Dru_The Ever After Series Book 1

by Stella James

  Chapter 3

  Dru

  I’ve been tossing and turning for over an hour now. The busy street below is finally quiet, but my mind is in overdrive. When I started my routine tonight, the one I have done countless times, I could feel him watching me. And when I looked over at Gus’s usual table, there he was. The man I ran into this morning. The man with the thick, dark hair and the intense green eyes that stole the breath right out of my lungs. My mind was occupied with ideas for a new project when I smacked right into his hard chest and splattered my coffee all over his shoes. After my pathetic attempt at cleaning up the mess, I stood to apologize and I’m sure I looked like a complete nutcase, frazzled and covered in paint. His expression was stoic to say the least. The tense line of his jaw and the way his eyes met mine without a hint of what could be hidden behind his reserved disposition, intrigued me. I thought about him on and off for the remainder of the day. He only spoke a few words to me, but the timber of his voice sent a tiny vibration down my spine and I couldn’t help but think of this stranger as a puzzle that needs solving.

  I’d do best to remind myself that my dating track record is a series of forgettable let downs. I know that I’m only twenty-five, but I can’t help but feel discouraged. My sister, Elle is a year older than me and has already been married for two years. But then again, things always did come easy for Elle. Not that it’s her fault. The girls at the club like to tease me about my current aversion to men but to be honest, I love the idea of a happy ending. I love the thought of a glass slipper meant just for me and a prince charming who gives me his heart just as much as I give him mine. But happily ever afters seem to be in short supply and I seem to be more of a frog magnet rather than a prince catcher. I want passion and butterflies and every other cliché that comes along when you find the right person and I won’t settle for less. I’ve been on a self-imposed dating hiatus for the last several months to prove it.

  I throw back the covers and accept that I’m too wound up to sleep just yet. After my performance tonight, I snuck out the back door and came straight home. Seeing my mystery man in the audience and then finding out from the other girls that he’s our new security guy threw me off. He intrigued me, yes, but he also scared me because I’ve never had a reaction like this to a man before. The need to get away and clear my head was overwhelming, even if I did feel the flutter of a butterfly or two. When I was on stage and his eyes met mine, I couldn’t look away. The intensity of his watchful gaze has haunted me all night and what interests me even more is the fact that it wasn’t lust I saw in his eyes as I danced. It was curiosity. Almost as if he were trying to figure me out as much as I was trying to figure him out.

  I grab my sketch book from the coffee table and settle on the sofa with only the soft glow of a small ceramic lamp to guide me. I place my pencil on the paper and before I even realize what I’m doing, I’m staring down at him. Well, his eyes anyways. Endless questions fill my mind but one stands out more than the others. Who are you?

  *

  I open my eyes to the bright morning sun filtering in through the half-closed curtains. I stretch lazily and try to rid myself of the stiffness that is often the result of passing out on the sofa instead of my bed. By the time my eyelids felt heavy enough last night to try and get some sleep, it was late and I couldn’t be bothered to haul myself back to my bed. Lucy lies curled up at my feet and shoots a glance my way when I stretch my legs and disturb her. I check the time on my phone and see that I have a couple hours to kill until I’m expected at Esme’s for brunch. Sundays are for family, she’s always said, so at the same time each week my sisters and I meet at her modest two-bedroom apartment and spend quality time with the woman who raised us since we were teenagers. I sit up and look down at the coffee table where my late-night project stares back at me, hypnotizing me and my every thought until Lucy nudges my ankle and the spell is broken. I give my head a shake and pad to the kitchen to get her some food and pour myself some orange juice. I decide to spend the next hour painting because nothing calms me quite like the smell of a fresh canvas.

  The corner opposite my makeshift bedroom serves as my studio. One of the reasons I moved into my apartment was because of the high windows. If I place my canvas just right, I get the perfect amount of natural light in just the right spot. The floor of my studio area is perpetually covered by thick white tarps that are stained with every colour imaginable. I set the alarm on my phone and tap the screen on my iPod. I feel instantly relaxed as Lana Del Rey’s sultry voice drifts from the small speaker. I prop the large primed rectangle against the wall and pluck a fat brush out of one of the many coloured glass jars that sit on my old wooden work table. I mix up a base of bluish-grey and begin swiping my brush back and forth, coating the entire surface. I get lost in the process and soon I can hardly even hear the music playing in the background. It isn’t until the annoying buzz of my alarm fills the room that I take a step back and realize that I’ve spent the last hour painting a variety of greens swirling and fading into each other. Green like a certain mystery man’s gorgeous eyes.

