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“Never lived in a true house?” he asked.
I shook my head. “Nope. A couple of apartments, a trailer park once, and now I’m in some basement under a storage warehouse that some guy rents out, but never a house-house.”
“So why don’t you get one?” Pick asked quietly after a short silence.
I snorted. “And live there with whom?” I met his gaze and shook my head. “Houses are for families.”
When pity and compassion filled his face, I realized I’d said too much. More exposed than I wanted to be with him, I left the room without a word and didn’t stop until I was outside and pacing the front lawn. I wasn’t comfortable with being so vulnerable and letting others know what I wanted most. To fight off the panicky anxiety crawling through me, I kind of wanted to ninja kick the For Sale sign in half, but I refrained.
Pick emerged a minute later, jiggling his car keys in his hand. “Ready to go?”
I nodded, grateful he didn’t try to pry anymore into my head. In the car, we were mostly quiet. As he drove me back to my bike I’d left at Forbidden, Pick searched the radio for something to listen to, but when he couldn’t find a decent song playing, he sighed and asked, “Any luck finding a new drummer for your band yet?”
I couldn’t answer beyond “Nope,” as I continued to stare out the passenger side window, ready for this little field trip to be over. I felt shitty because I knew I was the reason everything had turned awkward and prickly, but I didn’t know how to fix it. So I sat helplessly silent, just making it worse.
When Pick parked beside my Triumph, he turned to me, worry in his eyes, and that made my shame double. He had no reason to worry or feel as if he’d done anything wrong.
“I know we’re not conventional, Asher, but Eva, the kids and I...we’re your family now. And all the guys at Forbidden...they are too. You’re not alone any longer.”
Fuuuuck.
It just wasn’t right how easily he could read me.
“Whenever you’re ready to accept us and let us in, we’ll be here for you. Just remember that.”
Clearing my throat, I stared down at my lap, trying not to get all sissy and emotional. I had to clear my throat a second time. “Yeah,” I mumbled, sparing him a micro-glance before quickly turning away and reaching for the door handle to escape. “Thanks.”
I didn’t give him a chance to reply. I was out of there, slamming the door, and climbing onto my motorcycle before I really disgraced myself by doing something embarrassing, like giving him a hug and telling him he was the best damn brother a guy could suddenly have or that shit, I think I loved him already.
But I held it together, and as I roared down the block, the wind in my face made moisture seep from the corners of my eyes.
I wasn’t sure how to handle any of this, because I did have a family now. I didn’t have to feel so alone.
So why was I too fucking afraid to just...embrace it?
I should’ve known when I’d drafted Jodi for this job she’d go all out. That was just her way. And wow, go all out, she did.
Making the clay mold had been a bitch. For her, that was. All I had to do was sit still as she caked my face with gunk. Then she’d made another mold. The first was an exact replica of my face and the second was the altered, male version of me. After that, it was easy. For me.
That’s when the real work started for Jodi, though. For the mask to work properly, it needed to be an exact representation of the face we wanted to make. Every flaw in the mold would show up in the outcome.
I sat and watched in wonder as she hovered over the mold, chipping and sanding to perfection.
“How old do you want to look?” she asked, frowning at her work as she concentrated. “Lots of wrinkles or a baby face?”
“Uh...about as old as I am now?” I guessed. “Maybe a year or two older.”
“Early twenties. Got it.”
Pouring the latex in was kind of cool to watch. Jodi moved the mold constantly so the liquid would fill every crease and corner equally.
“It’s like watching a cooking show,” I said as I munched on popcorn.
The clock hovered at one in the morning, and the clay mold had just dried enough to play with. Nudging the bowl full of liquid latex, I shuddered., “Except I wouldn’t want to eat that shit. Smells funky as hell.”
“Ooh, don’t mention food to me right now, you bitch. I’m starving.” Jodi’s hands were caked with some kind of concoction I didn’t even want to know the ingredients to as she swiveled the mold back and forth.
“Well, then open up, sweetness, I’ll feed you.”
