Ash to Steele (20 page)

   Brushing his lips against the top of my head, he softly whispers, “I’m sorry, Emma.”

   Scooting a little closer to his warmth, I shrug, “It’s okay.”

   “Always such a beautiful liar.  When are you going to show me your paintings?”

   “Soon,” I lie again, but he lets it go this time.

   “You’ve had a shitty day.” Breck’s fingers smooth my hair as his thumb slides against the sensitive flesh on the side of my neck, “Get some sleep, Emma.” 

     I try, but sleep doesn’t come for hours. 

Chapter Ten

   I’ve always loved Christmas.  The tranquility of time spent with family and friends gathered at my grandmother’s house while we celebrate the season are some of my fondest memories.  Being back home has been bittersweet.  Spending time with Dad reopens the wound of my leaving.  The past few days have proven that, although I will always be grateful for the childhood and wonderful memories this town gave me, I no longer belong here. 

   My thoughts stray to Breck, like they have constantly since he dropped me off at the airport four days ago.  He’s in New York, making final preparations for his new restaurant to open in two days.  My fingers trace my cheek.  Closing my eyes, I can still feel his lips from when they brushed so close against the corner of my mouth when he stepped away from me, his troubled eyes consuming every pore of my being before he left me to board my flight. 

   We’ve become inseparable, seeing each other every day.  Nothing and everything has changed.  In many ways, Breck’s still as guarded as the first day I met him.  I know nothing of his past, other than the little Jess divulged, but he hides nothing about his life since he’s been in Boston.  Gavin’s comment of my being Breck’s closest friend was said as a joke one night at the bar, but there was a truth in it that Breck didn’t deny.  As the days turned into weeks, Breck’s attitude changed.  His sexual advances towards me stopped, but the tension only grew until I feel like I’m going to explode, or go insane, I’m tempted to take bets on which will happen first.   We’re not a couple, but we’re more than just friends, or it feels like we are even though there’s no proof to back that feeling.

   His jealousy of Braden and Justin has grown, leading into some hefty arguments between us.  I have no right to blame him when I’m just as jealous.  The difference between my jealousy and his is that I don’t say anything about it or try to control his surroundings like he does mine.  I don’t ask Breck how many women he’s been with since meeting me because I don’t want to know.  It feels like hell wondering who he’s with every night as I toss and turn until I fall into a fitful sleep.  No matter how hard I try not to think about it, the thought is always there, looming in the back of my mind, eating away at my sanity and scorching my soul. 

   Numerous women have made their intentions known, but Breck has turned down each one when I’ve been with him, leaving everyone, most of all me, in a state of shocked curiosity.  His reputation has tamed while mine has become tainted, but I don’t care.  Let people think what they want; they always do, anyway.  I’m not naïve, I’m sure he’s had several of them after the times he walked me home and went back to the Dark Hole.

   “Can’t you stay another day or two,” Justin asks, taking my hand and pulling me out of my private agony as I throw the last shirt inside my duffle bag.  “I’ve missed you, Em.”

   “I have to go home, Justin,” I reply a little harsher than intended, slipping my hand out of his and grabbing my bag.

   “
This
is your home.” He looks so heartbroken as he watches me getting ready to leave, again.

   “No, Justin, it’s not; not anymore.  I have to go.”

   Justin sinks onto my bed.  I leave him there.  The guilt I had about leaving him the first time is gone.  I still care about him; in some form, he’s been a part of me my entire life.  I’m not in love with him, and I never will be, no matter how much he wants me to be. 

   Dad meets me at the bottom of the stairs and takes my bag.  His kind eyes, that I miss so much, glance from me to the top of the stairs before Dad takes my hand.  “His heart will survive, honey. That’s the thing about a heart, it can break a million times, but will never die from unreturned love, even though it feels like it might.”  Pulling me into his arms, he gives me his fatherly everything-will-be-okay squeeze, “You live your life, Em.  Just come back and share some of it with me from time to time.”

   Choking back tears, I hold onto my father tightly for several seconds, “I will Dad, I promise.”

   The flight back home is mercifully on time and uneventful.  After retrieving my luggage, I make my way through the crowd at Boston Logan International and hail a cab.  As soon as I pay the driver and slip out into the bitter wind, I see my neighbor standing at the edge of the alley, waiting on his fix.  My heart aches for him as I drag my tired body up the stairs.  I freeze, dropping my bag to the floor, when I see the door to my apartment open, the flimsy lock broken. 

   The tiny apartment is empty, everything is gone, my paintings, my art supplies, my clothes, the few personal belongings I had on my dresser, even the bedspread is gone.  Just the sheets are left scattered on the floor along with busted cans and packages of food from where my cabinets were rummaged through for something of worth.  I don’t give a damn about anything other than my paintings and supplies.  Those paintings were my life.  Nothing in my world is stable right now.  I’m broke; it took almost all of my measly savings to buy the plane tickets to see Dad.  I hate my jobs, and not knowing what in the hell is going on between Breck and me has left me torn into pathetic shreds of ambiguity.  I poured my heart and soul into my paintings, they are the only part of me that makes me feel balanced, whole.  I was supposed to show them in three days to John Mazers, a prestigious artist and art collector who is opening a new galley.  I had sent photos of the paintings to him, and he immediately set-up a meeting.  Now, they’re gone, along with the last piece of security I have in my life right now, not to mention the chance to meet with Mr. Mazers, whose reputation for only giving one shot has been proven and feared in the art world. 

