Page 86 of The Sculptor

That’s the funny thing about dreams; you never know when you’ve failed or if it’s just another setback that you should power through.

The problem is acceptance.At what point does a dream become a debilitating excuse not to move on?

When it consumes you like it did Duke and I? Do we even know what it feels like to be content anymore? We’ve lived our entire lives chasing a future we might never achieve.

What does that mean for our relationship?

What happens when we get closure?

Will I still be Duke’s ray of sunshine when he has his son? Or will the clouds of despair take him under if he finds out he no longer has a son and must grieve him all over again?

Where does that leave us?

Can we be happy with just each other?

We were once.

Before I became pregnant—when he was the only man in my life.

But now?

When he’s buried in online chats and meetings with private investigators… I’m not so sure. His silence haunts me, just like it did before, and I’m terrified this is all ending before I even had the chance to know the man and father that is Duke Potter.

But love doesn’t follow a playbook.

It’s not easy.

But itisworth it.

And as long as Duke is still willing to fight for an unknown future, then I am, too.

Because we’re worth the fight.

I drag my finger through the paint on the canvas, smearing the color over the edge. It’s not my greatest work, or even worthy of being seen, but I needed a distraction. Duke has the lake, and I have the canvas. But clearly, neither of those escapes are calming the chaos in our minds—especially when I feel a set of arms drape over my shoulders.

“Should I be worried about Langston’s safety?” Duke’s voice has a teasing lilt to it, which settles something deep inside me.

He’s finally broken his silence.

“Depends on him,” I say. “He has the power to put a stop to our pain.”

But we all know he won’t, because men like Langston need to keep their secrets.

Secrets equal power in Langston’s world. He won’t give them up without a fight—which is hard when you’re the underdog fighting blindly in a world you removed yourself from many years ago.

Duke’s lips find my neck. “We have the power, my love.” His hand trails down my breasts, covered with only a tank top, until he reaches my lap, finding the tube of paint between my legs. “We can silence the screams.”

And we can give his silence a voice.

“All we need to do is remember.” He hands me the tube of paint, kissing me softly when I take it. “Help me remember, Ray. Show me the way back to my heart.”

And then his weight is gone from my shoulders.

I swivel around just as he pulls off his shirt, giving me a clean canvas—my favorite one. Him.

He wants to remember—just like me—what it was like when things were simpler between us.

When he was my muse, and I was his heart.

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