Page 79 of The Sculptor

Does he love to draw, or did he turn out to love medicine instead?

The questions I have are endless.

But the most important ones are: Is he alone tonight? Is he staring at a Christmas tree and feeling empty? Or is he surrounded by laughter with a family who loves him more than life itself?

I hope it’s the latter, even if my soul aches thinking about it.

I hope he’s had a good life.

I hope he hasn’t been restless like me. I hope he hasn’t been searching for something he doesn’t know is missing.

But most of all, I hope he’s celebrated small victories with people he loves.

“Ray?” Duke’s sleepy voice pulls me from my thoughts.

“Hey,” I say, putting my sketchpad down and scooting over so he can sit down and lay his head on my lap. “You should go back to bed,” I encourage him. “My lap isn’t as comfortable as the bed.”

He locks his arms around my waist, a clear message that he’s not going back to bed until I do. “What’s worrying you?” Just having his arms around me calms my anxiety.

I thread my fingers through his hair, admiring how boyish he looks, all rumpled and sleepy. “I was just wondering what Jude was doing this Christmas.”

Duke’s arms tighten around me. “We’re gonna find him. I promise.”

I love this man more than life itself.

I trust him implicitly.

I just hope I’m not killing what’s left of him by chasing a ghost.

Ramsey

“What in the world is that supposed to be?”

Duke rears back like he’s offended. “It’s a Santa hat.”

Blinking like that’s gonna make it look any better, I cast one more look at the blob of red icing on his sugar cookie. “It looks like a half circle, half cone.”

“Well, we can’t all be talented artists, now, can we?”

Someone got up far too early this morning—which wouldn’t have happened if he’d gone to bed when I told him. Instead, he pulled me down next to him and spooned me the rest of the night. It left us both with a kink in our neck to start off Christmas morning.

“I’m sorry. Your cookie is the cutest Santa hat I have ever seen.” I glance at mine, which is a Christmas tree with ornaments. “It’s—”

I chuckle, and a cookie smacks into my chest, sliding down my boobs, leaving a trail of icing in its wake. “Did you just throw a cookie at me?”

I can’t believe this man actually threw a cookie. Well, I mean, I can, but still—it’s Christmas.

“I dropped it,” Duke lies. “But rest assured, I’ll clean it up.”

He grabs me around the waist and snatches me forward. His eyes darken, and a smirk plays on his lips. “Hold still, Ray. This might take a while.” He lowers his head to my chest, his lips lightly brushing it as he nips at the icing, sending chills along my skin.

“You’re missing the mess.” I groan, my breathing turning shallow as he continues to kiss me. I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of him kissing me—loving me. I feel deprived of all the years I’ve missed under his hands.

He pauses, and I almost grab his head. “Well, we can’t have that. After all, I’m a man of my word.” He lifts my shirt from the bottom, pulling it over my head and tossing it to the floor.

His hands reach around my back, and suddenly, my bra slides down my arms, catching on my wrists. “Ah, that’s better,” he observes, licking his lips like he’s ravenous. “Tell me, Ray. Whose tits are these?”

Oh, dear goodness, why must he drag this out? “Yours.” I groan. “Only yours.”

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