Keeping My Pack (13 page)

“
Hey, I completely understand. There’s nothing to feel guilty over.” Reed croons.

“
Okay. Do you, I mean, if you’re tired at all, want to take a nap with me?” I stutter out, sounding like an idiot.

Reed smiles brilliantly, tossing the paintbrush behind him, not even watching where it landed. “Sounds delightful.”

I crawl up the bed, sinking slightly into the soft mattress and blankets while Reed shucks his paint splattered clothes. He folds the comforter down, and I slip beneath it, wiggling around in the luxurious softness.

“
Can I hold you?” He asks as he moves in next to me. I nod my head and in moments, my face is cradled in Reed’s shoulder as his arms wrap around me.

The pressure behind my eyes lessens slightly, and I sigh in relief. In doing so, I get a lungful of Reed and boy, does he smell good. I can’t place what he smells like exactly, something sweet and wild. My blood feels warm as I feel it rushing through my body, my ears filled with the sound of it. My mouth waters, causing me to swallow constantly. I lick my lips, and by default, end up licking Reed’s shoulder.

“
Reed…” I start, my breath coming in short pants. “This might sound crazy but, I think I want to bite you.”

I expect a laugh, or maybe for him to run away from the crazy person, but instead he answers me with a light rumbling sound that I can feel in his chest. Before my brain can wonder if that means go ahead or get away from me, there’s a sharp but quick pain in my mouth and then a delicious flavor coats my tongue. My tongue darts out to lap at the honeyed goodness and Reed gasps, his hand going to the back of my head to draw me in closer.

Once I’ve had my fill, and I feel as if I’m floating, I release him and fall back onto the cloud, I mean bed. I feel Reed nuzzling my neck and I let my head fall to the side, giving him more room. A tiny prick of my skin and then lighting is coursing through my veins, and my hands are fisting the sheets. “Oh, my.” I groan. Every inch of my body is acutely aware of every inch of Reed. It only takes a minute or two before the electricity dies down to a pleasant hum, much like what I feel when I touch Tristan. To test my theory, I bring up and run my fingertips down Reed’s bare back. Yep, exactly the same.

Reed pulls back; then the next second Kellan is standing in front of me. When did he get here? My head swims as I try to remember him entering the room.

“
Come here,” I smile at him, or at least I think I do. He bends down, bringing his ear close to my lips like I’m going to tell him a secret. For some reason, that makes me laugh, and I laugh harder as Reed starts to laugh next to me.

“
What?” Kellan starts to pull away, but I grab him quickly.

“No, wait. You have to try this.” I tell him, pulling him closer to me. I kiss his neck lightly before I sink my teeth into his exposed neck. I feel euphoric as Kellan’s clean taste washes over me, through me. I pull away and he blissfully returns the favor, the full force of the lightning returning. I feel Reed snuggle into my back, his hand resting on my hip and his breathing evening out to that of a sleeping person. Kellan collapses onto the bed on my other side, moaning out something, but I can’t concentrate on the words. My eyes feel heavy, and my soul feels at peace, a deep, rich peace that I’ve never felt in my life. Kellan continues to nuzzle at my neck as I feel myself drifting away.

“And just what the fuck do we have here?” Logan thunders, waking me up with a start. “No, scratch that. The real question is why the hell wasn’t I invited?” He asks, crossing his arms over his chest, one foot tapping impatiently, cat-that-got-the-canary smirk in place.

Reed grumbles behind me, snuggling his face deeper into my shoulder. Kellan, on the other hand, reacts like he’s just been shot, his body jumping off the bed a foot high before he falls off the side, smacking his head on the nightstand.

“
It’s not what it looks like.!” He exclaims, his eyes wild and his hands up in front of him.

“
That’s what I would say too.” Logan tsks playfully. “I expected this behavior from Tristan, or maybe me, but you Kellan.” He shakes his head, trying to hold back his grin.

“
I…I…” Kellan struggles adorably.

I take pity on the poor man. “It’s okay Kel. You didn’t do anything wrong, and he’s just messing with you.” I tell him through my giggling.

Logan pouts at me. “Aw, you never let me have any fun.”

“
Did you come in just to be nosey, or did you actually need something?” Reed asks, his voice muffled from talking into my skin.

“
Oh, right.” He claps his hands together. “It’s Thanksgiving you bunch of bums, so get your asses up and moving!”

“
Thanksgiving is tomorrow,” Reed informs him.

“
Nope, you lazy mofos slept through the night. Tristan needs some help in the kitchen and you know I’m not fucking doing it.” He tells us as he leaves, making a point of leaving the door open as far as it goes.

“
Looks like that’s you, Bro. I’m taking Kitten with me to the gallery.” Reed says to a still sleepy looking Kellan.

“
Alright, I better get to it then. You know Tristan can get, today is his diva day.” Kellan rolls his eyes. He starts for the door before pausing and coming back to me. “May I?” He asks with his face in front of mine.

