if I can find out how they go about licensing stuff. Get you that info—and you can decide what you want to do about it?”

  “Yeah.” Lydia breathed out. “Okay. But only that, Ian. I—don’t want to out myself. Not yet.” She chewed her lip. “Maybe not ever.” That came out as a whisper.

  Anger and sorrow snaked through me. They made a killing off merchandise. If the person who’d stolen Lydia’s art got a fraction of that, it was still a tidy sum. That money should be Lydia’s. But I also understood her reluctance—this was Bluewater Bay. She did live here with Wolf’s Landing, the actors, the producers, all of us.

  Hell, I’d read fanfic of the show before I’d joined production, but once I’d met Carter and Levi, I couldn’t read stuff that paired them together. Felt weird to read about them—or their characters—boning each other, then see them on set. And then they’d gone and gotten married and boy, thinking about that was weirder. “Where does personal end and professional begin?” I hadn’t meant to speak out loud.

  Lydia returned my squeeze. “Exactly.”

  A thumping sounded down the stairs, and Simon lumbered into the kitchen, all sleep and mess. He stopped short when he saw us. “Oh shit. What happened?”

  Lydia repeated her story to Simon while I went and got coffee for him and refills for Lydia and me. As predicted, he freaked out.

  “But you have to tell them it’s stolen, Lydia! You can’t let them get away with it!” Simon’s voice rose and he pushed his jumble of hair around his head.

  “I’m not going to stand out on a street corner and admit I draw pictures of Carter and Levi fucking! Don’t shit where you live, remember!” Her eyes were wide and she’d slid off her stool.

  “Guys.” I set three coffee cups down on the island. “Pause for a moment.”

  They both stared at me. Simon rubbed the back of his neck and plopped his ass down on the stool I’d occupied. Lydia sank to sit as well. “Who takes cream?”

  Lydia opted for cream, Simon for none. I fixed everyone’s coffee, pushed the mugs in front of them, then pulled out another stool and sat. “Yelling’s not gonna help.”

  Simon peered down into his coffee. “They’re stealing from her, Ian.” Hard voice. Same one I’d heard yesterday.

  “I know. And it’s wrong.” I took a draw on my joe.

  “But it’s also my name and my reputation, Si,” Lydia said. “I realize you want what’s best, but we live here—and I do work in the comic-book field. I can have fan art on the side. But making money off someone else’s property is right out.”

  “People sell their fan art all the time at cons!” Simon sighed and looked up. “I don’t understand why it’s such a big deal.”

  She shook her head. “I don’t want to be known as the pervy chick who drew Carter and Levi dueling with their dicks.”

  I nearly spit coffee out my mouth. I managed to swallow, but the giggles came after. “Oh my God, really?” I couldn’t stop the laughter.

  Lydia turned red and then snorted and soon, all three of us were stuck in a laughing fit. When it finally subsided, I rubbed my forehead. “I get what both of you are saying. But the simple fact is that it’s Lydia’s art and name, and she has to do what’s best for her.”

  Simon gazed at me for a long time, and then at Lydia. He softened. “Yeah, you’re right.” He seemed to struggle with what he wanted to say. There was the anger and the sadness I felt written on his face. “It’s so unfair.”

  Lydia twined her fingers in his. “It is. But let me find my own way, Si. Help me, but let me steer.” She reached over and grabbed my hand. “And thank you for listening.”

  Simon stretched his arm across and I put my other hand in his. A circle. Weird, wonderful, perfect. Now I wanted to cry.

  A quirky smile formed on Simon’s lips. “Thank you for talking, too.”

  I couldn’t think of the correct words to say, so I nodded and let the Derrys hold my hands while butterflies danced in my chest and my heart beat out a steady rhythm.

  Over the next week or so, I tried to find out how licensing worked and man, was that ever a tangled mess. No one on
set knew. Everyone in the art department shrugged. Later on, after I’d exhausted people to ask, the art director pulled me aside. “Ian, you’re not thinking of selling work from here, are you?”

  Oh shit. “No!” Little prickles of cold danced across my skin. “I saw some new T-shirt designs at the shop in town and got to wondering how the heck they find the artists for those.”

  He relaxed and leaned against my workbench. “Gonna try your hand at graphic art?”

  I laughed. He knew my two-dimensional work was . . . lacking. “I can barely draw stick figures. It’s sculpture for me. I was curious, I guess. Is there some kind of in-house merchandise place, or . . .?”

