Page 38 of Dravin

“I’ve thought about reconstructive surgery for my face, but it’s expensive. I’d have to sell a fair amount of work and that takes time. It’s easier if you get surgery right away. But you know that.”

Dravin nods.

“It wasn’t like I was model material before or anything, so it’s less of a blow. This is just another… uh… it is what it is.”

I’m not sure what Dominic was going to say, but whatever he’s remembering is so bitter that the taste practically lingers on my tongue.

“Could we see them? I might know of a few clients who would be happy to make large purchases. Maybe even order several commissions.”

That surprises both of us. The left side of Dominic’s face blanks. The right side remains in a sort of grimace, like that stone carvedhiman expression that is going to last forever.

“Yeah. Sure. Come in.”

Dominic flicks his eyes nervously to me. He’s at home with Dravin because he talked to him already and got a good feel for him by his words. He was immediately calmed by Dravin’s appearance and whatever magic he has simmering under his skin that I tried to pretend wasn’t there from the first moment we met, lest it creep inside of me and alter me forever.

Spoiler alert, I’m doing a terrible job of blocking it out.

Changing my mind just a little has altered my conscious a lot.

I cross the distance over to the gravel to the dome and offer my left hand to Dominic, mirroring Dravin’s earlier motions. “I’m Kael.” I can’t bring myself to lie to this man who has been so incredibly open with us even though he’d planned on doing the exact opposite and having someone else deal with us. I just leave it at my name. My real name. I didn’t even think about that.

Dravin only gives me side eye as we walk in. I pretend not to notice his censure.

The whole place is wide open, with an old wooden workbench on the far side that probably once held motors or car parts at one time, given the dark oil stains steeped into the battered wood, but other than that, it’s just stone. Stones of all colors, shapes, and sizes. And the sculptures.

Oh my god, the sculptures.

They’re incredible.

I don’t holy shit or start dropping compliments. The work in here is far too spectacular for mere words.

I edge close to a tall woman draped with a flowing veil of cloth so real that it’s shocking when I lift my hand and graze the stone with my fingertips, they come away cold. I’ve been to galleries and museums when they had exhibits of ancient statues. These are every bit as beautiful and well done. They’re timeless. You can’t look at this and not understand how Dominic pours his whole being into them. He gives new meaning to the term,breathing life.He’s done more than breathe. He’s sweat, bled, grafted, suffered, and nearly died for his passion. It’s clear that he can’t stop. Hewon’tstop.

“Holy fuck,” Dravin hisses, pretty much summing up everything I can’t say.

My emotions are so jammed up that I’m practically on the verge of a breakdown. It’s one of those laugh, cry, weep, explode moments where it happens altogether because you’re just not a big enough vessel to contain everything surging and swelling on the inside.

“Do you take commissions?”

“I mostly let the stones talk to me. I don’t try and force them into forms they don’t want to take.”

Dravin turns around, showing Dominic the bowed stone angel on his leather vest. I’d be lying if I said that it didn’t make me anxious as fuck seeing it. I might know that the club is nothing like what Marcus was fucking around with. I have proof that the people involved with it are legit some of the kindest, most decent souls I’ve ever met. But when I first saw him wearing that vest with the club emblem, I couldn’t help the ball of anxiety that lodged in my throat. I haven’t been able to dislodge either fully, since.

“Would you make something like this?”

“You’re a part of the biker club in Hart?”

I’m stunned that Dominic even knows about that. He basically told us he doesn’t really leave here. This is his corner of the world. Then again, most biker clubs get kind of famous, or infamous, state or even nationwide.

“I’m prospecting,” Dravin responds easily. “They’d definitely pay you well to make something for the front of their clubhouse. It’s an ass ugly brick building as it is and could use some beautification. They’d probably pay for more too, or make sure that the town was gifted some incredible work for their parks or their library or downtown or something.”

“If you’re just prospecting, how can you know they’d purchase anything?” Dominic searches Dravin’s face then snorts. “Please don’t give them a sob story about how I need money to get my face fixed.”

I can’t help it. I have to walk over. I stand beside Dravin, not touching, but close enough that our bare arms nearly brushtogether. “I’m an artist. Sort of. I paint. I’ve seen tons of work from all over the world and all over history, and these are incredible. Even if the club wanted to help you out, your work more than speaks for itself. There aren’t any words that could give credit to what you do, so I won’t even try, but trust me when I say that anyone who ever saw it would be in awe.”

Dominic’s jaw sets. He’s on the verge of saying no, but at the last second, he shakes his head wryly. “Okay. If one of these stones wants to be an angel, or if I ever meet one that does, I’ll consider it. I can’t make any promises though, and certainly not as to a timeline.”

“That’s fair,” Dravin says, eying up a few of the statues that probably aren’t spoken for.

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