I didn’t say anything. I couldn’t. Not when we both knew he wasn’t talking about art.
“You won’t be alone, Shadow,” he whispered. “I’ll be right here with you.”
A wave of want passed through me. The strength of it threatened to tear down everything in its wake. “When did you even do this?”
“Got up early,” he murmured, gently stroking along my jawline. “Was half-afraid you’d hear me and spoil the surprise.”
“If it was before four a.m. I would have. I was awake until then.”
“Couldn’t sleep?”
“Nope.” I exhaled jerkily. “Too much on my mind.”
His eyes shone with understanding. “Me too, Shadow.”
I looked over his shoulder at everything he’d assembled. “How’d you even get all this here without me seeing?”
“Most of it was hidden in my luggage,” Dom said. “The easel was the tricky part. Frank helped me break it down into small pieces and we hid it under a blanket in the bottom of the boot.”
I laughed. “Can’t believe I didn’t notice. You two really are sneaky fuckers.” Looking around the room again, I shook my head slowly. “I can’t believe you did this for me.”
“Why not?” Dom stepped close, his head cocked to the side. “I’d do anything for you, Shadow. You should know that by now.”
I wanted to believe him. But truly, there was only one thing I’d ever wanted from him. Even before we started on this fucked-up journey, there’d only been one thing.
To be a part of his life.
He’d promised me that. Even made me think it was possible for a while. But it hadn’t lasted.
There was no reason it would this time either.
“So where are you going to start?” Dom turned away and walked over to the windowsill. He picked up a sketch-pad and wiggled his brows. “Want me to pose like I used to?”
Like he used to. Before he broke me. Before he took away this part of me he was now trying to give back. As if such a thing were possible. “I can’t. I’m sorry, Dom.”
“Can’t, or won’t?”
“They’re the same,” I whispered. “They have to be.”
His face crumpled. “Shadow…”
But I was already gone, fleeing the room. The cabin. Running from the place that held all of my old dreams.
If I ran far enough, maybe I’d remember why it was bad to want them.
20
Ryan
Running didn’t help. Not that I’d expected it to. There was only so far I could go in my pyjamas before I was fucking freezing. At least I’d shoved my feet into my trainers before sprinting out the door.
I trudged back up to the steps to the cabin, bracing myself to face Dom. He’d want an explanation for me taking off like that. And an apology. I couldn’t blame him either, not after he’d done something so damn…thoughtful.
Don’t get me wrong, I knew his motives weren’t entirely altruistic. Dom wasn’t reminding me of my love for art just to make me happy. He also wanted me to remember how happy I’d been during that period of my life. How closely linked he’d been with that particular passion of mine.
Problem was, I did remember. I remembered the joy and love perfectly.
Just as I remembered the pain that had followed.