Catching Raven (3 page)

“Most of them. A few are from other artists. Do you like them?”

I look at him like he’s crazy. “
Like
them? Eric, these are
amazing. Where did you learn to do this?” I ask, studying the pieces more
closely.

“When I was seven, my mom signed us up for an art class. We’d spend a
couple hours a week drawing and painting together, trying to imagine how our
lives could be. It was our escape. She was always running from something, and I
was always looking for a distraction, so it clicked. It’s stuck with me ever
since.”

I don’t know what to say. His raw honesty is unexpected. He’s usually
closed off and guarded. Not wanting to let this rare opportunity pass me by, I
blurt, “Can I ask you something?”

“Go for it.”

“What happened to your parents? I’ve heard the rumors, but I don’t
believe—”

“What rumors?”

My mouth snaps shut.
Crap.
We stare at each other, unsure of what
to do next. This is none of my business. I shouldn’t even be asking.

“Tell me,” he coaxes, sensing my anxiety.

He deserves to know. If it were me, I’d want to know what was being said
behind my back. “I heard you were taken away from your parents because they
were drug addicts.” Definitely didn’t come out as smooth as I wanted. Mentally
facepalming myself.

He grips the edge of the dresser, his body taut and rigid. “Not exactly.
What else have you heard?”

When I don’t offer anything more, he waits patiently. My shoulders slump.
“I also heard you were expelled from your last school for beating someone up.”

“That’s definitely not true,” he refutes. “I’ve never been expelled.”

“Then why do you have a bruise on your cheek and stitches in the side of
your head? That wasn’t from a fight?”

“No,” he says, averting his gaze and shifting around uncomfortably.

Before I can ask him to elaborate, he cuts the conversation short and
strides across the room to crack open a window. He comes to stand directly in
front of me, hovering. “Tell you what, let me go get all the supplies we need
and we can continue this conversation while we paint. Anything I tell you has to
stay between us, though.”

If it were possible, this night just got better.

“Absolutely.”

“And you have to be willing to share some stuff too,” he bargains.
“Otherwise, the deal’s off.”

I nod, more than willing to make that trade.

He bends over to pull a tarp out from under his bed. I move out of the
way and crouch down to help. We cover as much of the floor as possible.

“I’ll be right back.”

He stands up and exits the room. I’m left in silence, listening to the
pitter-patter of rain outside. It’s calming and serene. I’m not worried about
getting caught anymore. I’m not worried about Eric turning out to be a
psychopath, rapist, serial killer, or worse—totally lame. No matter what
happens when I get home, tonight’s already been well worth the risk.

e     r     i     c

“Why did you move here?” she
inquires.

We’re sitting cross-legged on the tarp, an array of colors and brushes
spread out before of us. My favorite Linkin Park CD is playing in the
background. We each have our own canvas. I offered to let her use the easel, but
she declined. I didn’t want her sitting alone on the floor, so I volunteered to
sit next to her, babysit her project. It’s a real inconvenience let me tell
you. My eyes won’t stay put. They keep drifting over to her face every so
often. Beauty is inspiring, but Raven’s is distracting.

“My uncle changed locations for his job. They were understaffed and
having trouble finding someone who was willing to work nights at the factory,
so they offered to up his salary and relocate him. He took the position without
even telling me ahead of time.”

“Are you mad?”

“I was pissed. Still am, to be honest. Everything I’ve always known is in
Dripping Springs. We didn’t just move houses; we uprooted our entire lives. All
my friends live there. And I’m further away from my mom now, too. I know it’s
only a thirty-minute drive, but that’s almost worse. Can you imagine being so
close to everything and everyone you know, but have no real way of getting
there? It blows. That’s why I’ve been saving up for a car.”

“Where does your mom live?” she asks, dipping her brush into midnight and
stroking the canvas. Little does she know, that’s my favorite color.

“Depends on the month. She bounces around from place to place. Last I
heard, she was staying with a friend in Wimberley. I try to go see her when I
can, but she can’t seem to stay in one place for more than a month or two.
She’s always had trouble getting her shit together. It’s one of the reasons why
she gave up custody. She was only sixteen when she had me, and she was forced
to sacrifice a lot. Eventually it all caught up with her. She resents me for
that, along with a variety of other reasons. She’s not a drug addict, though.
No clue where that rumor came from.”

Her grip loosens on the paintbrush.

“Careful,” I catch the end and slide it back into her palm. “These are
oil based paints. They’ll stain your clothes.”

“I won’t miss this outfit.”