  *

  I climb the familiar staircase to the only real home I ever knew when I was growing up. The first thirteen years of my life were spent with a woman who hardly remembered my existence half the time. Maria Marx was an addict and likely still is. I haven’t seen her since the day child services removed me from her care. She didn’t fight them, nor did she bother to show up at the various court ordered appearances to try and get me back. I was relieved back then and to this day I count my blessings that I got out of that situation. One of the workers who took my case knew Esme personally. Luckily, I was placed with her immediately and that’s where I stayed until I turned eighteen. I can still remember the first time I met her.

  I’m sitting in Glenda’s office, the lady who has been working my case, when a woman I’ve never seen before walks through the door holding a plastic container full of cookies. She’s wearing a chunky red sweater and a long denim skirt. Several colourful necklaces hang around her neck and I watch them sway back and forth as she moves. Her hair is hanging down her back in a messy braid and when she looks down at me, sitting in the corner and hugging my ratty old backpack to my chest, she cautiously walks toward me and kneels on the carpet beside me. She smells like a bakery.

  “Hello sweetheart, my name is Esme.” She opens the container and sets the cookies up on Glenda’s desk. “I know that your name is Dru, is that short for anything?”

  “No ma’am, just Dru,” I say quietly.

  “Well, just Dru, I think you have a beautiful name, but I’m going to tell you right now that you better never call me “ma’am” again, it makes me feel like a boring old cow,” she says.

  I want to laugh but I wait until she smiles at me before I let out a shy giggle. She’s being nice and I don’t want to have bad manners. Maria never taught me about manners but the teachers at my school did and I want this woman to know that I’m not like a lot of the other kids at the group home where I’ve been staying. Some of them are so loud and mean and I know it’s because they aren’t happy and they want their parents. But I don’t want Maria. I feel bad, but I can’t help it. I’m glad they took me away from her.

  “So, here’s the thing sweet cheeks,” she says as she takes the seat next to me. “You need somewhere to go for now and I happen to have room at my place. I already have one girl staying with me, her name is Anna and she’s just a bit younger than you. I only have two rules, no lying and no stealing. Do you think you might like to come home with me today and get out of this dreadfully decorated office?”

  “Yes ma- I mean, yes, I think I would like that,” I stutter.

  “Perfect. I’m going to let Glenda know and you can stay here and help yourself to those chocolate chip cookies,” she grins.

  “I’ve never had one before,” I confess as she opens the office door before turning back to face me.

  “Never had one what?” she asks.

  “A sist
er. That’s what this girl, Anna, would be to me, right? Like a sister?”

  She looks at me like she’s trying to think of the right thing to say before she smiles at me again and blinks her eyes quickly.

  “Yes honey, you’d be sisters,” she says before she turns and leaves the room.

  I can already smell the homemade biscuits when I approach the door and knock before letting myself in. My foster sister Anna sits at the kitchen table with her nose in a book while Esme takes a fresh tray out of the oven.

  “Dru! I was just about to call you.” She sets the tray on the counter and I let her pull me in for a tight hug. Her salt and pepper hair is draped over her shoulder in a messy braid and she’s wearing a loose fitting top and a long skirt. At sixty years young, Esme Dixon is the portrait of bohemian chic.

  “I know, I’m sorry, I got busy painting and lost track of time,” I explain. She places her palms on either side of my face and gives me a skeptical look.

  “You’re not sleeping, are you?” she asks. Her all- knowing eyes demand the truth, so I don’t bother lying to her.

  “I was just restless last night, nothing to worry about,” I sigh and kiss her cheek. “Smells good in here, as usual.”

  “Of course it smells good in here, what do you think this is?” She swats my ass with a tea towel and I dutifully take my seat across from Anna who looks up and gives me a knowing smile. Her dark auburn hair hangs loose past her shoulders and her pale blue eyes peek up at me from behind her thick framed reading glasses. Esme hates it when we try and help with the food. She says cooking for her girls is therapeutic. Anna is the youngest of the three of us at twenty-four while I fall in the middle and Elle is the oldest.

  “Is Elle planning on making an appearance today?” I ask, although I already know the answer. Ever since she met her husband, Blake, and fell madly in love we don’t see her as often as we used to. Aside from the odd text, it seems like we hardly talk. Anna and I are much closer, we always have been.

