“Are you going to go?” She hated even asking.
With one tense hand, Calvin raked over his hair. “Parker always reels me in somehow. I hate it.” He checked the time. “What in the world is he doing? It’s not even ten yet.”
Evie ached from the amount of burden she saw in his eyes. In his posture even. She headed over to the couch and patted the cushion. “Here. Come relax.”
Calvin began to pace. “Parker is such a punk. I swear he’s going to get himself killed one day.”
“I’m sorry,” Evie said, wishing she could help. She circled her palm over the textured surface of the couch. “Want me to rub your back?”
It took him a while to acknowledge her question. He eyed the space next to her, glanced into her eyes, and gave her a weak smile. That familiar magnetic spark surged between them, causing a flash of heat to shoot through the center of her chest.
“Yes,” he said, “that’d be nice.”
As Evie smoothed her hands over Calvin’s tightened shoulders, she considered his dilemma with Parker. He had to put his foot down some time, refuse to play a part of his game, but she could feel the guilt and concern oozing off his rigid body. If Parker did manage to get himself killed, Calvin would probably blame himself forever.
“What usually happens when you go out there to pick him up?”
Calvin took a deep breath that made his back swell against her hands. In a long sigh, he exhaled, shaking his head. “Parker knows I don’t want him to drive drunk, so he takes advantage. Seems like every time I show up, he provokes someone on our way out the door, like he was waiting for me to get there so he could up his numbers.” Calvin shook his head. “A fight breaks out, sometimes the bouncers step in and show us to the door, other times I … try to stop things.”
“How?”
He looked at her over his shoulder, his brown eyes guarding a part of him she knew nothing about. “Different ways. I’ll fight if I have to, but I try to diffuse the situation instead. Usually by stepping in, apologizing for him, explaining that my brother is a sad alcoholic, who lost his mother.” He let out a humorless laugh. “Half the time it actually works.”
Evie slid off the couch, kneeling before him. “Well, it’s your call. You can get schooled in a game of chess by yours truly, or try to rescue that sad brother of yours while I go back to stressing over finals.”
Calvin’s eyes narrowed as he looked at her. “Forget about Parker. Let’s play.”
Chapter Eighteen
“Your nephews adore you, Evie,” Calvin said.
Evie smiled. “It’s just because I cook them treats all the time.”
He took a hand off the steering wheel to fiddle with the air vents. “Are you warm enough?”
“Yeah, thanks.” Evie marveled at the great amount of flakes falling from the nearly colorless sky. Today they were the good kind–soft, light and powdery. The type Calvin said created the ultimate surface for boarding and skiing. Perfect flakes for Christmas day. Yesterday the snow had come down in dense, heavy chunks. They could hardly be called flakes at all. Those fell much faster and covered the ground with a wet slush. It was heavy and hard to shovel–the kind of snow that fell the day after her mother left. An involuntary shudder rippled over her body.
Her mind drifted back to the time when she’d unleashed that gnawing void–the monster that feasted on her from the inside–all by dwelling on her mother’s absence. Calvin’s love had put the action in reverse. It fed and filled her with life, worth, and completion. Evie brought Calvin’s hand up to her lips, kissed the warm center of his palm. Through the difficulty of her childhood memories and the sudden shift in her friendship with Kelly, Calvin had offered solace through his selfless love for her.
“Does your sister always call you Evie Mae?”
Evie shook her head. “Nah. Just when she’s in a good mood.”
“I can’t believe I never knew your middle name.” With one hand firmly on the wheel, Calvin leaned over and whispered into her ear, “Evie Mae. Me encanta Evie Mae.”
She chuckled, reveling in the feel of his warm breath on her skin. “You still sticking to your ‘no middle name’ story?”
“Yep.”
“You realize that I’m going to ask your dad and Parker about it, right?”
“And I’ll pay good money to keep them quiet.”
“Whatever,” she said through a laugh. “I’ll just call you Calvin Bernard until you tell me.”