  “Honestly, that’s a whole different side of the property. Not tied to us at all.”

  So, a bust. I thanked him and then showed him the work I’d been doing on the retro shoot. In the end, he was pleased, and I swallowed the lump in my throat and asked the question I didn’t want to ask. “Has there been stuff vanishing from set?”

  “Na. But occasionally, we get someone with the bright idea to make some bucks off old props.”

  “I wouldn’t do that.” Shit, would never have occurred to me. Stuff belonged to the studio—I was only part of the creative team. If anyone owned anything, it was Hunter Easton. Though I bet that wasn’t technically true, given the arcane tomes contracts were.

  He nodded. “You’re probably the last one I’d suspect. You were worried about taking your badge home the first day.”

  God, that brought back memories. I ran a hand through my hair. “I was a little in awe of the whole place.”

  “Stay that way, Meyers. You’re a breath of fresh air.” He clapped me on the shoulder and headed out.

  I asked Anna about merchandizing, but she stared at me like I’d grown an extra head. “We don’t have anything to do with that.”

  Searching around online led to very few leads. I’d only discovered that it was pretty damn hard to find out how to submit art to Wolf’s Landing. By Wednesday evening, I had nothing at all to share with the Derrys other than myself. I brought another less expensive bottle of wine over, and Simon got two large pies from Flat Earth Pizza.

  Not high class, but none of us were feeling particularly snazzy, especially when Lydia pulled out a second T-shirt with her artwork on it.

  “Well, fuck.” I didn’t know what else to say.

  She tossed it down next to the pizza boxes. “I’ve started to get congratulation notes on Fandom Landing.” She picked up her wineglass and downed half of it. “I think I’m gonna delete my account.”

  “No, sweetheart!” Simon rubbed her arm, his face a mess. “You love that place.”

  “Some backstabbing bastard from there stole my art.” Her hands shook and she set down her wine. “I’m not loving it at the moment.”

  Deleting her account wouldn’t make the situation go away or find the person who stole her work—especially if we got a lead and could dig up whoever was doing this. “Maybe . . . take a break from the site? I mean, if it’s stressing you out.”

  The tension seemed drained from her body and she leaned against Simon. “Yeah, that’s probably a rational reaction.”

  “I’m not exactly known for rational reactions, as you guys found out, but I’ve learned the nuclear option is usually the worst.” I peeled open the top box. Mushroom and olive. “Oh my God, how’d you know this was my favorite?” I took two slices.

  Simon had this weird expression as he watched me chow down. “I didn’t.”

  “It’s my favorite.” Lydia smirked.

  Apparently, we had pizza in common. “You have good taste,” I said between bites.

  We ate and drank in silence for a while and I kept staring at the T-shirt. Unfair. So very unfair. If people knew it was Lydia’s work, she’d probably get a lot of commissions. Maybe better freelance work. Hell, with the Wolf’s Landing clout, she might be able to draw for one of the major studios. “There has to be a way to contact the people in charge of licensing.”

  She shrugged, and it had all the motions of dejection. “I may let it go.” Tears pricked her eyes. “Stop doing fan art.”

  Simon creased his brow and looked over at me, his helplessness radiating across the table.

  I cleaned my fingers on a napkin. “Lyds. You gotta do what’s right for you . . . but maybe wait on all that? We’ll figure something out.”

  She nodded absently, then pushed back from the table. “I . . . think I’m gonna head upstairs. Sorry to be a downer.” With that, she rose and left.

  Simon rubbed his face. “I should go make sure she’s okay.”

  Totally understood that, so I shooed him in the direction of the stairs. “I’ll clean up.”

  Simon stood and followed after Lydia and my heart went with him. These people—I loved them both. My breath caught.

  “Si?”

  He stopped at the doorway.

  Tell her I love her. “Tell her I care, too.”

  A smile that melted me from the inside. “She knows. But I’ll tell her again.”

  I didn’t expect the punch to my stomach or the dizziness that lasted as Simon headed upstairs. I sorted through the leftover pizza, putting it all into one box and stuffing it in the fridge. Dishes went into the dishwasher.