“I will,” I mutter without thinking.
Shit.
What the fuck am I
doing? She’s only fourteen. I may be impulsive, but I’m not stupid. She’s got
jailbait written all over her. I rack my brain for a subject change. “What
about your parents?”

“They own Bellotti’s.”

“The restaurant downtown?”

“Yep.”

Why didn’t I make that connection? It’s her last name,
dumbass.

“So I’m assuming you’re related to Andre, then?”

“Absolutely not,” she deadpans, then adds, “He’s one of my older
brothers.”

“That’s what I thought. He’s a big deal at school. I’ve only been here a
couple weeks and already I’ve seen countless people kissing his ass. No
offense.”

“None taken. Story of my life. I’m much closer to Emilio. I could take or
leave Andre,” she jokes.

“Is Emilio your brother too?”

She nods.

“How many siblings do you have?”

“Three. Two older brothers and a younger sister. Andrea and Arianna are
the favorites. When your oldest brother is the beloved quarterback of the high
school football team and your little sister is the child who can do no wrong,
it’s easy to feel outshined. That’s why Emilio and I stick together.”

“Makes sense. I’m glad I’m an only child. Never had to deal with any
sibling rivalry.”

“Not to mention Middle Child Syndrome,” she adds.

“That too.”

I don’t know what I’m getting myself into, but so far, Raven’s presence
makes life seem less shitty. She may be younger, but I think Vivienne would
approve. Or maybe she wouldn’t because of the age difference. Either way, who
really cares? Raven and I are just friends.

For the next two hours, we paint. She decides to call it a night around
two in the morning. I walk her back home in the pouring rain and watch her slip
inside with a huge smile on her face. I did that. I’m also the first person
she’s ever snuck out with. This whole night has me grinning like an idiot.
Makes the probation I’m on seem less restricting. See? I don’t have to give up
all my fun.

I wander back to my uncle’s house and spend the better part of the night
staring at the ceiling. I let my thoughts run wild, entertaining dangerous
possibilities I know I’ll never have.

* * *

Present Day

Sam’s Ceramics

A bell jingles, followed by the sound
of the front door opening and closing. I carefully set the clay figurines down
on the table and lean back to peer around the corner. Raven slips her shoes off
and lifts her chin to greet me with a bright smile, her long dark hair spilling
around her shoulders.

“Hey, you. Some leftover Rudy’s is on the kitchen counter. It’s still
hot, so help yourself.”

“Don’t mind if I do,” she says.

She scurries into the kitchen and grabs a plate from one of the cupboards
above her head. Stealing a fork, she piles on the food and embellishes it with
a ribbon of BBQ sauce, then sets the bottle down and licks her fingers.

“God, I haven’t had Rudy’s in forever.”

“Me neither. Purchased some figurines while I was here. Thought we’d
switch it up and paint some of those tonight.”

“What are my choices?”  she asks, biting off a piece of brisket.

I glance down at the display in front of me.

“We have a coffee mug, an outline of Texas, a flower vase, and a jar.”

“I’ll take the coffee mug.”

“Never saw that coming,” I say, my tone dripping with sarcasm. My fingers
wrap around the handle and move the mug to her side of the table. I reserve the
jar for me.

“Was Sam working today?”

“Isn’t he always?”

“Did y’all get a chance to talk before he left?”

“Sure did. He says ‘hi’ by the way. He misses you.”

Sam is the store owner. He knows us both by name and lets us hang out
here whenever we want. He should, seeing as how I single-handedly keep him in
business. Every spare dollar I earn goes to supporting his shop. The guy’s been
my art supplier for years.

Raven tilts her head to the side and smiles warmly. My chest tightens.
She’s always so pretty when she’s relaxed. Less and less of that beauty
surfaces these days. I don’t even think she realizes it. If I were dating
What’s His Face, I’d be unhappy too.

Why does she insist on hanging on to him? That guy’s a joke. I abruptly
break eye contact and focus on organizing the paint colors, fighting to keep my
emotions concealed.

“How’s Brandon?” A question I feel obligated to ask, but one I don’t
actually care to know the answer to.

“He’s fine,” she replies curtly.

Confirms what I already knew. They’re still together. A familiar pang of
disappointment shoots through me. “What do you see in him?”

She pauses, then slowly sets her plate down on the counter and wipes her
mouth with a paper towel. “Well, for starters, he has no problem admitting how
he really feels about me.”

Does she seriously have the nerve to say that to my face? Unreal. Of all
the arguments she could have made, she chose the weakest one.

“Yeah, if only there was a decent guy who was really into you over the
last year...”