“Bernard, huh?”
“Yeah, ‘til I think of something worse.”
As they pulled into the driveway, a wave of relief washed over her. She was glad they were done with all their visits. They’d seen Jack and Parker, Jessica and her family, and of course her dad, who was still at Jessica’s. Now Evie would have Calvin all to herself.
In the warmth of the quiet basement, she gave him his Christmas gifts: A tin of his most choice lead pencils and a stack of art pads. “I’m going to miss having art with you,” she said, “seriously.” Her new classes would be starting up in January, and not one was with Calvin.
He smiled. “I’ll miss it too.” He reached for the large package he’d carried in from the Jeep. “Okay, you’re next.”
Evie pulled at the crisp, white paper, revealing a sculpted design along a rustic-looking frame. She removed the remaining paper until she revealed its entirety. Behind a thin sheet of glass lay a beautifully detailed piece of abstract art, something he’d obviously labored over. She leaned it back so she could see past the glare from the light above her.
The drawing portrayed a large chess piece–the knight–sketched in three different positions. At the center of the print, the knight stood bold, face forward, slightly larger than the other two. At the widened center of the main piece, lay a gently sketched portrait of Evie’s face. Not obvious–just soft, subtle, and skilled. Sleek hair, soft eyes with detailed lashes, gentle cheeks and lips. And though it was an obvious likeness of her, it was more beautiful than she’d ever considered herself to be.
At each side of the central piece stood dual shadows of the knight–each with its back to the center. He’d written something boldly across the bottom in beautifully artistic script:
~ Evie’s Knight ~
It was breath taking; Calvin had managed to create a knight that looked softer, more round than the roughly chiseled ones from her set. A smoother, more gentle-looking version of the knight, yet it still looked fierce. Reflections of light bounced off the tips and planes. Dark, contrasting shadows fell beneath them. At the base of the page lay a massive checkerboard, solid squares of creamy white and bronze.
She pulled it onto her lap for a closer look. “What kind of material is this? The color looks metallic.”
“It’s a blend. I sketched it out with a bronzed lead, and then used a mixture of chalks and oil pastels to shade and outline.” He pointed out the dull black along the shadows and edges.
“Calvin, I love it. This is beautiful.”
“There’s a meaning behind it, a three-part meaning actually. That’s why there are three different views or angles of the knight.
“The first time we played chess, you mentioned liking the knight, the association with it. I haven’t forgotten that. And since then, I’ve noticed a lot of those characteristics in you.” He put his fingers up to the glass. “The middle one is a representation of you. It’s solid, strong, and resilient. I see that in you, the side that refuses to give up or cower. I admire that.” He gave her a smile before moving on.
“The other two are your protectors, guardians.” He pointed them out. “This one here is your spiritual knight, or higher being. It represents the constant force that will never abandon you. It watches over you, warns you of danger, and keeps you safe.
“This third one over here portrays the earthly guardian in your life. This one loves you deeply. He’d fight to protect you, give his life to save you, and wants only for your happiness. The third knight is myself.”
A single tear
fell down Evie’s cheek. She smoothed it with the back of her hand as Calvin took the gift off her lap, leaned it against the couch. She stood up, looped her arms around him and spoke into the warm curve of his neck. “Calvin, I can’t tell you how much that means to me.”
He slipped his hands around either side of her face and brought his mouth to a teasing closeness. “Evie Mae,” he whispered, brushing his lips against hers. “I love you.”
A rapid tug pulled at her heart. “I love you, too.”
***
Calvin jolted into a conscious state, labored breaths pressing through his tightened chest. His heart was an audible pump, pounding against his flesh, fighting to break through the surface while visions of his nightmare pulsed in his head.
He wiped at the beads of sweat gathered on his face and gulped the dryness from his throat. Cool blue shadows reached across his room, unthreatening and still. A stark contrast to the world beneath his lids. A world where Evie lay in danger.
