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CHAPTEREIGHTEEN
After we're through with breakfast, the conversation picks up again. Only this time, it centers on Dimitri and what’s on the agenda for the day.
It hasn’t even been a full day since I told them what was going on, and they have already set so many things into motion.
Last night, after everyone went to bed, Atlas reached out to a member of The Council that he trusted and unofficially confirmed everything that The Mercenaries told us.
He knew I was telling the truth about what happened, but he wanted to make sure he had The Organization’s blessing before making any moves that might put us in danger.
Immediately after speaking with them, he texted Tristan and had him set up a tap into all of Dimitri's known phone lines. Apparently, Dimitri had the foresight to block his location but not secure his actual line. That’s good news for us, because with the right conversation, they should have no problem tracking him down.
“Cyrus, Tristan, and I have set up a few meetings we have to fly out for with some of the other leaders we know we can trust. We should be back tomorrow night at the latest. You think you two can manage to not rip each other’s heads off until then?”
“We’ll play nice.” Ezra says, glaring at me as takes a slow sip of his coffee. “Won’t we, Angel?”
I bristle slightly as the images of last night replay in my head.
Tomorrow night can’t come soon enough.
* * *
A few hours later, after doing a pretty damn good job of avoiding the only other person in this house all day, I’m texting Alex updates when I hear a knock at my door.
Ezra glides the door open. “Can we talk?”
I look up from my phone and quickly toss it aside as I sit up on my bed.
“Sure.” I reply, studying him for a moment. His expression is unreadable as ever as he leans his body against the threshold.
I'm not sure why I keep searching his face for answers. When it comes to how he's feeling, Ezra’s a lot like me. Guarded. Mysterious. Aloof. It’s probably why we’ve never fully embraced our connection. Both of us like to wear our masks and we wear them well.
“Not here.” Ezra says, shaking his head. “In my room. There’s something there I need to show you.”
Ezra walks us to his room and holds the door open for me, watching my reaction as I step into his space. As soon as I pick up the notes of smoky lavender in the air, bittersweet nostalgia tugs at my heart.
I miss it.Who we used to be back when things were simpler between him and I. Back when I loved him blindly and didn’t care what that meant for us. Back when I didn’t burn the bridge we so carefully built together.
Ezra watches me as I walk through his room. Studying my face as my eyes take in each of the new pieces of art he’s created in my absence. Some tilted on an easel, some lined along the walls, but most of them are stacked haphazardly on the ground in disorganized piles. The color variations are different with each one, but the overall tone is the same. Dark. Chaotic. Messy.
“Ez, what is all this?” I ask, circling around the room.
“This…” he pauses, visibly swallowing, “was my way of dealing with your absence. Every time I missed you, I let my monster take over and release itself on anyone who deserved it. These were the end results.”
Jesus.There has to be at least two dozen of them. I look up at Ezra and he immediately lowers his gaze and shakes his head.
He thinks I’m disappointed. That I’ll judge him for what he’s done, but that couldn’t be further from the truth.
Ezra isn’t a bad person. He’s doing the best he can with the demons he was given. He isn’t perfect, but neither am I and I would never judge him for dealing with his pain the only way he knows how.
If anything, I’m sorry. I’m sorry that I abandoned him when he needed me the most and I’m sorry that I messed up this thing between us that was once really beautiful.
I move towards him and place my hand along his jaw, trying to convey the sorrow that my words could never fully express.
“There’s something else I need to show you.” Ezra says, pulling out my hold. He walks me over to an easel with a much larger canvas draped in a white sheet and tosses the sheet aside. The moment I see what’s lying beneath it, tears well in my eyes. The colors in this painting are vivid and bright, and its hyper realistic style is a stark contrast to the rest of the more abstract artwork I’ve seen from him before. Even without the intricate details, it’s a photo I’d recognize anywhere.
It’s the picture.The same one of me and Alex that I found at his bedside the night I ran away.
I graze my fingers over the canvas and worry my lip as I study the bright smiles on our faces.
