Page 52 of Volt
Doc shifts on his feet and won’t meet my eyes. I know what I’m saying makes sense to him, but he’s so deep in his emotions right now, he’s trying his best not to hear us.
“What Zavala’s doing is trying to rattle us. By sending us the heads of our brothers and picking us off one by one like this, he’s trying to undermine us. Demoralize us. He’s trying to win this war without actually fighting us,” I tell him. “He’s strategic. And his army can cut us to ribbons if we’re not just as smart.”
“So, what’s your grand plan then?” Cueball asks.
“We use his tactics against him. We rattle his cage and force him to stick his head out,” I say. “And when he does, we cut it off, stick it into a box, and send to his next of kin.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Fallon
“This painting’s really nice,” Bree says. “It seems different from some of your others.”
“How so?”
She shrugs and takes a drink of her cider, considering the painting. “I don’t know exactly. There just seems to be brighter colors in this one than in some of the others. It sounds silly to say, but it feels more... hopeful, I guess.”
I take a look at the canvas and nod. I hadn’t noticed that I was using brighter colors in this one than I usually do. All I know is that I woke up inspired and with a creative energy I haven’t felt in a long time. I mean, it’s not like I don’t always feel a creative energy. I do. But this morning, it felt like it was dialed up, and I felt like if I didn’t let some of it out, I was going to explode.
“It’s not silly. You’re right. There are a lot of brighter colors,” I say.
“Like I said, it seems more hopeful,” she tells me. “What were you thinking about when you were painting this one?”
I shake my head. “Honestly, I don’t know. I just started putting brush to canvas and this is where I’m at. It’s a long way from finished yet, but I think it’s off to a good start.”
Bree gives me a mischievous smile. “I think I know what you were thinking about.”
“Oh? And what’s that?”
“A certain tall, dark, and handsome motorcycle-riding guy?”
I laugh and roll my eyes at her—though my gut tells me that she’s right. The truth is, I don’t always know where my inspiration comes from. It’s not like I have this bottomless reservoir of ideas in my head. Sometimes, images pop into my mind’s eye, and when I start putting brush to canvas, it’s almost like I’m working unconsciously. When I get into that zone, it’s like I’m not even aware of what I’m doing and I’m outside of my body, watching myself paint. It’s a creative autopilot. I don’t get into that zone a lot, but when I do, it’s always an exhilarating experience.
I drain the last of my cider and look over at Bree. “Ready for another?”
She tips her bottle back and drinks down the rest of it. “Yep. Sure am.”
It’s rare that we have time off together but when we do, we usually like to hang out. She got out of class early tonight, so we went for some dinner then came back to my place for some drinks and a chat. We walk out of my studio and go over to the kitchen. I take her bottle and drop them both into the recycle bin then fish a couple more bottles out of the refrigerator. We walk over to the couch and drop down, drinking in a companionable silence for a minute.
“So, how are things going with Blake?” she asks.
I nod. “They’re going surprisingly well.”
“Yeah?”
I nod again. “Yeah. He’s not like anybody I’ve ever met before.”
“Uh-oh. I know what that means.”
“And what does that mean?” I ask with a laugh.
“It means my girl is headin’ down that path to being in love.”
My laughter echoes around my place, and I give her a playful slap on the arm. “You are ridiculous. I am not.”
She shrugs. “I don’t know. You’ve been walking around on sunshine lately, laughing and smiling more,” she says. “And suddenly, your art is looking more hopeful and optimistic. Sounds to me like a woman in love. Or at least, a woman on her way to being in love.”
“You are seriously ridiculous.”