Only a dream. Throwing back the covers, Calvin welcomed the frigid chill that rushed across his skin, knowing it would serve to wake him further–take him away from the dream. Yet in cruel, jolting flashes, the images returned. Blood, thick and crimson, spilling down the pasty, gnarled hands of the ghost. Evie’s lifeless form in her wake.
“Not real,” he said, dashing the visions from his head. Still, Calvin was tempted to hop in the Jeep, speed to her house and see that Evie really was safe and sound, as he’d left her just hours ago.
He filled his lungs and worked to calm his shaken breaths as his eyes closed again. More images rushed in: rustling branches and quivering leaves. His frenzied journey across the land. The visions put him back there in a blink–speeding through the air like a finely aimed dart, his body parallel to the blurry earth just yards below. The dream had lent him every sensation. Even in recollection, he could almost feel the rapid wind pressing against his face, rushing through his hair.
The powerful action should have left him high–flying over the land with precision and speed–but it didn’t. Because he’d been consumed with thoughts of his purpose: To save the woman he loved. That sheer desperation ate at him–had him fearing for her safety even then, awake and conscious.
No. It was just a dream. He wouldn’t disturb her. He’d bide his time, call her first thing in the morning, and breathe easy at the sound of her voice.
Chapter Nineteen
“So where will that painting go when you’re done with it?” Evie asked while lounging on Calvin’s bed.
He spread a thick layer of paint on the wall-sized canvas. “Some Italian restaurant in Salt Lake.” He scraped off the excess paint.
“Hmm. We’ll have to go eat there once it’s up.”
“Uh huh,” he mumbled, eyes pasted on his work.
He’d removed his shirt, and Evie smiled at the streaks of bold yellow paint that ran along the inside of his arms, where he’d rested them to work at the detail. His hands were full, so he swept his hair away from his face with his arm, smearing a golden streak across his forehead as well. It almost helped to settle her nerves, but not quite.
She ran her gaze along the adjacent wall, saw the calendar she’d given him. “You know this is still on January?”
His eyes didn’t leave the painting. “What’s that?”
“This calendar I gave you.” She slid off the bed and reached up, flipping two pages. “There.”
He looked at her over his shoulder, eyed the calendar. “Thanks. Time has flown. Can’t believe it’s March already.” He gave her a quick smile before turning back to his work.
Evie returned to Calvin’s bed, eyeing the open door. She wondered what he would say if she walked over and closed it. “Calvin, we need to talk.” Once the words hit the air, she felt light headed.
He made a few more strokes with his loaded brush, merging two colors to make the perfect reflection of light. “About what?”
When she remained quiet, he dropped his arm and turned to look at her. An unsettling dose of heat rose to her face, the color betraying her casual approach.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, dropping the brushes in the jar with a clank.
“Nothing. It’s um…”
Calvin splashed the brushes around as a gold cloud of paint muddied the water. She watched as he pulled them out to dry, one at a time, wiping them back and forth against an old towel scrap.
“Go ahead,” he encouraged.
“I just…” she broke off, licked her lips. “Can you come sit by me at least?” she asked, suddenly irritated.
“Sure.” He set the brushes down and opted for the chair, scooting it close to the edge of the bed where her legs dangled.
Evie summoned a thread of courage, used it to speak. “First, I want to thank you … for always being,” she looked over the muscled contours of his bare chest, “respectful.” She forced out a short cough and looked down at her hands, spinning the ring on her thumb. “You’re always a gentleman, and just so there’s no confusion, I want you to know that I’m grateful for that.”
Calvin’s lips tightened, as if he was holding back an argument.
“Since we’ve been together, it’s been like, the best days of my life, seriously.”
“The same goes for me,” he said.
“Well, you have a way about you. I mean, never once have you made me feel like you were out of control, or wanting to compromise . . . my uh …” she looked away, too embarrassed to finish the sentence.
“Your virtue?” Calvin said in a low, sinister tone. He flashed her a mischievous grin that almost eased her nerves, but not quite.
