I let my focus drift to the canvases and various mediums scattered across the room. Darkness had always pulled at me. All the things that people hid beneath the surface. What they would look like if we could see those parts of them that they disguised because they were too ugly or scary to face.
But someone had taken that art and perverted it. Turned it into something it was never supposed to be. It had messed with my head. And not just that I was afraid to put it out in the world anymore. A part of me worried what it said about me that my creative soul had called to a murderer.
“Brody.”
Carson drew my attention back to the screen. I blinked a few times, clearing my vision. “Sorry. Lost in the weeds for a minute.”
Carson rested his cigarette on an ashtray he’d welded from spare parts. “Do you want me to come out there? Maybe we can work on a project together.”
“Car, you’re a sculptor. I work with spray paint.”
“You could paint a sculpture that I make. We’ll come up with the vision together.”
“And how the hell are you going to get welding equipment and a bunch of metal to my place?” He was trying. And it meant something to me—his support and dedication to making sure I got my head in the game.
“I could figure out a way.”
I leaned back in my chair. “I’m sure you could. And I appreciate it, man. I really do. But I need to find my footing on my own. I’ll get there eventually. I just need to do it without Lara or anyone else in the art world breathing down my neck.”
“Fair enough. Just promise me one thing.”
“What’s that?”
Carson leaned towards the camera until his face was a close-up. “Don’t throw in the towel.”
A burn crept up my throat. Because I’d considered that very thing. More than once. The first time a detective had shown up at my door to question me. To show me the similarities between one of my pieces and the mangled body of a murder victim. Even after they’d caught the man who’d been doing it all, I’d continued dying a little more inside every day of the trial. Every time a reporter called. But I couldn’t let Josiah Mosely win. I couldn’t let the doubt that had sunk in with each headline questioning my motives for making such dark work take over my life. I had to keep pushing on.
“I’m not throwing in the towel.”
“Good. Now take a walk or something. Breathe that fresh air stuff you seemed so adamant about. And then get your ass back to work.”
I chuckled. “Are you my new Lara?”
He scowled at me. “That was uncalled for.”
“If the shoe fits…”
“I’m hanging up now.”
My finger hovered over end on the screen. “Thanks, Car.”
“Always happy to pull your head out of your ass.”
He disconnected before I had a chance to reply. But as I pushed to my feet and away from my desk, I had a bit of a grin stretching my face. Good friends always knew the buttons to push.
I headed for the front door, pausing to grab a jacket. The mid-January weather wasn’t quite as bad as New York could be, but it wasn’t balmy either. As I headed down the path, I heard the faint sounds of machinery in the distance—the crew digging out the foundation of what would be my studio. Hopefully, a building that would see more use than the sunporch had so far. But as I followed a trail leading in the opposite direction, another sound peeked out from under the machinery noise.
Music. Strings. A haunting melody. Far too raw to come from a stereo. I found myself moving towards the sound before I even thought twice. It seemed to hook me and pull me in, an invisible cord wrapping tighter around me as I walked.
I came to a stop outside the small cottage that belonged to Shay. I stood outside her front door, transfixed. I didn’t know much about music, the rules or whatever it was that made someone talented. But whatever she was doing had me spellbound. I couldn’t move forward to knock on the door or move away to leave her in peace. I could only stand and listen. Soak in every note. The way the melody dipped and soared. When it eased off and when it attacked. The piece was a battle, and I only wanted more.
As the notes faded away, I shook myself out of the hypnosis she’d put me in and crossed the rest of the way to the door. I knocked. Silence greeted me. Then footsteps.
The door opened, and Shay appeared, wisps of hair falling free of her braid to frame her face. She was a work of art in that moment. Wildly disheveled and looking just a little annoyed. “Brody. What do you need?”
My gaze drifted over her shoulder to a violin case on the coffee table. “That was a hell of a performance.”
A bit of the color in her cheeks fled. “Could you hear me from the house?”
“No. But I wish I could.”
“Oh.”
My mouth quirked. Oh was all she had to say. “Not one for praise, are you?”
Her lips thinned. “My music is for me. I don’t need praise.”
Her words hit me, each one a blow to the chest. That was exactly it. The thing I needed to get back. To create for no one but myself. Not Lara. Not fans and followers. Critics and collectors. Not Joe Schmoe on the street. For me. “Have dinner with me.”
The words were out before I could stop them. Shay stiffened. “I, um—”
“We can discuss responsibilities. Salary. Expectations. Everything we’ve been putting off. We could take the boat and head to Shelter. Eat out.” I hadn’t explored much of the other islands yet. But being popular tourist destinations, there had to be decent food.
She shifted from one foot to the other. “Do you mind if we stay here? It’s been a long day already. I can cook.”
I waved her off. “I’ve still got a fridge full of things you made. Why don’t we heat up some of that veggie chili?”
Shay nodded slowly. “Sure. I baked some fresh rosemary bread this afternoon. I can bring that.”
“I wondered what smelled so good. That sounds perfect. How about six?”
She tugged on the sleeve of her t-shirt. “Six works.”
“See you then.” I turned and headed back up the hill, a new idea for a painting taking root in my mind.
7
Shay
My fingers flew across my keyboard, the tightness in my muscles releasing a fraction when I saw that E was online. I opened up a new chat.
Phoenix26: What does one wear to dinner with their boss?
I nibbled on my fingernail as I waited for E’s reply.
Evergreen13: The enigma hottie?
I tipped my head back and groaned.
Pheonix26: I never should’ve told you what he looked like.
She would never drop the fact that Brody was handsome. Once she sank her claws into that juicy little morsel, it was hers forever.
Evergreen13: But you did. And is it really so bad that you have to look at a gorgeous man? You refuse to go on any actual dates. At least having some eye candy will give you a thrill. I vote you wear something low-cut. I don’t know a single man who doesn’t like a boob shot.
I snorted and then sobered as I looked down at my chest. As if I could see through the cotton of my shirt to the mottled skin beneath. No man would like a shot of my breasts. I’d learned that the hard way.