by J. D. Mason
“You’ve got a court date in the morning, Ellis,” he said. “And when you go before that judge, you’re going to plead guilty.”
“What?” Ellis asked, shocked.
That’s not what he would do. It wasn’t something he’d ever had to do.
“You’re going to plead guilty, and you’re going to take your fuckin’ punishment like a man.”
“He raped Daneen!” he shouted just in case the old man hadn’t heard. Ellis hadn’t just randomly kicked some guy’s ass. The sonofabitch had attacked the woman he loved and had planned on marrying.
“Take the plea, Ellis,” his father growled. “Because if you don’t, there will be a trial, and if there is a trial you will go to prison for a whole lot longer than a few years.”
“You didn’t hear what I said, Dad!”
“And you’re not hearing what I’m saying! Take the goddamn plea or rot your ass in prison for the next ten years. It’s up to you. But I’m done, son. I’m finished!”
His father walked out of that jail, and he never came back.
Ellis didn’t hate his father, though. He understood him better than ever since the two of them had parted ways, but he didn’t hate him. The two of them were just different. And that’s all it was.
The music was exceptionally good tonight, which kept him there longer than usual. Crowds made him feel claustrophobic now, so he usually avoided them, but sitting here at this table in the back of the room wasn’t so bad. He could watch people dancing, drinking, laughing and not feel smothered by it all. After spending all that time in lockup, Ellis had figured he’d look forward to shit like this, but it didn’t hold the same lure to him as it once did. There was something to be said for solitude, and peace, and quiet.
Drew Jones waded his way through the crowded room looking like he’d stepped out of one of those men’s fashion magazines. He always did take pride in the way he dressed. He nodded at Ellis as he passed by his table. The two of them had been best friends before Ellis went away. Time changed things like that, though.
Drew’s family was a lot like Ellis’. They were like royalty in this podunk town. His family owned a chain of grocery stories that spanned three counties. Drew had gone to law school and now worked for Ellis’ father as his aide. He was the son that Ellis’ father never had. Lucky him.
Ellis was just about to leave when he spotted Drew again, holding a woman’s hand and pulling her out onto the dance floor. Beautiful. It was Cristina Cole. She’d changed from that corporate suit of armor she’d worn earlier into a casual, slip-on dress that stopped mid-thigh. Thin straps crossed her shoulders, creating an X on her back. The front of the dress dipped into a low V, and those long, shapely, and slightly bowed legs of hers were showcased nicely in a pair of strappy high-heeled leather sandals.
Drew kept ahold of one hand as the two of them danced together at the edge of the floor. He was in his element, grinning, gazing into her eyes, and putting every smooth move he’d learned in grade school to good use. She laughed. Pretended to. She was having a good time. Trying to. At one point, Drew pulled her close and rested his hand on her back, just above her hips. Ellis could’ve sworn that he saw her tense up. Drew, of course, was oblivious. Save her, man. Without giving it a second thought, Ellis stood up, walked over to the dance floor, and tapped Drew on the shoulder.
Drew didn’t like it, but he stepped aside. “No problem,” he said, giving one last longing glance to Cristina.
“Hi,” she said, sounding a bit nervous.
Just then, as if the fates had planned this whole thing, the music changed to something slow, bluesy, and melodic. Ellis held out his hand and waited for her to lay hers in it, which she did, reluctantly. She had a thing about being touched. He made a mental note of that, but it wouldn’t deter him. He took a step closer to her, raised his other hand to her hip, and gently coaxed her closer. Cristina’s first reaction was to resist, but Ellis was patient, careful, and convincing. He didn’t demand her presence into his arms, but instead he invited it, and she seemed to like that.
A few steps into the song, and the two were close enough to kiss, but he wouldn’t dare, not yet. She was uneasy being held, but his touch was gentle, barely there, like air. He paid attention to the nuances of her body, her breathing, her touch. With each step, he coaxed her a little closer, until finally, her body pressed against his. For a moment, she held her breath. He put his ear closer to her lips, and waited until she exhaled. Moments later, Cristina rested her chin on his shoulder, and eventually, turned her head to one side and let it lay against him while the rest of her lovely body released whatever it was that held it hostage, and she relaxed.
When the music stopped, she slowly became aware of her surroundings and him. Cristina raised her head from his shoulder, looked up at him with soft, vulnerable eyes, and slowly backed away.
“That was nice,” she said, in that silvery demeanor of hers, racing back to her impersonal and aloof self. “Thank you.”
He didn’t know what it was, but something about her tugged at him. It could’ve just been that she was gorgeous, but Ellis felt that it was that and something else.
“You’re welcome,” he said politely. Any other response might’ve sent her running.
On the surface Cristina Cole was in full control, but he had a sense that just underneath that chilly shell of hers, she was fragile.
“I’ll see you tomorrow?” she asked before walking away.
He nodded. “Yep.”
Yep was poetic for “Not even the gods could keep me from you.”
CHAPTER 4
A little thing like a dance shouldn’t throw a seasoned reporter like Cristina off her game. She’d tossed and turned most of the night thinking about it, though. It was two in the morning when she finally concluded that she was just tired and ready to get back home to Austin and fell asleep.
