Page 66 of Find Me

“Because you won’t. Jax has urgent business with a man name Royce Collins.”

I freeze. Surely he did not just say Royce Collins. As in Royce.

“Tell me you’re kidding,” I say, whipping around to face Ryan, my heart absolutely pounding.

“I wish I was, given last night’s argument and all, but I’m not. Jax ran a background check on Royce, and it seems his bad habits have continued over the years… We found out something about him that is… unforgivable. And trust me Evi, when Jax says that he will burn cities down to protect and avenge those he loves, he isn’t lying.”

My stomach drops at the information Ryan just laid out before me, and I wonder what Royce did since I last saw him that could be so unforgivable.

I’m caught between curiosity and dread, my mind going a hundred miles a minute, knowing that I’m not going to like whatever it is that Ryan says next. A familiar feeling of frustration begins to bubble to the surface, my fists clenching in response as I steady my breathing.

“You look like you want to murder someone,” Ryan says lightly.

I let out a frustrated sigh. “I just need time to think,” I say.

“Okay, I can give you that, as long as you promise you won’t end up on a walk.”

I shoot him a look that could kill, and he gives me an apologetic smile before leaving the room, the lock clicking shut behind him.

I pick up my paints, dipping my brush into blacks and grays, and slowly incorporating some blues. As my brush strokes the canvas, I find myself in an almost meditative state, thinking about my conversation—or argument—with Jax last night. I know he had been right; I can see that and admit that, but I can’t help but wonder what it means if I acknowledge all of this out loud.

What does that say about me and how does this change the meaning behind this experience when I was younger?

I take a deep breath, trying to steady myself, knowing that any visit Jax has with Royce will not be a pleasant one. I try to remind myself to stay calm, to refrain from jumping to any conclusions until I speak to Jax when he gets back, whenever that might be.

I pick up another paintbrush and dip it in the paint before me, and I stay like this for hours, the sound of the paintbrush soothing me as it moves across the canvas with slow, intentional strokes.

My mind shifts from thoughts of Royce to everything else that has been going on. The more I paint, the more I seem to work through. I start back at the beginning of the year, dropping out of school, being cut off from my family, and working at Poison Ivy. I think about Rhett, about the men that came before, about Jax, and Ryan. I think about my friends at work, about Sam, and about the drugs. There’s something about painting, the way control and surrender dance together, that is mesmerizing to me. I love how I can choose what I want to paint, the colors I’ll use and the process I’ll take. And yet, in the end, the paints have a mind of their own, sometimes turning into something completely unexpected. I think about this as I think about my life: the decisions I made and the paths I took, while seemingly ending up somewhere I did not intend to be.

I pause, taking a moment to study the canvas in front of me and my life currently, realizing there’s no way to undo what has been done. Just like with a blank canvas, once the paint has touched it, you can’t erase it. Sure, I could paint over it, but it’s still there, just no longer visible.

Perhaps Ryan’s wisdom is rubbing off on me after all. I smile and roll my eyes at the thought.

I paint into the early hours of the morning until my eyes can barely stay open, and a light sweat and tremors appear again, right on schedule.

I wander to the bathroom, splashing cold water on my face before brushing my teeth and crawling into bed.

The vastness of the room feels eerie in the dark, and I feel exposed by the lack of curtains and the ceilings that are so tall I struggle to make out where they end in the darkness of the room.

The sheets are like butter against my skin, cool and silky. And despite my best efforts, I drift off to sleep while thinking about how nice it would be to have Jax curled up behind me keeping me warm.

CHAPTER 22

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I wake up with the sun streaming in through the windows, hot against my face. But it’s the warmth I feel elsewhere that makes me open my eyes.

As if he could hear my thoughts last night, Jax is curled up against me, with a muscled arm wrapped around my waste, his rose-tattooed hand holding onto me as if he is afraid to let go.

I shift slowly, and the motion causes him to stir.

“Good morning, love,” he says, his voice gravelly.

“Am I still being held captive?”

He has the audacity to laugh under his breath, answering me with a yes.

“Then it’s not a good morning,” I say halfheartedly.

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