Page 67 of Beautiful Exile

“But at some point, you have to let her fly. Test her wings. She’s stronger than you think. She’ll figure it out.”

I knew Arden was right. Knew I couldn’t make these decisions for Ellie. She had to find the path herself. But I worried about the wolves lining it. Ones who could twist her life into something unrecognizable.

“I just keep seeing my mom’s accident over and over in my head,” I admitted.

Arden hugged her knees to her chest. “I know that feeling. It’s like you can’t escape it, no matter what you do.”

I lifted my chin in agreement. “Ran ten miles in Cope’s gym tonight. Didn’t even touch it.”

“Do you think telling Ellie might help?” she asked softly. “This is a lot to hold on your own. A lot to pretend you don’t know. Holding it in is eating you alive. I saw that when you were sparring in Kye’s gym.”

My back teeth ground together, annoyance and frustration swirling. Because she was right. I knew it was eating me alive. This infectious secret tainted everything around me. But giving voice to it felt like I’d be blowing Ellie’s world sky-high.

“I’m scared of the dark,” Arden said suddenly.

I blinked a few times, pulling those pieces together, understanding why that was. Being locked in a hidden closet while watching your mom slip away right in front of your eyes and being powerless to help her, feeling the terror that you were going to die along with her… That would cement fear in anyone. Now I knew why there were lights everywhere in Arden’s orbit. Night-lights. Automatic lights outside her house and workshop. Flashlights in the junk drawer in her kitchen.

“But here’s the thing about the dark. It’s only scary until you turn on the light.” She pulled a set of keys from her pocket and flipped on what was a surprisingly bright mini flashlight.

She flipped the beam off but didn’t look away from me. “Pull everything out into the light. Maybe it’ll feel like less to hold if you trust Ellie to carry it with you.”

Arden pushed to her feet but didn’t retreat like I expected her to. Instead, she moved deep into my space, walking right up to my chair, her legs bracketing mine. She placed her hands on the arms of the chair and bent. All I could do was watch and wait as my fingers itched to grab her. To pull her onto my lap or take her against the chair. All I knew was that I wanted to drown in Arden.

Her hair tumbled around us, the strands teasing my chest. I smelled cherries and the promise of all that washer. I didn’t breathe, didn’t move. Wouldn’t risk a damn thing until I knew which way she’d tip.

Her lips pressed to the corner of my mouth in a featherlight touch. It was the barest contact, yet my body went wired. Every nerve ending stood at attention, yearning for more of the drug that was Arden.

She straightened slowly, her eyes never leaving mine. It was as if I was losing her and getting it all at the very same time. Pleasure and pain warred with each other, just like in her painting.

“You’re not alone. Not if you don’t want to be.” And with that, she walked away, flashlight on and Brutus trailing after her.

But I was still frozen to the spot. Gripped by a touch that was barely a kiss. My tongue flicked over the place where Arden’s lips had been, needing more of everything that was her. A groan slipped free. That taste: sunshine, bourbon, and cherries on the darkest night.

Arden might’ve told me to turn on the lights, but she didn’t know that she’d already done that for me with her presence alone.

25

ARDEN

Angry voices screamedfrom the speakers, so loud I could hear them above my blowtorch. But more than that, I couldfeelthem. And I needed that. It was as if the music and art were outlets for feelings I wasn’t ready to process.

Feelings that were springing to life because of Linc.

And I was pissed as all hell about it. But I still wanted more. And that craving scared the crap out of me. So, I’d done what I did best. I avoided.

I took Whiskey and Stardust for long rides, locked myself in my studio, and helped Denver prep for the auction and show. If I saw Linc anywhere in my vicinity, I went the other way.

I was a chicken. And I knew it. All because of one single kiss.

Switching off the blowtorch, I stepped back and lifted my mask, studying the piece. Something about using scrap metal as both canvas and paint spoke to me, connected on a primal level. Because in many ways, entering the system had felt like I was carelessly tossed-away trash. Until the Colsons took me in and showed me what I could truly be.

The same could be said for the woman currently being cast out of the rubble. I could see the strains of the past few weeks in her. I could see notes of Ellie, Linc, and me. She was a blend of all of it.

Her head tipped back in an open-mouthed scream as a hand stretched up, reaching toward the light, trying to break free. But chains and locks held her feet, keeping her imprisoned. It wasn’t a piece I could picture sitting in anyone’s foyer. It was anything but peaceful.

It was haunting. Vicious. Real.

Brutus leaned against my leg, and my hand dropped to scratch his head. I set the blowtorch down and reached for my phone, switching off the music. My ears rang from the echoes of the angry melodies, and I winced at the countless unread texts on the screen.

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