“Thank you, yes. That…was the word I was looking for.” Her face warmed again. “You have some paint there, on your chest.” She motioned to the smudge.
He looked down at the gold smear just beneath his shoulder.
“And some there on your arm, too,” she added, leaving out the mark on his head.
Calvin shrugged. “That’s why I paint without a shirt. If you weren’t here my pants would be off, too.” He smiled at her, making no attempt to remove the paint. His eyes narrowed. “I’ll get it later.”
Evie gulped as she combed a few blonde strands of hair off her face. “I know that you love me,” she said. “Not only do you tell me, but you show me in so many ways. I don’t know that I’ve ever felt closer to another person before, so connected. But even still, I have times where–I admit–I’m just insecure and childish probably, but I still wonder if you’re…”
A flash of concern flared in his eyes. “What?”
“If you’re attracted to me. The way I am to you.” She wiped at her forehead with the back of her hand.
“Evie, are you kidding? How could you doubt that?”
The booming sound of his voice silenced her, took her by surprise.
“How could you ever think . . .” A grunt of frustration sounded in his throat. “You are exactly what I want. Exactly. Mentally, physically, you’re perfect. You’re beautiful.”
Evie raised her voice to match his. “Well this is what I struggle with. I’m starting to wonder if I’m just crazy, or spoiled, or what the hell’s wrong with me. Because what I want seems to conflict with our whole objective to … you know, wait. You’ll think that when I say I want more that I’ll want that, but I don’t. I just want something in between. Do you get it?” Hot tears streamed down her face. What a mess she’d made of that.
“No, I don’t get it. I’m sorry, Evie. What exactly are you wanting from me?” Frustration tensed his tone. His chest rose and fell with each angry breath as he waited for an answer.
“You,” Evie shouted. “Your kiss. I want you to kiss me like you want me, not like we’re just greeting one another on the street. I want you to put your mouth on me like you did on my birthday, or at the bowling alley, or the few other times I managed to nearly seduce you out of your senses.” Her voice cracked in a humorless laugh. “You know, I get that you don’t want to make out on the doorstep each ni
ght Cal, or get all…carried away every time we’re together. Fine. Good, in fact. I’m sure there’s a lot of wisdom in your decision to take things so slowly. But if you never bother giving me even the smallest amount of passion, I’ll be left to assume there’s just…something wrong with me. What else is there?”
Calvin pressed his eyes closed, ran a tense hand through his hair.
What was he thinking? Why wasn’t he saying anything? “Look at me,” she scolded. “You’re driving me crazy!”
“Evie, I’ve done everything I can to make it clear that I’m good with waiting. It hasn’t been easy, trust me. And now suddenly your saying … what?”
“I’m saying that you can’t expect me to be some robot, some … thing with no physical wants or needs. I’m seriously supposed to just lay on your bed, watch you strut around here with your shirt off, and not feel anything?”
He tilted his head. “Strut around?” An amused chuckle coated his words.
Evie glared at him, hating that he’d managed to find humor in the moment. With an infuriated grunt, she strode toward the doorway, bumping his shoulder as she passed.
“Wait. Don’t leave.” Calvin caught her by the arm, reached over to close his door.
She turned away from him as tears gathered in her eyes.
“I had no idea-”
“Well how would you, Calvin?” she interrupted coldly. “How could you possibly know what it’s like for me unless you felt the same? Obviously you don’t want me the way–”
“I do want you,” he said sternly, grabbing her other arm. “You’ve had enough of the gentleman?” he asked in a low growl. “Huh?”
“That’s not what I said.”
His voice rose. “I’d be a better lover if I took lessons from Parker.” He pressed his unyielding body against her, strong and heated. His hands encircled her waist.
Her next breath nearly escaped her.
“Parker just takes what he wants, whether it’s his or not. And I want you.” The threatening sound of his voice caused her shoulders to tense.
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