Rough Canvas by Joey W. Hill Read Free Book Online Page B

Canvas

Chapter Four
    You’ll be in my bed.
    A hard shiver went through Thomas, as it had every time that arrogant statement stroked through his mind, making his blood run hot and thick through his vitals.
    He was insane. Two weeks had passed. He hadn’t intended to go, had known he
    was risking too much. That check, the bills it immediately made disappear, couldn’t help but factor into it. But Thomas knew it was the least of his reasons for driving away from the hardware store and swinging onto the interstate.
    When Marcus left, Thomas had walked out into the field with Kate, kept on
    walking. For one weak moment, he’d been overcome with this irresistible warm…glow.
    Marcus had come for him. He didn’t believe it. Couldn’t do a damn thing with it, but for just a little while, the horrible ache that had been with him for over a year had settled down.
    It would be back in the dead of the night, of course. Probably ten times worse for having seen Marcus. But right then, he’d pushed the consequences away and stood in the field, aching in a good, stupid way, like a kid who’d gotten his first kiss.
    Marcus had written his cell number on the ticket, but he hadn’t used either the number or the ticket. He knew he might back out if he stopped for anything, even to park at an airport and check his bag.
    So he’d just gotten into his ancient Nova and driven. He had to stop twice along the turnpike to coax the car back to life, but his worn-out faithful steed revived each time, as if knowing she had to get him to the end of this quest.
    However, nineteen hours later, as he drove through the winding two-lane highway deep in the Berkshires, populated with small towns where houses were likely to be constructed by their owners and locks weren’t included as part of the design, he was tired enough to be concocting horror stories about what he might find.
    Marcus might have given up on him and invited someone else to come.
    His lips twisted grimly. Well, tragic irony would be a good jump start, if that was the type of thing that got his artistic muse going. Unfortunately, it wasn’t.
    Images had once flowed through his mind as if the muse had set up house there. He could see the possibilities in…well, everything. For months, since the block occurred, he hadn’t had the energy or the courage to face what had caused the muse to depart so abruptly, cutting off the power, clearing out and leaving nothing.
    He only knew at one time he’d been able to translate all the raw emotion of life to a canvas. Despite how close that emotion cut to his own life, his soul had somehow found a safe haven from which to observe without becoming a paralyzed part of it.
    31
    Joey W. Hill
    It had been a week since Marcus had visited. When Thomas had made the decision
    to take him up on his offer, his mother of course had been the most difficult obstacle, Rory a close second. Only Celeste, after all the screaming and tears were done with, had squeezed him in one of her generous hugs, bringing her bony body close, and
    whispered, “Have a good trip.”
    His mother had gone to church right before he left. She’d likely stay until he
    returned, holding a solitary prayer vigil.
    He’d told her he’d be back in six days. Made himself say it only once. Left the ledger out where she could see it, see what money like that on a regular basis could do for them.
    With each mile between home and Marcus, he was torn between sick apprehension
    and excitement. Need. Arousal. He’d taken a box of sketchpads, his pencils and
    charcoals, but he didn’t know what he was doing or going to accomplish. He might destroy what was left of his sanity.
    He’d left Marcus abruptly, both when his father died and then shortly thereafter when Rory was hurt. Then he hadn’t come back at all. If nothing else, they could do the proper goodbyes. Best case scenario, he’d get his muse jump-started from the beauty of the Berkshires, be Marcus’ lover for a week, be as