Ash to Steele

by Stewart, Karen-Anne

  Gavin spits his drink across the bar, “You fuckin’ proposed?”

  Emma’s surliness starts to dissipate when Jess squeals, and I wrap my arms around her, sweeping her long, chestnut hair off her shoulder, kissing the back of her neck. “I’m sorry, baby,” I whisper before turning towards Gavin and shoving him hard enough to knock him off the bar stool.

  “Yeah, I proposed, you have a problem with that?”

  Gavin picks himself off the floor, laughing, “No, mate, not as long as you don’t fuck up again.” He grabs his beer, making the bar counter shake when he jumps on top, thrusting his large arm in the air, holding his drink above his head. “Attention all you ladies, my mate Breck here has gone and broken all of your hearts tonight. As we all know, he’s blown our minds and not been his usual panty melting self the past few months but, now, he’s gone and sealed the deal, falling in love and asking our girl Emma to marry him and she actually said yes to his sorry ass! So, ladies, you’re gonna have to find someone else to make your panties combust from here on out. Gents, that means your chances of being laid has just spiked.”

  “Dammit, Gavin, get your ass down!” Jason yells.

  Emma’s face flushes as she sinks low on the stool, palming her face and Gavin howls, ignoring Jason as he reaches down, grabbing Emma’s arms and jerking her next to him. Gavin grabs her wrist and thrusts her arm in the air as her face gets so red it’s almost purple. There are hoots and loud whistles throughout the bar. “Give it up to the girl who has tamed the untamable, but men, keep your filthy hands off this wild one because she may have whipped Breck in shape in one area but he’s still as uncaged and lethal with his fists. If you don’t believe me just step up and try to give Em a birthday kiss.”

  I know Gavin is just giving me hell, but I’m ready to kill him, if Emma doesn’t first. Hopping up on the bar, I grab Emma’s waist, spinning her around and grinning wickedly at her wide-eyed expression when my hand slips down her back, grabbing her ass as I slip my other hand underneath her hair and cup the back of her head. “I’ll be the only one kissing these lips from now on,” I stake my claim, covering her mouth with mine, kissing her passionately, dominatingly, proving she’s mine to every asshole who tries to take Gavin up on his offer. Knowing I better make this good enough to avoid Emma’s wrath at my asinine show of machismo, I make damn sure I kiss her long and hard until she’s panting against my lips, her hands fisting my shirt. I know I’m safe when I push her to the point of getting so lost in the moment that she presses herself into me, my leg rubbing against the heat between her legs, and I want to drag her into Jess’ office and bend her over the desk before throwing up her skirt and slamming into to her until she knows I own her.

  The catcalls seem to snap Emma back into the moment and she tries to push away from me, but I press my hand firmly against her lower back. “Huh uh, babe. Come to me,” I whisper, knowing I’m pushing her limits, but I’m desperate for her to show me that she is mine.

  She hesitates, the war raging in her cool blue eyes showing just how independent she is. Damning my need for control, I have to know I have her unconditionally. “Come to me, Emma!” I demand in a low growl only she can hear.

  Her eyes lock on mine. Her rebellion yields, and she closes the gap she caused a couple of seconds ago.

  Pressing my forehead to hers, I let out the breath I was holding. “How about we get out of here and I can give you your present?” I breathe in her ear.

  “Yes, please,” Emma slips her fingers in my back pocket, not calling me on my insecurity and further easing it by laying her head on my shoulder as I lead her outside.

  Slipping her slender fingers in mine, I rub my thumb against her left finger; I’m overwhelmed with how badly I want to put a ring there. She’s done more than changed me, she has truly consumed my soul. “Move in with me,” I blurt, suddenly needing her with me all the time.

  Emma stops, her worn cowboy boots sliding a little on the asphalt.

  “What’s wrong?” I can see her lip doing that thing she does when she’s nervous, but her eyes show it’s much more than that.