   Anger mixed with despair overrides my common sense as I take the stairs two at a time.  The buzz of my phone doesn’t slow me down as I burst through the old door to the stained, littered sidewalk outside.  “I’ll call you back in a few, Breck,” I rush breathlessly, heading towards the alley to ask my neighbor if he knows any details, anything, about who broke into my apartment.

   “Wait!  Emma, I- I’ve been staring at my phone for hours trying to get up enough courage to make this call.”

   I hear the indecision and torment in his voice, and my heart stops, terrified of what he’s getting ready to say.  I need Breck, I can’t lose whatever it is that we have, especially not now.  He means too much, even if being near him is slowly destroying me.  My pace slows as I grip the phone tighter.  My hand is trembling as I wait on the words I always knew would come.

  “These last four days have been hell.  You have consumed my every thought.  I can’t concentrate on making the decisions I need to make for the restaurant, in my life, or for me, because you are dominating everything in my damn head.”

   Held captive by Breck’s words, I’m too distracted to notice anything else going on around me.  The phone becomes silent.  The only thing I hear is Breck’s ragged, bated breaths and the pounding in my chest, not knowing where Breck’s going with this. 

   When I hear Breck’s voice again, the agony lacing his words splinters my soul, “This thing between us…it’s killing me.  I don’t even know who I am anymore.  I have to – I can’t -”

   All air seems to be stripped from the atmosphere as my chest feels like it’s going to shatter.  I never knew how words can invoke sheer terror until now, dreading the next words to tumble from his lips.  “Breck,” I choke, barely able to make a sound.

   My neighbor’s hand pushes me back, interrupting me from frantically thinking of something to do to make Breck stop, to just shut-up, and not say the words that will break my soul.  “You need to leave,” he warns me in a panicked whisper.

   “Who is that, Emma?” Breck questions.

   I don’t have time to answer him before the unkempt thug pushes me again, causing me to stumble backwards, landing flat on my butt with a painful thud as he warns again, “Leave. Now!”

   “What the hell is going on, Emma?” Breck yells.

   “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck!”  My neighbor starts slamming both his knotted fists against his unwashed head while he quickly paces back and forth, ranting in a frenzied rage of fright, “FUCK!”

   When a man gets out of a car parked midway down the alley, followed by two more men, one with the butt of a pistol protruding from his jeans, I realize what’s happening.  My heart that had stopped from Breck’s call has jumpstarted back to life, thumping furiously.  Slowly backing away, the blood in my veins freezes, “Oh, God.”

   “Emma?  Are you alright?”  The panic has seemed to teleport to Breck as he peppers me with questions of what is happening. 

   “Well, now, who do we have here, James?” the man who seems to be in charge asks.  He isn’t as large as the two men behind him, but he’s considerably bigger than my neighbor and me.  He has dead, dark, soulless eyes that are filled with the promise of lethal brutality.  He’s dressed all in black from his smooth leather coat to black slacks, and black, shiny dress shoes.  Expensive jewelry covers his wrist and a few fingers. “Did your bitch here bring the rest of the money you owe me?”

   I scramble to my feet, the phone still pressed against my ear, but I can’t seem to make words form in my head.

   “She’s nobody, jus-,” James stammers, the length of his grungy frame shaking violently before a vicious fist to his gut knocks him to his knees.

   Time freezes.  I watch in horror as James is panting for air, his right arm wrapped around his wounded abdomen as his left is pressed against the dirty asphalt as he tries to hold himself up.

   “Emma, get out of there, now!” Breck demands, yelling in my ear and stripping the lock that was barring time from ticking.

   Everyone’s movements flash before me at once.  The dealer’s henchman who punched James hauls him to his feet, only to knock him back down again with a sharp jab to his nose.  I don’t have the chance to say anything to Breck before the phone is wrenched from my hand and thrown to the ground as the dealer’s other enforcer stomps it until it’s crushed beneath his heavy laced boots. 

   All I can think of is getting away from these men as my heart pounds so loudly I feel the vibrations in my ears.  I take off, my lungs burning from the frigid air as I push myself faster, but I don’t get far.  The man grabs my arm, jerking me backwards, and I crash to the ground again.  He drags me as my hands scramble against the cold ground, my fingers raking against the dirt and debris as I try to grasp anything to stop myself from being dragged back to the drug dealer. 

   “Get up, bitch!” my assailant commands.

   I struggle even more, tiny shards of gravel piercing the flesh under my cracked and bleeding nails.  Searing pain enflames my scalp as he roughly uses my hair to yank me to my feet.  I hear James crying and begging as he lies in the alley, curled on his side, with blood covering his nose and mouth. 

  “Bring her to me, Carter,” the dealer states calmly, his malevolent eyes sordidly roaming up and down my shaking body. 

   I’m thrust to ground, at the dealer’s feet, his shiny, pointy tipped shoes a few inches from my nose.  I must have dropped my purse somewhere in the struggle because it’s tossed to him now, and he rummages through my wallet, emptying the cash before dumping the remaining contents on the ground next to me.  His pointy toed foot kicks through my things as I scoot away from him, my jeans making a strange rubbing-scratching noise as the denim brushes against the asphalt. 

   Carter knees me in the back, halting my escape and sending a sharp shot of pain into my spine. 

   “Fifty dollars? You brought your bitch to pay me fifty fucking dollars?” the dealer spits, throwing the money in James’ face.  “You owe me two grand!”  His pointed shoe digs into James’ chin, “I told you yesterday that you better deliver your remaining debt tonight or I’ll leave two long, nasty cuts down your arm every day until you do.  Where.Is.My.Money?”