Draw Me In Page 8

  “You’re right, man. Thanks.” My mouth opened, and when the steaming food hit my tongue, I moaned in pleasure, chewing and then swallowing the greasy, delectable bite. I started to fork another. He was right, it was deli— “Holy fuck!”

  Roger’s laugh echoed through the kitchen as I bolted for the kitchen sink, throwing the tap open to “cold.” I shoved my head under the chrome gooseneck faucet, letting the full-force stream flow over my burning tongue.

  “I should have told you, I make that hot sauce myself. Ghost chilis. It’s good!”

  When the pain receded slightly, I cut the tap and grabbed a dish towel from the bar on the oven door. Wiping off my face, I glared at Roger, who’d taken his plate of food to the table. .“You trying to kill me?”

  “Nope, I’m curing you. How do you feel now?” Roger’s fork, mounded high with hot sauce–coated eggs, disappeared into his mouth.

  I took stock of my body. Head was throbbing less—much less, actually. And my stomach was actually growling with hunger. “Better, you asshole.”

  “You’re welcome. Grab that gallon of milk from the fridge. We’re going to need it.”

  I did as Roger asked, also grabbing a couple of glasses from the drain board. Using a swig of milk, I downed a couple of aspirin from the bottle Roger had thoughtfully placed in the center of the table.

  We ate in silence for a couple of minutes. The sunshine that poured through Roger’s front windows wasn’t as oppressive as it had been. It made the kitchen and living room feel cheerful, not quite the pits of hell that they’d felt like when I’d first opened my eyes. Once I was sure that the heavy, spicy breakfast would stay down, and that my head wasn’t going to crack in two, I looked over at my shaved-headed cohort. Luce had a little stained-glass hummingbird in the window above the sink, and the sun-borne colors fell on Roger’s arm.

  “What did I say last night?”

  Roger finished chewing his bite of food before settling back in his chair. Lacing his fingers over his belly, he looked over at the yellow wall of the kitchen. It was layered with pictures and shelves, a happy cacophony. “You talked a lot about Gretchen.”

  “Fuck.”

  Roger lost all sense of casualness, shooting forward in his chair and pegging me with an intense stare. “Listen, man, it’s not your fault. Sometimes people get hooked on shit. That’s their deal, not yours. She made her choice, and she chose the drugs.”

  I ripped my gaze away from Roger’s demanding one and stared down at my half-empty plate. “Yeah. So, was Gretchen it? Did I say anything else?”

  Roger was silent for a heartbeat or two. I shut my eyes, pretty sure what he was going to say next.

  “You talked about the kid for a while. Hailey.”

  A heavy breath blew through my lips. “I was afraid of that.”

  “Dude, seriously. You need to lighten up. She’s cute, she’s sweet, and unless I’m completely stupid, she kind of digs you. If I wasn’t head over ass in love with Lucy, I might consider asking her out myself.” Roger scratched the stubble on his head. “I mean, she’s a little young for me, but . . .”

  “She’s way too young in general.”

  Roger barked a laugh. “Dude, you’re only twenty-four, right? Stop acting like you’re a candidate for Social Security. Live a little.” He sobered, losing his easy smile before continuing, “You had some heavy shit go down before. That can be hard, but you’ve got two choices—lay dead in the past, or run toward your life. What’s it going to be?”

  I gripped my fork and shoved another bite of food in. I didn’t want to answer. I couldn’t. Roger didn’t know everything, no matter what I had told him last night, too drunk to know what I was confessing. There was too much damage, too much hurt. No matter how attracted I was to Hailey, I wouldn’t subject her to that kind of misery.

  I was fucked up, and no friendly pep talk from Roger the Problem Solver was going to help that.

  Hailey

  I woke the next day with a giant cloud around me, insulating me, keeping me numb. I went to my first three classes that way, without really thinking, moving through the motions by habit alone. I wound my way through the crowds of other students without really seeing faces. The lectures I sat through might as well have been in Vietnamese, for all I understood them. Nothing penetrated the shell around me, and to be honest, I was glad.