  “You want a trial run first?” she asks, her gaze dropping to her fidgeting fingers.

  Grabbing her chin, I pull it up to where she’s forced to look at me, “No. No trial run. You’re going to be my wife; I want you with me.”

  Her fidgeting intensifies, “I know this sounds really old fashioned but I don’t want to move in with you until we’re married. Well, that’s not entirely true. Part of me wants to move in with you but let me give my father this one piece of sanity.”

  I can feel her internal struggle. Raking my hand through my hair, I force myself to slow down, “I don’t agree with your reasoning but I can understand it.”

  “You’re not mad?”

  “Mad?” Brushing my fingers across her cheeks, I pull her to me, “If anyone should be mad at anyone, it’s you at me for putting up with all my shit. C’mon, I want to give you your gift.” I open the door for Emma before slipping inside the vehicle, opening the console, “Close your eyes.”

  She glances at me first, her full lips curving. God, the way she smiles kills me. Then, when she’s ready to, she closes her eyes. I bite back a laugh, admiring her quiet, soft rebellion. Placing the packet in her hands, I give her fingers a squeeze, “Okay, you can open them now.”

  Emma slides her finger under the seal of the envelope, ripping it before pouring the contents onto her lap, “Tickets to an art fair.” Her hand flies to her mouth, “in Paris! Oh, Breck, you didn’t have to do this!”

  My neck feels like it’s jerked out of socket as she flings herself at me, bouncing up and down in my lap, “Damn, Em, if you don’t stop that I’m going to give you another first tonight and take you in the vehicle.”

  Her lips crash into mine.

  ͠

  Emma may have lost something of herself when she made love with me but I feel like I regained my soul. These past two weeks have been a reprieve that I don’t deserve. I want to bury myself deep inside of her so badly right now, I repeat the damn mantra in my head that her sweet, delectable body is off limits, at least until I talk to her dad. I swore to myself that I’m going to do this right, well, right by her philosophy.

  She’s pacing nervously, twisting her mother’s necklace frantically in her hand. “Em, you’re going to rub the gold off that star if you don’t calm down,” I tease.

  “What if he refuses to see me?” Her already big eyes widen larger than I’ve ever seen, “What if he does agree to see me and he hates my work? What if-”

  Shoving my hand over her mouth, I can’t help but laugh, “What if you shut up and get your butt in the car so you can actually find out what he says?”

  John Mazers announced a last minute open invitation for the next few hours where he’s agreed to look at all the local artists to see if he’s interested in purchasing or displaying their art in his new gallery. Emma’s been hyperventilating since she found out last night. Mazers hasn’t returned her calls, and Emma’s worried she blew her one chance with him. She had to make me swear not to break his damn door down when I found out that his assistant refused to even allow Emma to explain why she missed the original meeting.

  “You promised to stay outside,” she reminds me while adding more color to her usually natural lips.

  “Mmhmm,” I lie, pulling her out of the door when I park in front of the gallery. I hand her the case holding her paintings. “Now, go!” I laugh at her panicked expression. As soon as she’s inside, I turn into as much of a nervous wreck as she is.

  Waiting until she is next in line, I slip inside, staying back in the crowd until she’s called into the studio room to meet Mazers himself. I slip around the corner and lean against the wall outside the open door, watching Emma nervously fidgeting.

  “Who’s next,” Mazers asks, not looking up from whatever notes he’s making.

  “Emma Jones, sir,” a man dressed in a three piece suit answers. I assume he’s the
assistant.

  Mazers’s pen stops moving and he lays it down before pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose, his brown eyes snapping to Emma’s anxious ones. “Ms. Jones. Are you the one with the pictures of your country scenery paintings who cancelled on me at the last minute a few months back.”

  “Yes, sir, but if you would just-” Emma begins, her voice shaking.

  “Next!” Mazers calls out, cutting her off.

