Page 102 of Coerced

In an instant, my body tensed. Maybe that was why Paxton had urged me to move close to him. He knew what he planned to talk about, and being held close in his arms would help to ease me through this conversation.

Of course, while I knew what it had been two weeks since, I wasn’t sure what he had hoped I would bring up to discuss with him.

The reality was that I’d had a lot I needed to process since everything went down. The first and best of it all was that Paxton seemed unbothered by my role in things. Obviously, he didn’t like that I’d been put in that situation, but he didn’t hold it against me. He certainly didn’t use it as a reason to walk out on me. In all that I’d experienced and needed to deal with, he was the best and most supportive part of it all.

It was still early enough that nobody involved had been to trial or given punishments yet for their involvement in the drug ring. As it stood, it seemed the men that had been at the house that day had been arrested. They were all awaiting trial—or plea deals, for those willing to talk—but it seemed some justice would be served there.

As for my father, he was facing jail time, too. At the very least, because he had no criminal record, it was possible a judge might be sympathetic to his case as it related to my mother’s cancer diagnosis, but there were no guarantees. Maybe I should have been upset about it, maybe I should have been worried for him, but I wasn’t. I’d been too hurt by how he treated me that day. Even if he’d openly admitted to the police that I had been oblivious to what was going on, that he was solely responsible for getting us involved in this mess, I still couldn’t forgive him.

When it came to my mother and my sister, I hadn’t had any contact with them since Paxton took me out of the house. They’d both attempted to reach out—my mom leaving a voicemail, my sister sending a handful of texts. Ididn’t answer. I never responded. And at this point, I didn’t have any plans to contact them again. The way I saw it, they had a choice to make the day they learned the truth. They made their choices. I’d made mine.

As for me, there was still the chance I could face some consequences. I hadn’t taken any steps to report what was happening when I learned the truth, and I remained actively involved in it for a year afterward. Paxton was reassuring. He insisted that there wouldn’t be a chance a judge anywhere could not understand my plight and have some mercy on me. For now, I was free to be where I was, and in time, hopefully, I would be in the clear.

I was going to do my best to move forward and try to continue building the life I wanted, the life I’d been trying to build from the moment I stepped foot in Steel Ridge a couple of months ago.

But it seemed something was still weighing heavily on Paxton’s mind. “What were you hoping I’d bring up?” I asked him.

His eyes roamed over my face, a mild hesitancy lingering in his expression. I could see the battle he was waging inside, and I grew concerned about what was affecting him like this. “Painting.”

“What?”

He shot me a sympathetic look, his fingers still brushing gently against my arm. “The day they took you, I saw those paintings tossed around the garage. At the time, I didn’t know if that was you or them, but I’ve since been leaning toward it being you. I recalled seeing you with those paintings in your hands weeks ago when I offered to help you with unpacking. I can understand if they’re representative of a time that was dark for you, but fromwhat I can tell, you haven’t been painting since you moved here.”

I shook my head. “No. No, I haven’t.”

“Do you plan to?”

“I’m never painting again, Paxton.”

“Why not?”

I swallowed hard. “Because I’m a fraud. I was never good enough to do it in the first place.”

“That’s a lie.”

I jerked my head back, my lips parting in shock.

“You’re lying to yourself if you believe that’s the truth, Aria.”

Shaking my head, I insisted, “No, I’m not.”

“Do you remember how you said you didn’t think there wasn’t anything I couldn’t do?” he questioned me.

“Yes.”

“This is it. Painting. Art. I don’t know the first thing about it, and I could only ever dream of painting anything remotely decent. But I know what I saw, Aria. I believe what I’ve seen with my own eyes. You’re incredibly talented, and if you let the gift that you’ve got go to waste, it’d be a crying shame.”

Tears welled in my eyes.

He didn’t understand.

“My paintings were a means to an end,” I rasped. “Nothing more.”

“People with self-serving interests, particularly in the realm of criminal activity, aren’t the kind of people I’d bet my whole future on.”

“It was my family,” I reminded him.

Paxton nodded, his hand squeezing my shoulder reassuringly. “I know. And it’s horrible how they’ve treatedyou. But tell me this, darling. Before you knew the truth about what your dad was up to, how did you feel when you were painting?”

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