  When lunchtime rolled around, I didn’t go to the dining hall, even though Mondays were usually a lot of fun. Walt would reenact his outrageous weekend, Rose would snark about it, Lily and Courtney would be there, and even Brian from both psychology and my ceramics class. But my normal mask wasn’t working at all today.

  When I returned to my dorm room, I let my heavy messenger bag fall to the floor at the foot of my bed. I checked my cell messages for the fifth time.

  Mom was really gone. Disappeared.

  I sank into my desk chair and booted up my laptop. Opening my email program and clicking the new message button, I chewed on my lower lip.

  Dear Mom, I typed. I really need to hear from you. I’m worried. Dad told me what happened. I know things aren’t good for you right now, but you’re my mom, and I need to talk to you. This affects me, too.

  After the night before, after talking to my friends from back home, neighbors who were concerned, even my high school English teacher, I had thought I couldn’t cry anymore. But this email was proving me wrong. I finished quickly, sniffing as the tears ran down my stinging cheeks.

  Please call me. I don’t know what to do anymore. Dad is telling me that I have to drop out of college, but I found a job, and I want to make it work on my own. But I don’t know if I’m doing the right thing. I need you, Mom. I know I’m an adult now, but I still need you. Love, Hailey.

  I hesitated before clicking the “send” button. My chair creaked as I pushed it back slightly, needing the space between me and the decision.

  What if I was part of the problem? What if Mom didn’t ever want to hear from me again? What if I was too much like Dad, too demanding, too selfish?

  My finger hovered over the button.

  “Just click it, you idiot,” I hissed at myself. “Just click!”

  “Click what?”

  I gasped. Reflexively, my index finger dropped, and the email whooshed on its way. Dragging my hands over my tearstained cheeks, I turned to Jackie, who was standing in the doorway.

  “I thought you were in class,” I said, looking away quickly to finish drying my cheeks.

  Jackie shrugged as she continued into the room. “It’s just history. That guy is incredibly boring. I’m passing it anyway, and it’s only exam review at this point.” As she dumped her stuff on the pile of texts by her bed, I dropped my gaze and pretended to be incredibly interested in my cellphone.

  “So what were you clicking? Not like you to talk to yourself.”

  I took a deep breath. Jackie? Well, she was really nice. Maybe she could be a good sounding board.

  “An email. To my mom. She’s kind of disappeared.”

  Jackie snorted as she sank into her black plaid desk chair, swiveling it back and forth. “Wish my mom would disappear. That bitch steals my weed.”

  I shook my head. This was definitely a bad idea.

  Jackie stilled her swivel. “I didn’t hurt your feelings, did I? Oh God, I’m such a bitch.”

  “No, no, it’s fine. You didn’t.” I sniffed. “It’s just . . . my life is kind of falling apart, and I don’t know what to do.” Shit, why wouldn’t these tears stop?

  “Oh, I’m sorry. I’m making stupid jokes.” Jackie flew across the room and started digging in her underwear drawer. “Here. I know you always say no, but seriously, it’ll help you feel better.” She started rolling a joint on the one clear corner atop her dresser.

  “No, Jackie, thanks. I tried it once, and I didn’t like it. Besides, it’s not going to bring my mom back.” I stood. “Thanks for listening, but I’ve got to get to class.”

  “You sure?” Jackie had alrea
dy stuck the homemade cigarette into her mouth. “’Cuz there’s plenty. We can share.”

  I gave as genuine a smile as I was capable of. “I’m good. Thanks.”

  I ducked into the bathroom and scrubbed my cheeks before leaving. The whole world didn’t need to know that I was a head case at the moment. That could wait.

  Fortunately, my last class of the day was in the art building. I lost myself in the lesson, using photo manipulation software to create 3-D images. It was easy to forget my problems in the whirl of color and texture, to pour my feelings into a visual representation that was far from my insides.

  So when I got on the bus that headed downtown, I was feeling much calmer. Centered, even. Still fragile, but ready to face another evening at work. With any luck, Tasha would be back, and I could learn a bit more before I had to handle it all on my own.

  With any luck at all.

  Chapter Eight

  Hailey

  When I entered through the back door, I was greeted with bright lights, milling customers, and faint strains of music from the artists’ studios. I smiled politely as I passed a couple of guys who were lounging on the couch, obviously waiting their turn for ink or piercing. Frankie stood at the counter, looking rumpled and stressed.

