Page 8 of Snapping the Ice
“If you need a place to stay, you can always live with us.We have the casita in the backyard, you know. Wyatt said it would be okay. You could help with?—”
“I have my business here. I’d have to start all over.” Not to mention the shitty way they treated queer people in Alabama. But she didn’t quite understand that. I straightened. “Hey, Maddy, I should go. I have work to finish up.”
“Okay. But keep in touch.”
“I will.” I breathed in deeply. “And I’m fine, so quit worrying about me.” I should probably call her more instead of her always calling me.
“Love you, Ezra. Bye now.”
“Love you too. Bye.” I ended the call and leaned back in the chair, tipping my head to gaze at the rafters and pipes, all painted black, in the ceiling. This place, an old warehouse in South Scottsdale, had been a find. My apartment was so close, I could walk to work when it wasn’t too hot. Shit, I should do some editing on my photos.
I stood, grabbed my camera, and ambled to the desk. After loading a memory card into my laptop, I opened my photo editing software. Opening a photo of Lucas, I examined the image. The guy was gorgeous.
Making some tweaks to the photo with my mouse, I enhanced the vividness of his blue eyes. There was something about those eyes. They were warm and sparkled with humor. He’d made me laugh so much. It had felt good. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d laughed like that.
Moving on to a full body shot, my gaze roamed down his muscled arms, over his chiseled chest and rippled abs. The hint of a dark, happy trail snaked into his hockey gear. My dick twitched and plumped. Damn, the guy was a turn on. The way he’d filled out his briefs had given me a damn boner when he’d changed. Yeah, I’d looked. How could I not?
And he’d protected me when Tate was here. I pursed mylips. What would he have done if he’d seen Tate slap me? I had a feeling he wouldn’t have stood for it. How would it feel to have someone defend me? To feel safe? Fuck, I’d probably never know.
After finishing with today’s photos, I walked the few blocks to my apartment with my backpack slung over my shoulder. I never left my camera in the studio. I never knew when inspiration would strike, and I’d need it. October was a great time to live here. The nights were cool, and I didn’t sweat my ass off if I wanted to walk home. As I turned from the sidewalk along Scottsdale Road, always busy with traffic, I made my way into the parking lot of my apartment complex, the tall trees looming over me as night fell.
Stucco arches adorned the windows of this older building. I strode down a walkway to my first-floor apartment, past the pool and barbecue area, desert plants rising in a haphazard pattern in the landscaping rock.
I unlocked my door and stepped inside, flicking on the chrome dome light over my dark wood dinette. A blue gift bag rested on the table with a card. “Shit.” Tate had been here. I’d given him a key a few months ago. I should probably get it back.
I scanned the main room’s leather recliner and sofa, seeking more evidence of him. Was he still here? “Tate?” I strode into my bedroom and turned on the ceiling fan light, centering the room. Someone had rumpled my grey paisley comforter, but Tate wasn’t there. Had he waited for me in here? It was a little creepy.
With a huff, I strolled to the dinette, opened the card and read his hand-written message.
Ezra,
I’m so sorry if I hurt you today. I just can’t standto think about you with anyone else. That’s how much I love you. I’ll never do it again. I promise. I hope the gift makes things right. Please call me when you get home.
All my love,
Tate
As I stared at the card, my stomach churned. I couldn’t let this change my mind. I had to end this relationship. He fucking hit me. My sister was right about him. Setting the card on the table, I peeked inside the bag at a Canon box. “Holy fuck.”
I pulled the box out and turned it in my hands. The fucker had sprung for a two-thousand dollar lens for me. “Tate, you shouldn’t have done this.” My chest prickled with heat. He was wealthy as fuck, from a rich family, so it was like pocket change to him. But this gift was so much more. It was my freedom. I couldn’t accept it. I’d give it back.
My phone buzzed in the side pocket of my bag. It had to be him.
I fished the phone out and set the call on speaker. “Hey, Tate.” Setting the lens on the table, I slid my bag off my arm and onto the floor.
“Are you home?”
“Yes, I’m home.” I frowned. If I said anything about returning it now, it would only start a fight and he’d come back. “The lens is wonderful.”
“So, you like it?” His smile carried through the connection.
“I uh, I do.” But I couldn’t keep it. I slid a chair out, dropped into it, and rubbed my forehead.
“Good,so you forgive me?”
“I already told you I did at the studio. This wasn’t necessary.” My breath caught. Fuck, don’t go there.
“Oh, it was. You deserve it, baby. You work so hard, and you know I like to give you nice things.”
