29
CAELIA
I’m in my favorite new place in the entire world. The sensory swing that my alphas installed in my nest is incredible. It drowns out the world, and with my earbuds in, I can get lost in my sketch pad.
The last four days have been everything I could ever dream of and more. Harold Livingston practically gushed in his excitement when we spoke, and I will start working for him next week. He offered to send me all of the materials I’ll need, and said he wants black and white as well as color prints.
Outside of that, I’ve been hanging out with the guys while they’re home, and enjoying them before they have to go back on the road. Santo told me he renegotiated his contract so that he can stay with me while Miles and Levon work. I’ve been trying not to dread the away games, but this development definitely helps.
My best artwork is done with people. It always has been, and I’m currently practicing my drawing of women. I have a photo of Addie on my phone while she talks passionately aboutsomething. Her pink hair is up in a messy bun, her dress perfectly matching her bubbly personality.
This was taken on Valentine’s Day, and I want to surprise her with a drawing for her birthday. Drawing is also helping me to quiet my thoughts, which is a hundred times better than therapy.
I’m dressed and ready to go for the hockey game tonight, I’m just killing time. I’m used to having one of my alphas with me at all times, but I should be fine with Addie. Santo has to help cover the shortage the team is having due to a stomach bug that’s hitting some of the staff.
He feels badly that he won’t be able to sit with me, but I insisted I’ll be fine.
My colored pencils are in my lap as I hang in my swing, and I get lost drawing and shading. I couldn’t possibly draw Addie in gray pencil. She needs the full range of colors to come to life on the page.
Some might ask why I wouldn’t just draw myself to practice with, but I have never drawn myself. I don’t know why, it simply feels odd to do it. I’d much rather use other models.
A text pops up on my phone as I listen to Angelic Demons, who were incredible in concert. I still can’t believe that Miles won four tickets to see them. My heart feels like it may explode with all of the good things that have been happening.
Miles
Knock, knock. It’s time for dinner before we leave.
My stomach chooses this moment to yowl in anger, making me grin. Well, I guess that’s definitely a sign that I need to eat.Pulling out my earbuds, I put them away and poke my head out of my swing. The only reason I have great light in the dimness of my nest is because Levon found a cool clip-on light for me.
It’s just the right amount of light, and I can change it with a simple click.
“Hi,” I say, seeing Miles. They’ve realized that I tend to zone out, so we agreed that I’d keep my phone in the swing with me. This way, they can talk to me without me freaking out because I didn’t hear them if they touched me to get my attention.
“Hand me the goods,” he teases me, moving closer with his hands out.
Putting my colored pencils in their container, I give him the art supply stash that I have in my swing. He puts them away while I slide out, feeling more relaxed than when I went in. Snagging my combat boots at the entrance of my nest, I pull them on and zip them.
“You look happy,” he murmurs, lifting his arm so I can slide underneath it.
“I am,” I admit, walking with him. “Things feel really good, and I’m so grateful that Mr. Livingston is such an enthusiastic supporter of the arts. I’ve been trying to figure out my next move and it’s been stressful.”
“You’re so independent, I’m not at all surprised that you’ve been kicking around possible options," Miles says. “This art commission will keep you busy.”
“My dad told me it’ll keep me out of trouble,” I snort.
“I doubt that you’ve ever been the type to get into trouble,” Miles chuckles. “Other than the pot.”
“It’s occasional,” I grin. “I tend to overthink on a good day. Sometimes binge watching Dawson’s Creek and eating junk food is the best way to spend a day.”
“Noted,” he murmurs, holding my hand as we get to the bottom of the stairs. “Santo made a salad, steak tacos, and fresh salsa. Levon is starving, and threatening to start without you.”
“I did not!” Levon yells from the kitchen.
It’s definitely never boring around here.
“I hope you’ve left some for me,” I tease, walking into the room. There’s a full spread of food on the island, and I sigh happily as I climb onto one of the bar stools. Miles bought new ones that are comfortable and cushioned.
“Very funny,” Levon says, kissing the crown of my head as he fills my water. It’s cozy and domestic, and I love that he and Santo live here full time.