She showed up at Ellis’ ranch after eleven and followed the sound of music to the barn in the back that he used as his studio. The door was ajar and she called to him, but the music was so loud that he didn’t hear her.
I am a sinner
Who’s probably gonna sin again
It took a few bars for her to finally recognize the voice of Kendrick Lamar blasting from the surround-sound speakers shaking the walls. The resounding chorus of Bitch, Don’t Kill My Vibe left her feeling some kind of way, as did the repetitive use of the N word while this white man bobbed his head to the beat, seemingly oblivious to the fact that she had walked in.
Ellis’ long hair was pulled back away from his face and secured with a thin band, showing off an impressive jawline and strong, square chin. He wore a white beater, faded and baggy jeans, and work boots, all splattered with paint. And he’d obviously put his free weights to good use. Muscles flexed in his shoulders, arms, and back with every stroke of his brush. Tattooed sleeves ran down both arms, of what looked like mermaids, dragons, and a saber-toothed tiger.
She watched him dip various brushes into paint stored in buckets, and splash lines against the six-foot-tall canvas leaning against the wall. On the surface, his movements and strokes looked to be random, thoughtless and careless, but when she looked at the canvas, Cristina saw the magic that was Ellis Brewer. She saw images that shouldn’t have been, couldn’t have been, subtly materialize from what looked like chaos and begin to take shape.
Ellis had never gone to an art school or studied, by his own admission, but that was probably what made him so incredible. There was nothing tame about his work. None of what she saw right now could’ve ever effectively been taught in a classroom. It was all instinctual and pure. He had his critics. Some called his work amateurish and sloppy, and it was. But those things didn’t negate the emotion his paintings evoked in people.
He turned and glanced at her, momentarily, then went back to working without saying a word, without missing a beat. For the next hour, Cristina sat back and silently watched him work, and watched what would be his next masterpiece unfold. And fina
lly, when he was done, he stepped back, folded his arms, and stared at it.
“Do you like it?” he finally asked.
She was almost surprised that he’d even spoken to her. “Yes. It’s beautiful, Ellis.”
Ellis turned to her. “I want you to have it.”
Cristina couldn’t believe what she’d just heard. “Wh-what?”
“It’s my gift. Please.”
A painting like this would easily sell for six figures and he was giving it to her?
“Ellis, I…”
He picked up another shirt thrown across a chair, and started to put it on. “Let’s get out of here,” he said, heading for the door.
“What do you mean you’re giving that painting to me?” she asked, practically running to keep up with him. “And where are you going? What about the interview?”
She followed him to his motorcycle parked in the driveway in front of the garage door. Ellis threw his leg over it sat down and started the engine.
“Ellis? Wait a minute,” she said, still trying to figure out what the hell was happening.
Obviously he was having an artistic moment. They did that from time to time, flipped out for no good reason and did crazy things like give away expensive artwork and jump on motorcycles in the middle of an important interview.
He held out a helmet to her. “Get on.”
She froze. He did not just ask, no—tell her, to get on that thing with him. “No,” she said, staring at him like he’d lost his mind. “We’re supposed to finish the interview today, Ellis,” she reminded him like he was a child. But that’s what he was acting like. “You promised me.”
He locked those laser-green eyes onto her. “You should trust me, Cristina.”
It was the way he said it. It was the look in his eyes when he said it. There was something … something about …
She took the helmet from him and put it on. He braced the motorcycle and waited patiently for her to climb on behind him.
“Put your feet on those pegs,” he instructed her, showing her the placement. Ellis turned to look slightly over his shoulder. “And hold onto me.”
“I’ve never been on one of these before,” she shakily admitted, cupping her hands on his waist.
“Then you’d better hold on good and tight.” He smiled, revved the engine, and accelerated.
She wrapped both arms around him, closed her eyes, and pressed her lips together to keep from screaming.
An hour later, Cristina climbed off the back of the bike grinning, and staring at it like a thing of beauty. “I have got to get one of those.”
Ellis stood back, staring at her, smiling, and looking mighty pleased with himself.
She took off the helmet and turned slowly to survey her surroundings. A quiet panic started to seep in. “Where are we, Ellis?”
He stared at her long enough to make her uncomfortable, and he turned and started to walk away, down a path that led into a wooded area. This wasn’t right. Warning slithered up her spine like a snake.
“Ellis?”
He wanted her to follow him. Cristina stepped back toward the motorcycle wishing she knew how to ride it herself, wishing he’d left the damn key so that she could at least try.
“I’ve got a surprise for you.”
“I hate surprises.”
Stupid! How could she have been so stupid?
Giggling like a schoolgirl. Playing along with his silly, silly game.
What was behind door number one? Idiot!
“Hey.”
The sound of Ellis’ voice snapped her back into the present.
“Take me back, Ellis,” she demanded.
He was either going to take her where she needed to go or she’d walk.
He walked back toward her and she abruptly turned away from him.
“What’s wrong?” he asked. “You crying?”
Hell no! Hell no she wasn’t crying!
“Please,” she whispered. “Take me back.”