  “Sir, please, let me explain,” Emma pleads, and I grip the doorframe to keep myself from stepping inside and shoving Mazers’s ass back in his chair to listen to her. I promised I wouldn’t interfere, but I’m pretty damn sure it’s going to be a promise that I’m going to break.

  “Ms. Jones, this is not some insignificant small town shop tucked in a corner of S.C. for summer residents to meander through on sunny days. This is a business, a do or die world that I take very seriously. There are a million wannabe painters out there just like you, and I won’t waste my time on the ones who don’t share my passion for art. You had better things to do and missed your shot. Obviously, you can’t handle how things work in Boston. Now, go back home and get out of my studio so I can get a real artist in here.”

  To hell with not interfering! I storm inside the room, ready to rip him apart, but what Emma does next stops me in my tracks. She grabs her case, and, instead of leaving, she walks straight to his desk, dropping it directly in front of him. “I am a real artist, Mr. Mazers. I have devoted years and countless hours pouring my heart and soul into my paintings! I don’t know you personally but I can assure you that my passion for art will be one hell of a rival, even to some smug ass, arrogant professional like you. I may have missed my shot with this gallery, but don’t make the mistake assuming that I am not serious, talented, or that I’ve missed my chance. The only difference between you and me is, when my art is hanging next to yours one day, I won’t forget where I came from and who I am. I may not belong in that insignificant small town anymore, but it shaped me into who I am now. You must’ve forgotten how it felt to sit on the edge of the dock with your feet dangling in the water while you sketched how the rays of moonlight danced in the ripples of the wind blowing across Swinson Lake in the small town you grew up in, but I haven’t forgotten how that felt when I did the exact same thing on Lake Keowee. Everything I saw there was art! That hasn’t changed since moving here. That’s the one thing in my life that has always been constant, the one thing that no one can take away from me, especially not you.” Emma spins around, her face flushed and embers spitting in her eyes. Those embers die when she sees me, watered down by a sheen of tears she’s fighting like hell to keep at bay.

  “Ms. Jones, stop right there,” Mazers calls after her.

  I charge towards him, but Emma holds out her hands, pushing me backwards, “Don’t, Breck!”

  “If your art shows even a hint of the passion you just strew on me, then I would like to reconsider my decision,” Mazers stands, taking the case from Emma and returning it to his desk before removing her paintings. He’s quiet as he takes each one out, studying it before putting it aside and repeating the process with the next.

  Emma stands so still, it’s hard to tell if she’s breathing. I slide her fingers through mine, giving them a reassuring squeeze while we wait.

  “Where are the paintings you originally sent pictures of, Ms. Jones?”

  I feel her body stiffen even further, “They were stolen.”

  “Stolen? When?”

  “A few days before I was supposed to meet you,” Emma replies, and I can tell that she doesn’t want to elaborate further.

  “That’s too bad-” Mazers stops, packing each painting back inside the case, “because I would have purchased them along with each piece you have here.” He turns around, smiling, “If you can put up with a – how did you put it – smug ass, arrogant professional like me, then I would like to make an appointment and discuss commissioning further paintings like these.”

  Emma’s jaw drops, and I place my hand on the small of her back, leaning close to her ear and whispering, “Confidence, Emma.”

  “I will be happy to compare schedules with your assistant, Mr. Mazers,” she replies coolly, in complete control, and I’m so fuckin’ proud of her.

  I back out of the room while she makes the appointment for next week. When she secures her empty case in the backseat, I pull her into my arms, swinging her around, “I told you that you would nail this. You are an amazing artist, Ms. Jones, and you completely turned me on back there, putting him in his place like that. I’m so proud of you right now.”

  Emma is still reeling from her meeting when we get back to her apartment after celebrating at the Dark Hole when my cell rings.

  “Mr. Steele,” Prayton begins hesitantly, “it’s your father.”

  “You know I don’t take calls from him, Prayton,” I growl.

  Emma sets her purse on the counter and grabs my arm, her eyes trying to elicit information from the part of the conversation she can’t hear.