I nod my head, leaning up to make it easier for him. He gives me a lingering kiss with his soft, pouty lips. It’s like kissing pillows.

“
So this is your gallery?” I ask as Reed helps me out of Finn’s orange truck.

“
Yeah, it’s one of the businesses that I own. They found a couple of new artists while I was gone, and want me to take a look at their work.” Reed shrugs. “I figured today would be a good a day as any since we’re closed for the holiday.”

We walk along the sidewalk of a quaint looking strip mall. The shop he leads me to has a wall made entirely of glass and through it I can see all kinds of things. Reed pulls out his keys and unlocks the glass door, allowing me to enter first.

On the ceiling are different light fixtures, none of them matching, including a hanging light, made entirely of spoons. The walls are lined with every shape and size paintings, some of them heartbreaking, some silly ones, but each of them beautiful. In between each painting is a pedestal with a sculpture sitting atop of it, they vary in material and color, and I hope I have time to study every detail of each one.

He takes my hand and leads me around a corner where there are smaller paintings, a few sketches and lots of framed photos. A long counter sits in the back of the space, and I think that’s where we’re headed, but Reed leads me around the table and opens a door that matches the dark hardwood floors throughout the space.

We step around a few shelves, and Reed holds out a chair for me to sit in at a high table at the back of the room. I climb into the chair and watch him as he digs around on a shelf.

“
Here we go,” He says as he brings a big black folder with him to sit across from me at the table.

“
So what are we doing?” I ask.

“
We’re going to look through this young man’s portfolio and see if he’s created anything we’d like to sell here in the shop. The manager I hired here said he saw some promising works, but I insist on having the final say.” He flips through the first page and shakes his head. From where I’m sitting, I can’t see, and it’s bugging me.

I slide from my chair and walk around to Reed. I kick off my shoes and scoot his chair back.

“
What are you doing?” Reed smiles at me curiously.

I hop up on the bottom rung of the chair and climb into his lap, sliding the black book closer to me. “I couldn’t see.”

Reed laughs loudly at that and scoots us closer to the table, placing his head right next to mine so we can both look at the pictures.

We take our time going over each photo of different paintings. I wish we had the real things in front of us. I want to run my fingers over the painting and follow each brush stroke that this haunted young man created. I want to ask him what was behind each movement. Was it pain? Was it anger? Sadness or frustration?

Somehow I managed to take control over the page turning and after the third time flipping through it, Reed lays his hand over my own. Stopping me.

“
What do you think?” He asks me slowly.

I chew my lip, taking in the picture we stopped on before meeting his eyes. “These pictures make me curious about the artist, about his motivation behind them. I know why I draw, and I wonder if it’s the same for other people,” I tell him.

Reed chews on his bottom lip as he thinks about it. “I’ve met a lot of artists in my time, some good, and some not so good. From my experience, the best ones are the ones who can channel emotion into their work. Not always, as some people just have a god given talent and can create anything, but most of the time I have found this to be true.”

I nod, letting him know I’m listening and encouraging him to continue.

“
Some people can only channel certain emotions, such as anger or pain, doing their best works when they are feeling those emotions. For some, like me for instance, strong feelings of any emotion can be used as fuel for art.”

“
Like this guy,” I say quietly as I trace the edge of the photo and look back to the book.

“
I’d have to agree with you there, as his portfolio shows good range. I’m not as impressed with his ‘happy’ works as I am with the rest, but he’s talented none the less.”

I tilt my head at him before flipping through the book once more. When I reach the end, I stare at Reed a moment, wondering what he’s talking about. “What happy pictures?”

Reed brushes my hand out of the way and flips to the front, stopping on a collection of three photos, the ones I like best.

“
These aren’t bad, but they are pretty generic scenes. Kids playing on a playground, a man and woman sharing an embrace, a father and son facing away, staring at a baseball field. These are probably just memories from the artist’s childhood that he enjoyed and wanted to paint.” Reed explains.

My head is shaking even before I speak. “But these are sad pictures.”

“
Why do you say that? They seem like the quintessential, picturesque scenes that litter the art world.” He states, eyes combing the pictures for something he may have missed.

I point to the first picture. “If you’ll notice, the sun is actually shining down on the kids playing, but the rest of the scene is painted in gray. The branches here on the side aren’t from a tree; they’re from a bush, and the angle is wrong for it to be someone in a tree. The onlooker is hiding. And the tall kid isn’t playing with the short one, look at the short kid’s feet and arms; he’s preparing himself for a fall. My guess is the tall kid is a bully, and the onlooker was hiding from him.”

Reed nods his head slowly but doesn’t say anything, so I point to the second picture. “The man and woman
are
embracing, but it’s a goodbye, not a hello. The painting is blurry; my guess is to signify tears, not rain, though the window pane does have raindrops on it, but if you look through the window of the black car in the background, the artist has painted a driver’s cap on a man behind the wheel. The woman’s hand is wrapped around the man’s wrist. So, the onlooker’s father is leaving and the woman, the onlooker’s mother, is pleading with him not to.”