Page 77 of Fractured Fear

After I wash my hands, I head back to the worktable where I have a lump of clay I’ve yet to shape. Hayes motions to get my attention, but I refuse to look. He resorts to putting his hand in my face, so I make eye contact. He raises his brows and widens his eyes as if it’s enough to convey a whole message, which it is.

“Do not. We will never talk about this. Ever.” I threaten.

He busts up laughing causing giggles from Alma and Paul. I bury my face in my hands and wait for the laughing to subside.

I’m going to miss this. I’m going to miss Alma’s warm heart, Paul’s tender soul, mine and Hayes’ comfortable companionship, and Iris’ humor. I’ll mourn the loss of Zane’sattention to detail, Rio’s lively spirit, and even Asher’s grumpy demeanor, but I’ve endangered everyone here enough.

Anthony’s message was clear.Come back. That’s not happening. Never. My only choice is obvious.

I have to go and leave my heart behind with these people who have done nothing but show me love.

CHAPTER 31

SPENCER

For the next hour, the joke of the humiliating bathroom incident doesn’t die. Every time I make eye contact with Hayes, he starts chuckling. A few times it turned into a full belly laugh. I swear if I didn’t love that kid like the brother I never wanted, I would punch him in the face.

His laughter makes me feel like I’m reliving the experience all over again which was horrifying enough the first time around. Remembering it makes me all the more angry with Asher. I know he sees my death glares, but they just make him smile like the fucking cat that ate the canary.

I’m finally given a reprieve from being the butt of the joke when a loud knock sounds on the back door of the studio signaling the clay shipment.

Now is my time to run. I have to go about this carefully and pray that Asher doesn't catch on. With shaky legs and sweaty palms, I go to open the heavy metal door, but Asher nudges me out of the way. Before he turns the handle he peers down at me and says, “Whatever you’re thinking, don’t.”

“I don’t know what you're talking about.” My throat has gone dry so my voice has a slight rasp.

“Don’t play games with me, Spencer,” he warns.

“I’m not,” I say with as much force as I can muster. “Now if you don’t mind, I have a business to run. Please open the door. That clay is very expensive.” Reluctantly he greets the truck driver, and allows me to move in front so I can sign for the order. I drop the pen twice, and when I finally sign, my signature is filled with bumps and squiggles from how bad my hand is shaking.

While unloading the palettes of clay and supplies, a herd of children storm into the studio. Alma’s two children stick out from the bunch. They number among the morespiritedof the kids.

Shit. I should have planned this out better…or maybe not.

An idea forms in my mind and I know I’m going to Hell for this.

I get the students started on painting their pinch pots as the patrons and the delivery guys fill the dank alleyway. It’s gross back here and smells like piss so I avoid it at all costs. Plus, the dumpsters are always overflowing, the ground is constantly sticky and there’s little to no lighting at night, just another perk of New York living.

Everyone begins the process of moving the clay into the storage closet and stacking the excess along the back wall. We’ve done this song and dance only a couple times before, so Hayes and I have to direct what goes where. I keep an eye on Asher who is helping amongst everyone else. Each time he loses sight of me, he maneuvers around the crowd swiftly to catch up with me again. He’s not going to make this easy.

I send up a last prayer of forgiveness when I trip a delivery worker and he drops a bag of sand. The paper bursts open and sand spreads all over the floor. My chest pounds and my senses go on high alert.

All at once everyone springs into action. Hayes grabs a couple brooms, Alma and a few of the delivery guys get down on their hands and knees to scoop the sand back in the bag. But Asher’s attention zeroes in on me.

“SAND BOX!” one child shouts and then they all converge on the granular rock like ants at a picnic.

“Come on, Viking Hottie. I need your help,” Alma says with a sigh as she tries to tug Asher with her into the fray, ignoring the fact that he’s in dress pants. “We need your big hands,” she adds with a wink.

Asher looks like a deer caught in the headlights watching the children roll around in the sand. I almost feel guilty.

As soon as he turns his back, I scurry away to the gallery and send up a silent thank you to the universe and Alma. I could not have planned that better myself.

My heart pounds as I race against time. This feels all too familiar. Like the night I left Texas, but this time I’m leaving to save others and not just myself. But yet again, I don’t have the luxury of time.

I left my purse and phone at the front desk of Abstract Creations earlier and rush to grab them.

“Oh hey! Whatcha doing over here?” Iris’ question has me jumping out of my skin.

“You scared me.” I throw my hand over my chest. My heart is now slamming against my rib cage and the hairs on the back of my neck stand.

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