  “I know, but, Breck, he passed away this morning. His attorney called and according to your father’s wishes-” he pauses, “I am supposed to let you know that two houses have been bequeathed to you.”

  The phone splinters into pieces as I throw it and it crashes against the wall before bouncing on the floor.

  Emma jumps, “What’s wrong? What’s happened?”

  “I have to go out of town for a day or two, Emma. I will call you when I get back,” I manage to force out the words on my way to the door.

  “Wait, Breck. Why?” she places her hand on my shoulder, and I jerk away, feeling like shit when I see the hurt in her eyes by my ingrained reaction.

  Doing my damndest to soften my tone, I brush a kiss against her hair, “Please, don’t ask me anymore questions, Emma. I need to be alone right now. I will call you when I get back.” I leave her standing there, lost and alone, as I slam the door behind me.

  It’s just after midnight when I pull the rental car in front of the house I’ve tried to forget for the past twelve years, the house that’s in my nightmares every damn night. With what I have planned, the house will be gone by daylight. Opening the first bottle of whiskey, I take a large gulp, slamming the bottle down on the kitchen counter. Two seconds later, the sledgehammer breaks that counter in half. I swing repeatedly, busting the counter into splintering pieces, some of the slivers of wood biting into my skin as I continue to bring the sledgehammer down again and again before moving to the cabinets, then the kitchen walls. Memories spin like some viral video gone bad in my head. Draining a third of the whiskey in three gulps, I wipe my arm across mouth, panting and dripping with sweat from the demolition workout that’s left the kitchen in shambles.

  I head towards the living room next, giving the sledgehammer a break as I punch holes through the old sheetrock. Blood drips from my knuckles as I make hole after hole in the wall. Pain slices through the bones in my hand when my fist finds a stud and I grunt, laughing out loud, as I down more of the whiskey and flex my hand before swinging again.

  “What the hell are you doing?” Jess screams, snatching the shirt I discarded on the floor an hour ago and reaching for my arm to wrap it around my hand.

  “What are you doing here, Jess?”

  “Prayton called. Breck, you’re drunk and obviously upset,” she rushes, slowly spinning around as she drinks in the damage I’ve already caused. Her lips part and her face is ashen when she sees the two gallons of kerosene. Her voice trembles as she begs, “Come back with us.”

  “Us?” I spin around just in time to see Gavin walking through the door, Emma right behind him, and my rage explodes as I cross the living room in three strides. “You brought her here? What the hell were you thinking, Gavin?” I yell, grabbing his shirt and slamming him against the wall. “You knew to keep her away!” I want to hurt him, cause significant damage, for bringing Emma here with me like this.

  “Stop it, Breck!” Emma screams.

  Le
tting Gavin go, I turn my back to her, horrified for her to see me in the state I’m in now. “Leave, Emma,” I warn, placing my hands against the wall, hanging my head while I grapple to find some semblance of control. Damn, I want to rip this fucking place apart, destroy every inch of its existence, and she can’t be here when I let my control go, finally destroying what destroyed me.

  “I’m not going anywhere,” I hear her voice, so damn stubborn, and I spin around, grabbing her arm and jerking her towards me.

  I feel the vein on my forehead pulsating and the erratic beat of my heart pounds furiously in my chest as my grip on her arm tightens. Her eyes are determined, hell-bent on standing her ground, and I want to make her obey me. “I.Told.You.To.Leave!” I growl, needing her away from the place that ruined me, away from me when I’m not in control of the rage inside.

  “NO! I’m not leaving here without you,” she insists, her jaw jutted out and that damn defiance blazing in her eyes.

  I start to drag her towards the door but she fights, digging in her heels and jerking her arm away. Jess steps next to Emma, and I see the plea in her eyes, but I don’t give a damn about anything right now, other than getting Emma out of here so I can do what I need to do without fucking up the one good thing in my life that I need, the one thing I can’t live without.