“There’s something I want to show you,” he said gently, reaching out to touch the tips of her fingers. “It’s right down there.”
She turned and looked helplessly at him.
“I swear, it’s good. You’ll like it.” Ellis wasn’t taking her back to the house. “Trust me, Cristina.”
“Why would I trust you?” she asked bitterly.
For a moment, he looked hurt. “Because I’m asking you to?”
She pulled her hand from his, drew back her shoulders, and raised her chin in defiance. One time she’d been a fool. Just one.
He started back down the trail, while she followed at a distance behind him. Once they were through the clearing she heard someone say, “Hurry up! Put the damn music on!”
A huge lake stretched out in front of her, along with about fifty people of all ages, races, and genders, gathered together laughing, talking, and starting to dance at the first sound of Earth, Wind & Fire’s “Serpentine Fire.” She looked at Ellis offering his hand to her again.
“They just fired up the grill,” he told her. “Hungry?”
She sighed, relieved, nodded, and took hold of his hand. “Starving.”
CHAPTER 5
Everyone needs a tribe, even Ellis. This was his.
“Where da hell yo’ ass been, boy?” Bud Brooks asked, wrapping his long fingers onto Ellis’ head and palming it like a basketball.
Bud stood at least six foot eight and used to play semi-pro ball back in the seventies. He and Ellis had met in prison and had been friends ever since. Bud served thirty-five years for murder. But he never talked about who he’d killed or why.
“I been busy, man, but you know I couldn’t stay gone long,” Ellis said. “This is Cristina.”
Bud shook her hand, but leaned down the way he always did with the ladies. “Nice to meet you, Cristina.” Then he straightened up and glared at Ellis. “This one is prettier than that last one you brought.”
Ellis raked his hand over his hair. “Yeah, well.” He sighed. Bud had a big mouth.
Even after thirty-five years in prison, Bud was a popular man. Most of the people here were his family and friends, some he’d gone to school with, and some he’d met after being released. People were just drawn to him, all kinds of people, which is what made this gathering so special, and why, if he could help it, Ellis never missed it.
She was comfortable in crowds. Cristina seemed to fit right in, chatting it up with everyone, doing what she did best. She was a reporter and talking to people came easily to her. She asked them about themselves, and how they came to know Ellis. Some made up shit, just for the privilege of talking to this pretty woman and getting her undivided attention. He couldn’t blame them.
This was the first time he hadn’t seen her in high heels. She was shorter than he realized, five-three, maybe five-four. She wore her hair loose too, which he liked. He’d seen panic in her eyes when he asked her to follow him down here to this clearing. Cristina had come to Blink, looking for a story in Ellis, but he knew that the story was with her, not him. She walked over to where he was sitting and knelt down next to him. “I’m beginning to realize with you that this interview is absolutely not going to unfold in the usual way, with me asking you questions and you answering them.”
Ellis resisted the urge to touch her cheek. “Probably not.”
“I was supposed to wrap this up and leave tonight.”
“But we’re not done.” He smirked.
“No,” she said, standing up. “I guess we’re not.”
As the afternoon turned to evening, the food and the beer started to take their toll on Cristina. She forgot to be defensive, especially with him. He pulled her down onto his lap and she didn’t resist.
“So, you’re not such a recluse after all.”
He shook his head. “I’m just selective about who I allow into my social circle,” he said sarcastically.
“You have nice friends, Ellis,” she said sincerely. “Very different from the friends you probably ha
d before you went to prison?”
He nodded.
“We’ve talked about most things. But when it comes to talking about anything that happened before you were sent away, you shut down. Why is that?”
He sort of shrugged. “Not much to say. I was a knucklehead back then.”
“Is there any part of your life from then that you miss? Like maybe missing not marrying Daneen?”
He glanced at her. “You know about Daneen? From the Internet?”
“Yes. The two of you were engaged.”
“We were.”
“Did you keep in touch at all after you were sent away?”
Ellis sighed and shook his head. Daneen was supposed to have been off-limits in this interview. He’d told Cristina that over the phone when she first reached out to him. But now, for the life of him, he couldn’t recall why he didn’t want to talk about her.
“I wanted to. We tried,” he said introspectively.
“But?”
“Time took over and she moved on.”
He didn’t want to talk about Daneen with Cristina sitting pretty in his lap. Both of them sat quietly for the next few minutes, watching Bud and some of his friends start the fire. She let her head fall back onto his shoulder and he couldn’t help but wonder if she realized that she was doing it. He kissed the top of her head on impulse. She slowly raised up and looked at him. He could feel that uncomfortable tension starting to build in her again, but he wasn’t going to let her run away from him this time. Ellis put his finger underneath her chin, leaned into her, and planted the softest kiss he could muster on her lips.
“It’s done,” he said, definitively. “Been wanting to do that.”
She didn’t object. She wasn’t exactly jumping for joy, but she didn’t get up and run off either. Cristina lay her head back on his shoulder and stayed planted in his lap until it was time for the two of them to leave. On the way back, she held onto him like she wanted to.
* * *
How could she know a man for less than a week and feel like this? Cristina was back in her hotel room, freshly showered and in bed, still reeling over the events of the whole day.