  “Hey, sugar,” he drawled. “It’s good to see you again. Tasha’s still sick.”

  The bottom dropped out of my stomach, and I sagged against the wall behind me. “Oh. That’s too bad.”

  “Yup.” Frankie grabbed his iPad. “You got it, or do I need to stick around?”

  I shifted my weight from foot to foot. On one hand, I’d love some experienced help. On the other, the shop was really busy, and Frankie might be able to help out elsewhere. Besides, I hadn’t fully recovered from seeing a little too much of Frankie the day before. Embarrassment won out. “I’m good. Thanks, though.”

  Frankie disappeared, and I bent down to tuck my bag into the cubby. With a deep, calming breath, I straightened and closed my eyes, picturing the project I’d been working on this afternoon.

  Dark, textured stone rose up from a bleak landscape. Fire leaped from the base, almost like the mountain was springing up from hell itself. But at the peak, a lone sapling stood tall, its vibrant green leaves shining like emeralds.

  That was me, and I was strong. I could do this.

  “Hey, you awake? I want to get my nipples pierced.”

  I jumped at the woman’s gruff tone. I hadn’t heard the electronic beep signaling that the door was open, but there was a customer standing right in front of me. “Oh, sure. Sorry. I need to get your driver’s license, and this form needs to be filled out.”

  With my confidence more than shaky, I rushed around, trying to get things done. Keeping this job might not have been my best decision.

  Neill

  When I had called Tasha that afternoon, she’d sounded like shit.

  “I’m so sorry,” she’d said, her voice gravelly. “The doctor thinks it might have been food poisoning, but they want me to take it slow. Tell Hailey I feel awful about this, and I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

  “Hey, it’s fine. Do what you need to do.” I had been as soothing as possible while inwardly tearing out my hair. I had counted on Tasha to create that buffer between me and Hailey today. I needed the space, because all I wanted to do was tangle my fingers in her hair and kiss her until neither of us could breathe. “I’ll see you soon, Tasha. Take care.”

  For the first couple of hours we were open, it had been pretty slow. Typical for a weekday afternoon. Most of our business flowed in after four and on the weekends. I had manned the desk myself up until three-thirty. But at that point, I began to wonder when Hailey would arrive. What she’d be wearing today. If I’d get a chance to touch her again, even though touching her was a bad idea.

  “Frankie, can you take the desk for a while?” I asked before I even thought about it.

  “Sure, man.”

  I was hiding in my studio like a damn coward. I didn’t know what to do where Hailey was concerned. She was gorgeous, sweet, determined. I wanted to know her better, but I couldn’t put myself in that position.

  I glanced out the small gap in the curtains of my studio and saw three people waiting in line for help. “Dammit,” I groaned. This was ridiculous. Marshaling my courage, I headed out to the counter to lend a hand.

  “. . . so if you want to check over their portfolios, you can make an appointment with whichever artist you like,” she was saying to a tall, lean guy. I fought the urge to be jealous at the smile she was giving him.

  “Hey, what’s up?” I said, nodding at the guy before beckoning to the woman just behind him. “Can I help you with something?”

  Twenty minutes later, Hailey had set up three appointments, and I had taken consent payments from four other customers. When a lull finally hit, I turned to look at her. And damn, I wished I hadn’t.

  She was in jeans; I was beginning to suspect they were her typical uniform. Totally fine by me. They hugged her curves, highlighting her fine ass. Her gray burnout tee was layered over a long black tank. Her hair was caught up in a messy knot at the back of her head, wisps and curls sticking out everywhere. It was gorgeous.

  She was gorgeous.

  “Thanks for helping me out,” she said, giving me a wan smile. “I know I need to be more efficient at this.”

  “No, it’s fine,” I said, jamming my hands in my jean pockets. I was glad now that I’d taken the time to go home and grab other clothes, even though I’d had to call Frankie to open up. It would have been awkward to be standing here in the same clothes I’d been wearing yesterday. “I’m just sorry that things aren’t exactly starting out easy for you.”

  She barked out a surprised laugh. “You can say that again.”

