“Listen, I don’t give a fuck if Wade is in Cuba. He’s framing me for a mass murder in our own club, and I need you here! So, get here,cugino!”
I hear something slamming in his room along with Roman’s muffled scream. Huh, I guess the call is over, leaving my mind spinning with too many questions for me to go back to sleep anytime soon.
Apparently, Roman knows who’s responsible for the killings at the club. He left that out and I need to figure out why.
I hurry over to my closet and slip on some spandex shorts paired with a long T-shirt, my typical work from home clothes, before grabbing a spare sketchbook andflying down the stairs.
After my homemade latte is in my favorite cup, I slide out the backdoor and walk a short distance to my shed in the backyard.
I had it delivered the day after I bought the house and immediately decorated it. Half of the roof is one big skylight and one of the walls is covered in windows, letting in the perfect amount of light during the day and allowing me to admire the stars at night. Abel has his own little space here as well so we can hang out together while I work. I wanted somewhere to hold my art that wasn’t in the house, since this is a more private part of myself.
Going to art school went out the window pretty quickly when I found out I was pregnant at nineteen. I knew I needed something that could financially support me and my child, and even though it was beyond stressful, I did it. I lived in a women’s shelter not too far from the college and worked two jobs while another girl at the shelter watched Abel until after I got my bachelor’s degree and a local attorney’s office took me on as a legal aid. From there, I saved up and got us a small apartment that lasted until I finished law school and moved to Denver to work at Sawyer’s firm.
I graduated top of my class – but my love for art never diminished.
Instead, it grew to be the outlet I used when cases were aggravating, tiring, or even too exhilarating for me to properly comprehend. Art let me work through each and every emotion at my own pace and when I was ready, I could return to the case with a clearer head and a steady hand.
That’s what I need this morning. This case is more important than any other I’d taken on and I can’tafford to fuck it up.
Roman is confusing. He’s too attractive for his own good with his blood red hair, his chiseled jaw and his tattooed neck. His darkness thrums like a beacon, beckoning me closer with each beat of his heart and every blink of his light blue eyes. It’s dangerous.He’s dangerous.
Shaking my head, I take a sip of my coffee and then set up my easel and a few putty erasers.
I think I want to work with charcoal today, it captures the darkness better than anything.
After getting out my newest charcoal set, the one that cost me way more than I will ever willingly admit, I get to work. The first stroke of the black coal against the bright white of the canvas paper sends a shot of adrenaline through my blood.
This is what I live for.
Time flies by, the early morning sun moving quickly through the windowpane as my hands fly over the canvas. My fingertips get stained charcoal black as I smudge different lines together, shading as I go to blur the image just a little bit, a mirror image of the darkness I see inside the man staying in my spare bedroom.
I don’t know how long I sit on my stool, making sure I get the angles just right, before I hear a throat clearing behind me.
“This is different. You don’t usually do portraits.”
Taking a step back, I look at the outline of Roman standing in the middle of the darkness, the swirls of black mixing into the hints of light blue I have shining through his exposed ribs – the same shade of blue as his eyes and the only color on the entire drawing.
“It felt right.”
I throw a sheet over Roman’s drawn figure, hidingit from view. Portraits are actually a specialty of mine, but Wylder doesn’t know that. No one does.
I’ve only done portraits of the people that I care about. There’s only been four portraits ever in existence – now five – and no one but me has ever laid eyes on them.
Turning toward Wylder, I wipe my hands on my shirt and run over to him, throwing my arms around his neck and squeezing him tight. “I missed you so much! How was your trip? How are David and Brenda?”
He laughs, squeezing me back just as tight before placing me back down on the ground. His arms stay wrapped around me, though, and I let them. It’s Wylder.
“They’re good. They’re going to come by for the cookout this weekend and mom said she’ll bring some of her famous banana pudding since you loved it so much last time.”
My mouth almost waters just at the mention of Brenda’s banana pudding. I’ve known Wylder’s parents for over a year now but somehow hadn’t tasted her James family dessert until Wylder’s birthday a few months ago. Now, I’d fight him for it – and win.
“And your newest niece?”
Wylder’s eyes get soft at the mention of his brother’s newborn daughter and the reason for his impromptu trip across the state. “She’s just the cutest thing, Evie. All chunky and adorable. Even her cries are cute.”
Wylder gushing about how cute his niece is sends my ovaries into overdrive. I swear if I was willing to settle down and get off my birth control, this man would have given Abel half a dozen little siblings by now.
It’s not like he hasn’t hinted at being exclusive, and I feel bad because I’m basically dragging him along…but I justcan’t. I can’t help but feel like I still have open doors from ten years ago and I don’t know if they’ll ever be closed.
