Page 32 of Carver
“So it’s actually selfish? Your reasons. Currying favor with karma?”
“Completely,” Dravin deadpans, because hegetsDom’s humor.
“You’re such an asshole.”
“He is not!” I gasp.
“Did I say it like it was a bad thing?” Dom brushes a kiss over my temple. It’s maybe the most shocking thing that’s happened all night. Even before, he never just kissed me like that, so carefree and… happy. Never when anyone else was around. “I happen to be an asshole myself. You’re in good company.”
“Neither of you are a-holes!” I shove my hands onto my hips. “Do you want me to come to the house with you to pack?”
“Want me to grab some things out of the shop?” Dravin’s not in a hurry to get out of here, but he is efficient. It makes sense, given that he’s an ex-SEAL. He likes having a plan of action.
I expect Dom to say no, but he inclines his head, considering Dravin’s offer of help for a moment. “I’d just like my tools right now. I don’t like the thought of them out here, far away from me, even if I’m not sculpting right now.” His hand flexes against mine, opening and closing, curling our fingers together again.
For Dom, sculpting is like breathing. Going such a long time without doing that must be driving him insane. He told me once that it’s not like he hears voices, but he does see images. Sometimes they come in flashes and bursts, other times they’re like a movie playing out from start to finish. He said that when he gets edgy because he needs to sculpt, it feels like crippling like anxiety. I know that feeling. Or at least, what it’s like to know that you need to do something and not be doing it. The longer you put it off, the stronger that sensation gets until it settles down into the pit of you, choking you.
“Sure. I can grab those. We’ll make a plan for the stones and anything else you need as soon as you find a shop in town, yeah?”
Dominic nods. “I guess I’ll just have to accept that I’ve done nothing to earn your goodness, or the club’s, but it’s there anyway.”
“Fucking rights it is,” Dravin confirms. “They’ll help you move if you ask them nice. Even if you ask them not nice. Or askthem not to. There’s nothing going to stop the old ladies from coming out in a big pack to help you make your way into Hart. Not with Kael getting them all worked up, and you can bet if you’re moving into the house she’s probably going to move out of, she’ll be as worked up as worked up gets. In a good way.”
“I’d like to meet everyone, but do you think they’d like me? I’m a farm girl. I don’t swear. I don’t wear leather. And I’m a mom.”
Dom stiffens. He drops my hand, but only so he can inch his arms around my waist and tuck me into his side. It’s a protective gesture, one that lets me feel all the hard planes of his body underneath his old plaid wool shirt he uses as a jacket because he runs hot. So hot that he immediately warms me. We’ve spent so many cold nights together outside and I didn’t care about the elements at all when he was right there to chase the chill away.
Dravin picks the huge door that doubles as a ramp off the ground and hefts it up on the trailer. He snaps the locks in place. I guess anything Dom wants to take from here will be going in the truck. He turns around, dusting his hands off. “Do you like Kael any less for who she is?”
“Okay. I’m just… a little bit nervous. Maybe? Maybe it’s all excitement.”
“Excitement’s a great thing. Don’t lose that wonder. It makes you who you are.”
Dom gives my hip a squeeze before he releases me. “Will you go with Dravin and help him gather up my tools? You know which ones I’d like. You don’t have to take them all right now. I’m going to go to the house and pack a bag and grab the thingsI want. I’ll be done before you both will. I’ll join you in the shop and grab the records. I’d like to take them with me.”
“I’ll get the turntable ready to go too then.”
I’m not used to this version of Dom who accepts help. I still brace for an argument, but he doesn’t give one. He gives me that lopsided half smile that’s slowly becoming familiar now that he’s had his surgery and starts off towards the house.
I watch to make sure that he gets there and gets inside before I turn and walk to the shop with Dravin. The truck’s headlights do wonders illuminating the path so that we don’t stumble and fall. The country is so much darker than in the city. When the moon and stars are out, you get quite a spectacular view, but when it’s dark, it’sfullydark. Tonight is one of those nights, with plenty of cloud cover.
“You’re bringing him back to life, Bronte. You know that?” Dravin asks as he opens the shop door for me.
I step through and click the light on. The switch is just inside the door. A few bulbs in ancient sockets groan to life, blinking on and off before deciding to stay on. They give off a sickly yellow glow. I always hated how Dom spent all night sculpting sometimes, especially under these lights. I’ve been here in the morning after he’s done an all-nighter and his eyes seem so sore. He tried to hide it well, but I could tell that sometimes, he could hardly make them focus.
“I’ve been there myself. Dark holes and times where all you know is anger.” Dravin walks over to the workbench on the far side of the shop, and I follow. “The world is shit. You feel like shit. Life is shit. You start to question what the point of anything even is. I’ve been through those times where I thought I wouldn’t make it, but I did. It was a miracle. But why? For what purpose?”
I want Dravin to tell me what the answer to that is, but he falls silent. He waits for me to point out the tools, which I do. There are many in here, in chests, wooden cabinets stacked haphazardly on top of each other instead of being mounted to the wall, and on open wooden shelves that sag under their weight.
I know exactly which sets have to come. They’re usually wrapped in their soft leather cases, worn from Dom’s handling them. The chisels aren’t anything special. They’re just old tools his grandpa had kicking around here, but they’re the reason that he got into sculpting at all. He could afford something else, something better, but he likes these. He cares for them like they’re priceless, and even though Dom has a complicated history with this place and his family, to him, they are.
“I’m so sorry,” I whisper, stroking one of the leather cases as I make a pile of things to go. “I’ve never- I’ve never had that bleakness inside of me. I can’t say I fully understand it. Even in the worst of times, I’ve always had the love of my family. My friends. My books.” I’ve been unbelievably fortunate, and I know that.
“That’s real empathy.” Dravin’s tone is all gravel, but with an underlying sense of peacefulness underneath. “When you haven’t gone through those feelings all the way yourself, but you still want to offer your support wholeheartedly. And you have. Dominic would say he’s lucky to have you, but it isn’t luck. I really believe that there are strings all over this world, invisible tethers, tying us together. The one tying you up is strong. He pulled away, but he was never gone. He was always trying to find his way back. I can’t explain it, but from the first minute I met him, I knew he was special. It wasn’t what he said it was, whereI saw him and pitied him and this existence, or because of the scars. It was just him. Just who he is.”
“I know exactly what you mean. It’s a soul connection. You can be completely connected to someone in an unromantic way. I have been so blessed that Dom is my soulmate in every sense.”
I leave that to settle in. We gather up the tools and start moving them to the truck. It takes us a few trips. Dravin loads everything into the cab in the back. The floor has rubber mats and there are a few moving blankets back there. He carefully arranges all the tools so they’re safe and won’t move.