“That doesn’t count. You were only in it for the chase.”

“The hell I was. You wanted safe and stable, so you chose Brandon. And
now you’re torn because you got way more than you bargained for. You can’t have
it both ways. Either you take the risk with me, or go with boring.”

“Wow. Jealous much?”

“What’s there to be jealous of?”

She narrows her gaze. “You tell me.”

He’s sharing a bed with my girl. He gets to touch her in
places I fantasize about.
He gets to hear her deepest desires. She shouts his fucking name, not
mine.

“Can’t think of anything off the top of my head,” I lie.

“Good. Glad we got that settled. Wouldn’t want you to catch feelings or
anything. Can you imagine the horror? Being forced to open up to another human
being and connect? My God. No wonder you’re not ready for commitment.”

What a sassy little b—
“Who are you to tell me what I’m not ready for?”

“Eric, we’ve been over this. I’ve seen how you interact with women. Your
attention is fleeting at best, caustic at worst. Why would I sign myself up for
that?”

“Has it ever occurred to you that maybe I haven’t met the right girl? I
went after the one I wanted most, and you wrote me off like I’m not even worth
consideration. What am I supposed to do? My nights may be filled with strange,
but at least I’m not stuck in a relationship with someone who bores me half to
death. You on the other hand—”

Thunk!
She just chucked the kitchen plate into the sink. Shit.

“I’m done with this conversation.”

“Of
course you are,” I mutter.

“Quit picking a fight. That’s not the reason I came here tonight.”

“Could’ve fooled me.”

She rubs her temples and sighs heavily. “Can we just stick to the
original plan? Keep things drama-free for once?”

 Ambitious, given how we operate. “Fine. If you’re done eating, get over
here and pick your colors.”

“No. Not if you’re going to act like a dick.”

I strike my fist against the table. “Dammit, Rave. What do you want from
me?”

“Your attention. Is that too much to ask?”

She wants a distraction, someone to take her mind off her problems. I can
relate, but she picked the wrong guy. If she wanted compliant, she should’ve
gone to Brandon’s. But she came here instead. Why? Because deep down, she knows
I won’t give her what she wants. I’ll give her what she needs. And there lies
the key difference between Brandon and me.

My lungs deflate. “Come here.”

She stays put and studies me. Not entirely sure what she’s looking for,
but I doubt she'll find it. Even if I were offering up my emotions like dirty
little secrets, she wouldn’t learn anything new. I’d make damn sure of that. I
hold up her coffee mug in one hand and a paintbrush in the other. “Truce?”

A reluctant smile escapes. She walks over and grabs both items out of my
hands, then rounds the table to stand directly across from me. Our gazes
collide. Soft tension erupts. I’m suddenly unable to remember what we were even
arguing about in the first place.

“Can we please not talk about Brandon anymore?” she says.

Ah, memory jogged. “Who’s Brandon?”

There’s the smile I’ve been waiting for.

No more digs at her relationship,
I tell myself. She needs a friend
right now. “I’m sorry for being an ass.”

“Same here.”

No matter how hard I try, I can’t quit this girl. As much as I want to
talk about us, it’s better if we don’t. She’s not in the right headspace for it
and I don’t want to make her feel uncomfortable. I’ll simply bide my time until
she breaks up with Brandon. It’s bound to happen sooner or later. Right?

* * *

Four Years Ago....

“Tell me about her,” Vivienne
prompts.

I shovel a spoonful of Ramen into my mouth and stall. She taps the end of
her pen against my manila file, reading me like a book.

“What do you wanna know?”

“Whatever you’re willing to share.”

“She’s my neighbor. We’ve painted together a few times.”

“Not graffiti, I hope.”

“Nope. You’d be proud. I’ve been staying out of trouble recently.”

“Good. Is she a senior, too?”

“No.”

She’s waiting….

“She’s a freshman.”

I don’t normally offer up so much information, but I can’t hold it in any
longer. I need to talk to someone about this. Every time I broach the subject
with my buddy Chase Williams, one of the three non-douchebags at my new school,
he warns me not to go there. He insists Andre would beat my ass if he saw me
hanging around his little sister. And he has a point.

“I see,” Vivienne nods. “Do you like her as a friend, or more?”

“Both. But I refuse to make a move. She’s too young.”

“Do you think you can stick to that?”

“I don’t have a choice. If she were a couple years older, I’d be all over
her, but I’m not looking for jailbait. That’s just asking for trouble.
Especially when you factor in my probation.”

“I think that’s a wise decision, Eric.”