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vegetable patch he kept in his tiny yard.
    But, most of all, Rex’s presence filled his studio. I hadn’t been able to even pick up my own brushes since he’d died, and the thought of packing his away killed me. It took me the full week to actually work up the strength to go in there. Ree was my rock, diligently cleaning the room and protecting as many canvases as she could from dust, but in the end I knew I wouldn’t be at peace until I faced the room head-on.
    “This is my sacred space, Dare. When you invite someone into your studio, you invite them into your life.”
    My chest constricted the moment I crossed the threshold, my throat closing around the sob that threatened to escape. I walked quietly around the perimeter of the room, afraid to disturb anything. Sunshine filtered through a stained glass piece hanging in one of his windows, coating the hardwood floor in color.
    “Don’t be afraid of color. That’s like being afraid of life! How can anyone be afraid of something so beautiful, so perfect?”
    The very first day I’d snuck into the studio through the open back door, I’d been six years old. My dad had been angry. And high. I’d sought refuge from his wrath at Rex’s. Having slipped inside unnoticed, I was struck by the vibrant hues pulsing through the room. It was as if even the air was saturated with every shade, and I breathed it in like I’d been holding my breath all my life.
    Color was everywhere. On the walls, on the dusty desk by the window, on big, white canvases. When Rex found me covered in paint and blasting his paintbrushes off into space, he hadn’t gotten angry like my father would have.
    No, Rex had laughed. And invited me to stay.
    In his studio, and in his life.
    He’d held out a paintbrush and nodded toward his canvas. “You wanna give it a try? Here. Help me finish off this wing.”
    My eyes widened. “You want ME to work on YOUR picture? What if I make a mistake?”
    He shot me a big, lopsided grin. “Let’s hope you do. Mistakes are the best way to learn.”
    With a shaky hand, I dipped my brush in paint and carefully added some bright red to the golden wing. It took a few slow strokes, but it made me feel better. Made me forget about my dad and that new bruise under my mom’s eye.
    Rex smiled wide as he watched me work. The creature was starting to look like it was burning with light and power. I loved it.
    “This dragon is going to look super cool when I’m done with it.”
    He laughed. “It’s a phoenix,” he’d said. “The strongest, most majestic creature.”
    “What? No. Everyone knows that dragons are the most powerful things in the world!” I couldn’t believe he didn’t know that. “They breathe fire and can kill everyone. That’s why my dad has a tattoo of a dragon on his back.”
    Rex opened his mouth, but then quickly pressed his lips together. “Real power isn’t measured by the fire you breathe nor the pile of ashes you leave behind, Dare,” he said slowly. “It’s about the hope you inspire.”
    Rex had inspired hope in me. Hope that my life could be better, that I could do better, that I could change my path, be proud of who I was and what I did. Rex was hope. The one thing I’d needed more than anything else back then.
    Rex had been the first to call me Dare. And it stuck from day one. I left Daren behind, in so many ways, after I met him.
    “FUCK!” I smashed my fist into the table now, crushing tubes of paint the way the pain in the middle of my chest was crushing me. The sticky substance splattered everywhere. My other fist followed. Hard. “Fuck, fuck, fuck !”
    I didn’t care that I was spilling paint that would never be used again or that my knuckles hurt like shit. I let loose all the rage I’d been bottling up for weeks as I was overwhelmed by Rex’s loss.
    Punch.
    Punch.
    Punch.
    I didn’t stop pounding. Not even when my hands were stinging and covered in a dark brown mess. Not even when my knuckles were raw and red. Not