  I swayed with shock as her eyes filled with tears. She looked away quickly to hide from my gaze, but it was too late. The damage was done.

  “Come with me,” I said, pulling her to her feet.

  “No.” She pulled back on my hand, but I didn’t let go.

  “I mean it.” I knocked on the door of Frankie’s studio. “Hey, man, mind the front when you’re done.” I didn’t wait for an answer, just led Hailey into my studio, shut the door, and pulled the curtains in the small window shut.

  My tattoo chair was laid out flat from a leg piece I’d done earlier, so I pulled her over to it. Sitting down at the edge, I patted the free space beside me. “Come on,” I said. “Sit with me. I won’t bite.”

  She bit her lip, crystal tears sliding down her cheeks.

  “You don’t have to tell me what’s wrong if you don’t want to. Just sit with me.”

  When she gingerly sat in the space next to me, I wanted to crow with victory. I didn’t. I simply reached over, grabbed her hand, and held it tightly. She was rigid at first, stiff and wary. But as I drew lazy circles over her knuckles with my thumb, she relaxed by degrees, her body going softer until her leg was touching mine.

  When her tears had slowed slightly, I spoke. “Listen. We didn’t talk about why you needed this job, but it’s pretty easy to tell that you’ve got some bad stuff going on. Is the job making it worse?”

  She pulled away, and I didn’t stop her, but I did keep talking. “I know it’s been hard. But you’re doing great. I can’t imagine that I could have found anybody better at this than you. Hell, anyone else would have walked out yesterday. But not you. You came back, and I appreciate that. You’re a lot tougher than you think.”

  “I’m not tough,” Hailey said through tears. She covered her eyes as her sobs came flowing out again. “I’m a complete wreck.” And then she fell apart, gulping, ugly cries that seemed to come all the way up from her soul.

  I wanted to pull her into my arms, gather her pain into my chest and soothe her hurt. I’d known her only a few days, but dammit, I hated to see her so sad. My hands itched to pull her close. I ignored the urges, gripping my thighs until her cries became softer.

  “I’m sorry,” she
whispered, wiping her tears away. “I’m so sorry.”

  Without a word, I crossed the room and grabbed a tissue. Handing it to her, I turned away as she mopped up her tears. Grabbing my sketchpad and a pen, I sank onto the rolling stool and moved it closer to her.

  “What are you doing?” she asked, already looking a bit less flattened. Good. The distraction was working.

  “Whenever I’m upset about something, I draw.”

  She smiled, and my chest lightened at the expression. “You, too?”

  I nodded, focusing on the quick sketch lines that were forming under my pen. “It helps me get past the feelings and figure out what it is I really need to focus on. A look at the big picture, kind of.”

  We were quiet for several minutes while I worked and Hailey watched me. I was intensely aware of her stare as the picture took shape, and I wondered if she liked what I was doing. It was important that she like it, but damn if I knew why.

  When I was done, I stared at it. Sometimes art was like this for me; I didn’t really know what I was drawing until it was nearly finished. This picture for Hailey had been that way. So when I turned it toward her, I was as surprised as she was.

  “Daffodils,” she said, smiling. “They’re beautiful.”

  “I know this place isn’t perfect. And I know you’ve been thrown into the deep end much faster and harder than you expected. But don’t give up on it yet.” I didn’t want to beg, but I would if I had to. Anything to keep her from crying.

  She reached for the sketchpad. “May I?”

  I nodded, handing it over with the pen. On the opposite page of my drawing, she started one of her own.

  Watching her work was beautiful. Her face lost all traces of the frustration, anger, and sadness she’d been dealing with only minutes before, and it gained an almost transcendent quality. She looked like I felt when I was lost in the muse, creating something that could be seen only in my mind’s eye.

  I sat there, rapt, watching as she, cross-legged and bent at an angle that could only be considered awkward, made line after line, shaded, darkened, and accented her piece. Her eyes were bright as she worked. Her long delicate fingers gripped the pencil firmly, her other hand holding the sketchpad against the tattoo chair to keep it from moving. Her entire body was held in the prison of her creation just as firmly as I was. And it was a prison I had no desire to escape.