Ash to Steele by Karen-Anne Stewart Read Free Book Online Page B

temperatures. Dad was right about me hating cold weather.  The beginning of November is kicking my butt; I’m not sure how I’ll survive December.  It’s 9:00 p.m., and I’m bone tired as I pack up the last of my art supplies.  Trying to distract my heavy thoughts, I dream of a long shower as I make my way to my car.  Placing the supplies in the back, I shut the door, then let out a blood curdling scream when I turn and run smack into a large, hard chest.
       “Easy, Emma, it’s just me.” Breck inspects me with concern filled eyes before bursting into a hearty laugh, “Damn, I do love your expressions!”
       “I’m glad you find me so amusing.  You about gave me a heart attack,” I chastise.  “What are you doing here, anyway?  Are you stalking me, now?” I ask, my lips curving into the slightest smile on their own accord.
       “Maybe,” he replies with a mischievous wink.
       His usual effect takes over, stealing my air and sending my heart into a palpitating frenzy as I drink in his dressed down state of athletic wear and a dark gray hoodie mercilessly hanging open over a tight black cotton t-shirt that shows the sinew outline of his muscles. 
       Breck leans against my car, his right foot resting casually over the other, “Or, maybe you are stalking me.”
       His skin shines from a sheen of sweat and, strangely, I find that immensely arousing.  Wishing I could turn my hormones off, I drag my eyes away from his slick skin and moist shirt that’s clinging mercilessly to his tight torso. “Sorry to burst your egotistical bubble, but I teach art here on Monday nights.”
       “Egotistical?  Okay, I’ll agree to that,” Breck laughs.  The sound sends delicious shivers spiraling up my spine. “I’ll have to be sure to switch nights with Dylan permanently now.”
       Knowing I shouldn’t engage, I do anyway, “What are you talking about?”
      “We take turns delivering food from the restaurant every night.”
       Impressed, I glance at the run down center that currently houses eighty two children.  Last week, there were eighty three, but a gang fight took the life of the vibrant fourteen-year-old who had shown so much progress in his paintings before he stopped skipping classes and then stopped coming altogether.  I asked about him every week and, tonight, my heart broke when I was told that he had been killed.  Blinking back tears, I look away.
       Strong, gentle fingers lift my chin, “Hey, you okay?”
       Nodding my head, I compose myself, “Yeah. I think it’s great the owner of the restaurant donates food every night.”
       “I wouldn’t have told you if I knew it would make you cry,” Breck teases, trying to lighten the mood.
       “I’m not crying.”
       “Such a beautiful liar.”
       Something about my tears seems to soften him.  I see no anger in his eyes like I have the past two times we’ve met, only concern.  “One of the kids that used to be in my class was killed last week.”
       “I heard about David,” Breck states, his eyes softening further.
       “You knew him?”
       “He’s one of the kids who played basketball with me on Tuesday nights, when I usually come.  If I knew he was getting involved with a gang, I would’ve busted his ass.”
       The pain darkening Breck’s eyes sends a sharp stab slicing through my chest.  The way his pain affects me is alarming.  “I’m sorry,” I whisper, not knowing what else to say.
       “He made a choice,” Breck mumbles, his voice heavy. 
       Wrapping my hand around his wrist, I give it a comforting squeeze.
       His gaze falls to my hand, and several long seconds pass before Breck steps backwards, pulling his wrist away from me like I burned him.  His eyes turn hard, cold, as they penetrate my soul, “There’s a consequence for every choice you make, Emma.”  With one last soul searing glare, he walks away.
       Staring speechlessly after him, my mind