  So very domestic. Normal. Loving. Nothing like I ever expected this relationship to be. If there were any silver lining to the storm cloud of Lydia’s stolen artwork, it was that I’d found a place deep in their lives at the same time, though I didn’t understand the pressure in my heart and head for Lydia. I didn’t want her—not like I wanted Simon. I craved his touch and body and moans along with the quiet moments and the dinners and texts.

  But like with Simon, I desperately wanted Lydia happy. My soul broke to see her so fucking torn up. I wanted her smile and laughter. The light in her eyes to be there again. For this all to be fixed.

  I leaned into the counter and closed my eyes. We were all hurting.

  Simon didn’t walk lightly, so his thumps down the stairs announced his return, and I gathered my thoughts. I was trying to pull myself together when he wrapped his arms around me from behind.

  “Hey.” Warm breath against my ear and he kissed my neck. “Thanks for everything. You’ve been so understanding. You didn’t sign up for this, after all.”

  I turned in his arms and pulled him into a kiss, needing his touch to chase away the sadness, if only for a moment. His hair was soft under my fingers. “But I did sign up for this. You two. Us three.” That was the point of the conversation we’d had last week. “What good am I as your boyfriend and Lydia’s friend, if I’m not here for you both?”

  “I’m so glad you walked into my store.” He hugged me tighter. “Because I don’t know how to make things better. I want her to fight.”

  “But she doesn’t want to right now.”

  “Yeah.” The word came out airy and sad. “And I think if you weren’t here, I’d be a much crappier husband.” He pulled back and took my hand, drawing me out of the kitchen and into the living room.

  “It’s really fucked up.” I sank onto the sofa. “Someone taking her drawings and passing them off as their own. Did they think she wouldn’t find out?” Fandom was a tiny community. Even when the shirts were local exclusives—some merchandise was—word got passed around. People bought extra everything on their trips to Bluewater Bay and sold stuff online.

  “Probably. Which is weird.” Simon sat down and I curled up next to him.

  “Maybe the thief isn’t well connected?”

  “Or they’re clueless.”

  We settled into silence, his body warm against mine, snuggled together. I wasn’t sure which of us was holding the other. Tension leaked out of Simon. Seemed the wear and tear of the past couple of days had his eyes flickering closed too.

  He was exhausted. Made sense. He didn’t get a break like I did since he lived and worked with Lydia—and next to Howling Moon. “Wanna watch some TV?”

  He nuzzled my n
eck. Affection, but no heat. “Sure. I’m afraid I’m not up for anything else.”

  Neither was I. Still worried, still had a rock in my stomach for Lydia and this fucked-up situation. I found the remote and clicked their television on. I flipped through the schedule and found something innocuous: a documentary on the Australian Outback.

  About five minutes into watching it, Simon fell asleep. I let him. Maybe when he woke, his anger and need to fix the situation right now would be tempered. Lydia had to find her own path and be comfortable with whatever the endgame was.

  I understood that. I’d needed to know there could be an endgame with Simon. Sitting in the Derrys’ living room, with Si asleep on me and the television showing beautiful countryside to the sound of lovely accents and music—well, here it was. I could have this.

  Now we had to figure out how to give Lydia everything she wanted and needed.

  I woke to Ian stroking my hair. I was lying with my head in his lap on the couch. “Oh fuck. How long have I been out?” I wasn’t any good at napping—I woke up, was groggy, and couldn’t sleep for the rest of the night.

  “Maybe twenty minutes?” He caressed my shoulder. “Not long.”

  I should’ve sat up, but I didn’t want to move from Ian. If I rose, the world would be there, lurking outside Ian’s embrace. Lydia distraught. Her work stolen. Everything I didn’t want to think about because I couldn’t fix it.

  It was a miracle Ian was here, on my couch, and in my life. I was so damn grateful to Lydia for dragging his ass to dinner after he’d run, and humbled that he was here now, when our life was rough and rocky. In a way, he was right—he had signed up to be in a poly relationship, which meant meeting everyone’s needs. None of us had expected this crisis, but Ian had done exactly the perfect thing and balanced us all out. “Do you want to stay?”

  His fingers traced over my face. “Is this a tonight question, or a long-term question?” The amusement in his voice warmed my heart.

  “Tonight,” I whispered.

  He shifted beneath me and brushed my jaw with his thumb. Deep brown eyes gazed down. “I want to stay. Tonight. Longer.” He pressed a finger against my lips. “But . . . I think you should spend the night with Lydia. She needs you.”