Page 51 of Where the Stars Heal

She doesn’t answer, but I know she’s in there. I can feel it. Tonight got out of hand, and Connor opening his big mouth didn’t help at all. He’ll get his chance to make it up to her, but right now, I need to be the one who’s there for her.

Pushing her door open, I step inside and close it behind me. The room has a heavy feeling to it, thick with emotion, almost suffocating. My eyes land on her, and my heart sinks. The aftermath of a panic attack clings to her. Bent over her sketchpad, she draws with an intensity I’ve never seen before. Her fingers are stained with charcoal, and her hair falls over the page like a curtain covering her face. But it’s the way her shoulders fall forward, the way her hand brushes her cheeks every few seconds, that worries me. She’s so lost in her emotions that she doesn’t even notice me standing here.

Stepping closer, I let my eyes roam around her room, my gaze landing on the orange bottle on her nightstand. My chest tightens at the sight, and when I look back at her, she’salready watching me, regret filling her eyes as they glass over with tears threatening to spill.

“I didn’t take them,” she whispers with a tremble in her voice and her tears falling free.

“But you wanted to?” I ask gently, lowering myself to the edge of the bed.

“I did, but then I saw your eyes… My art… I stopped myself. Asher, I don’t want to take them anymore.”

Leaning forward, I press my forehead against hers, cupping her cheeks and brushing her tears away. Her honesty stirs something inside me.

“I’m so proud of you, baby,” I tell her, closing the distance and kissing her softly.

A small unguarded gasp escapes her lips, and she kisses me back. It’s not desperate or hurried like the other kisses we’ve shared. No, this is full of raw emotion and silent promises that we’ll be there for one another. Through the dark and the light.

Halle pulls back too soon, the space between us filling with our heavy breathing, the tension palpable. I want to close the distance again, to taste her lips once more, to feel her soft skin, and have her cling to me, but now isn’t the time. Instead, I shift, moving to sit opposite her, my legs stretch out on either side of her, trapping her between me, and I gesture toward her art.

“Teach me to draw,” I say.

Her eyes widen, clearly caught off guard by me asking that, but they light up in the same breath as she fights the curve of a smile. The suffocating panic begins to unravel, and a lightness descends over us, lifting the heavy emotion from the room.

I watch her silently as she clears the space between us, stacking loose papers together and returning scatteredpencils into a tin. Her sketchpad, the one she carries everywhere, rests on her knee, and I reach over, pulling it gently to me.

The piece she’s been working on takes my breath away. Halle is beyond talented. A broken heart lays at the center of the page, jagged and raw, split down the middle. Dark shadows smudge the edges in the right places, making it look like it’s lifting off the page. A needle and thread so intricately detailed, it’s almost real, begin to stitch the heart back together. Shattered shards lay beneath it, broken but healing.

“Wow,” I breathe out quietly.

“It’s not finished,” she tells me.

“Halle, do you know how incredible this is?”

“It’s nothing.” She shrugs, leaning over to grab a different book from her nightstand.

“Here, you can use this one.”

I take the book from her hand, my fingers brushing hers. “That’s not nothing, sweetheart. Have you ever thought of art as a career?”

“In a way,” she pauses, picking up a pencil and handing it to me, “sketching, painting, creating, it’s an escape for me. The motion of drawing, from light strokes to hard lines, blending it all together and never knowing what the end result will be… It’s calming. But I don’t want to make my escape my job.”

“Here,” she says, motioning to the blank page, “I want you to try drawing a flower.”

Opening the book, I stare down at the blank page, pencil ready, but I have no clue what to do next. I can pour beers, handle payroll, and run a bar without a second thought. This, however… My palms grow clammy with nerves that hit me suddenly, and I glance up at Halle only to see her lips twitch in amusement when she notices that I have no idea what to do next.

Grabbing her own pencil, she flips the page in her sketchpad. “Start by drawing a small circle,” she says with an encouraging tone.

She draws a circle, showing me exactly how to do it. “Like this, but keep it light at first. We’ll go in at the end to sharpen and shade it in. Right now, you’re just getting the sketch down.”

I do as she says, her instructions simple to follow.

“Petals are next,” she says, her eyes lifting to meet mine, making sure I’m following along, and I nod with my pencil ready.

“You’re going to draw ovals around the center,” she explains. “They can overlap and be as tall as you like, or as short. That’s the best part about this process—it’s your flower, and you can make it look however you’d like it to.”

She draws the petals with quick, practiced movements, and I attempt to do the same. On my third oval, I take it too far and wobble, causing this one to look out of place.

“That’s okay.” She catches on to my fumble before I can even react. “Just keep going, and trust the journey.” The patience and calmness she shows me leave me mesmerized.

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