Page 21 of First Chance

“But it sounds like your father is a jackass.”

A sob rips from my throat after processing what he said. “I only need to play nice until September. I told him that if he forces me to quit school, then I’ll refuse to participate in my brother’s campaign, and I’ll start leaking family secrets. His image is everything despite how imperfect he is.”

“You’re going to blackmail your father?”

“It’s the only way to win against a man like him.”

“Remind me not to mess with you,” he mutters, and I grin.He has no idea.“You can stay here.”

My smiledrops. “What?”

* * *

“This is my grandmother’s old studio.” He flips on the lights to what I thought was a detached garage this whole time. I’ve parked my car twenty feet away from it for over a month.

The small interior is filled with stacks of painted canvases. A small bistro table sits off to the side of a micro kitchen. It’s only one counter with a single tub sink under a small window. A small toaster oven and two cabinets.

“It’s not much, but it’s livable. There’s a twin bed and a small bathroom behind that curtain. My grandfather renovated this so she had somewhere to paint, but she hated it. She preferred painting upstairs in the house where there were more windows. So it turned into storage and then his room when he was in the dog house.”

I look at him curiously. “They loved each other like crazy, but they fought like cats and dogs. Pops always said that she was the love of his life and the biggest thorn in his side.” He looks so wistfully lost in thought, I almost want to touch him, pat his arm, or squeeze his shoulder in some sort of silent support. Instead, I bury my hands into his jacket that I wrapped myself in before we walked down here.

“They sound wonderful,” I murmur into the quiet space.

“They were.” He clears his throat and turns to look at me. “There will be more rules if you stay here.”

Of course, there are.

“Let me guess. Don’t talk to the guys. Don’t make noise. Don’t bug you unless I’m working.” I tiptoe around the room with my bare feet on the hardwood floor. It only takes a few steps to cover the space between the door and the kitchen. One car could barely even fit in this space.

“Don’t make friends with the guys. Don’t wander around, especially at night. If you need to go outside after dark, textme first. If you’re on the property, then I need to know. If you leave, I need to know. Keep this door locked at all times. Your phone needs to be on you, and you need to answer if I call you.”

“This is crazy, Loch-”

“That shoe box was left by people who want to hurt this place, Jo. Those animal heads were a threat. No one here has been harmed yet, but I’m not taking that risk with you. None of my parolees have stepped out of line yet, but they also haven’t had the chance.” He looks at me pointedly so I understand. “I’m not risking that with you. Do you hear me?”

“Yes.” He’s a commanding presence anytime I’m near him, but being near him in such a small space is suffocating. His aura is all-consuming in a way that I’m not used to.

Even when I don’t want to look at him, I catch myself glancing in his direction, but when his full attention is directed at me, it’s hard to meet his stare head-on.

His gaze dips to my bare feet and travels slowly back up to the oversized fleece covering more of me than my dress did, and he sighs. “If you want to stay here, then it’s temporary, so you can focus on school. You do your job and you keep your head down.”

“Okay.”

“Go home. Get your stuff and come back in the morning. I’ll have it cleaned up.”

“I can help you.”

“No, I’ve got it.” He grabs a stack of paintings and heads out the door, but I’m transfixed by the one that’s left leaning against the wall. It’s an oil-painted landscape like the one in his living room, except it’s the view from the porch. Thesunrise is streaming over the property, with the light slicing through the gaps of the old abandoned barn.

It’s a warm and peaceful, but intricately detailed view of the place that seems so stagnant. A woman’s perspective of a place completely overrun by men. It’s beautiful.

“Can I keep this one in here?” I ask once he returns.

He picks it up and inspects it thoughtfully before hanging it on the wall. The entire length of the wall has a track running across it with hooks to hold the canvases like an artist’s workshop.

“Thank you, Lochlan.”

He shrugs, still looking at the painting. “No problem.”

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