  “She called this morning, her and Blake aren’t going to be home in time, they spent the weekend with his family in the country,” Esme says. I can hear the hurt in her voice but she’s quick to move on and change the subject. “Have you dropped anything new off at the gallery lately?” she asks.

  I’m fortunate enough that last year a local gallery picked up some of my paintings. Once they sold, the owner and I were able to work out a deal and we’ve had a good working relationship ever since. When I have new pieces, she looks them over and decides which ones she wants to showcase and we both get a cut when they sell. It suits me fine and ensures that I only have to work for Gus part time.

  “Yes actually, I took two new pieces there last week,” I say proudly.

  Esme has always encouraged us to do what makes us happy. When I decided to forego college and took my job at The Nightingale so I could work on my art during the day, she supported my decision. Well, actually, she went down to the club and threatened Gus within an inch of his life if anything ever happened to me while I was in his care…and then, once she was fully satisfied that I was safe and Gus was a good guy, she supported me.

  “That’s wonderful sweetheart, and how is Gus doing these days?”

  “He’s great, but you better send some leftovers with me for rehearsals tonight so he doesn’t pout,” I grin.

  “That man needs to find a wife. He’d starve to death if I didn’t send food home with you.”

  She acts annoyed but I know it’s all for show. We’ve always suspected that the two of them have some kind of thing for each other. He’s a bit younger than Esme but he’s never been married, and Esme’s been a widow since before I came to live with her. She’s always after him to find a wife to take care of him. It’s adorable. Anna looks up at me again and smirks, no doubt reading my mind.

  “Anna, tell your sister about your new neighbour.”

  Anna places her book gently on the table and removes her glasses before looking me dead in the eye.

  “I’m going to have him murdered,” she states calmly. “I’m sure I can find someone on Craigslist who wants to make some extra money and knows about proper corpse disposal.”

  “That bad?” I ask.

  “The worst. He’s loud, he constantly has people over, coming in and out at all hours. I don’t even know if he has a job. I went over there the other night and asked him to turn down the volume and all he did was look me up and down before closing the door firmly in my face. He’s a complete and total buffoon and he must be destroyed,” she says.

  I can’t help but laugh at her. Anna is the sweetest, most gentle person on the entire planet and there is no way she’d have it in her to harm a single hair on anyone’s head.

  “It’s not funny Dru, I’m seriously contemplating jail time over this,” she says as she smooths down her dress.

  “Awe honey, do you want me to come talk to him? Scare him straight?”

  “No,” she sighs. “I’ll handle it. I just wish people would be more considerate. I hate going to work tired.”

  Anna teaches kindergarten, bless her heart. There is no way I could handle a room full of rowdy five year olds, but she loves it. And she’s good at it, the kids adore her.

  “No more murder talk, it’s time to set the table,” Esme says as she begins setting plates on the counter for Anna and I.

  It’s a familiar routine and it never fails to fill me with a comfort that I spent the first thirteen years of my life living without. We might not be blood, but we are family.

  Chapter 4

  Ethan

  The sun illuminates the path in front of me as my feet slap against the concrete in a steady rhythm. Sweat pours down my back but my pace refuses to falter. The man-made track is a six mile loop that borders a well-groomed park placed strategically in the heart of the city. It’s still early enough that the place is nearly abandoned. I welcome the burn in my lungs as I push myself further and faster. I’m almost back to the lot where my Jeep is parked when I glance at my watch and my body slams into someone with such force that we both hit the ground hard. It takes me a minute to realize that I’m on top of her, panting and dripping wet. She groans and places her palms on my chest as I pull back. Her eyes flutter open and look straight at mine. Fuck.

  “You,” she whispers.

  “Me,” I reply breathlessly. I hesitate for a moment before I shift and rock back on my heels, standing up above her. “Can you stand?”

  “Yeah, just give me a sec,” she groans, propping herself up on her elbows. I notice that whatever she was carrying in her arms is now scattered on the ground. I offer her my hand and when she accepts the gesture I try to ignore the feel of her smooth skin against mine as I pull her to her feet.

  “Thanks,” she says.

  She stumbles a bit and before I know what I’m doing, my arms are around her waist and the soft curve of her breasts are flush against my chest. She stares up at me, the look in her eyes like a punch to my gut.

  “I’m Dru,” she says, her voice hoarse.

  “I know.”

  She blinks, and the reality of the situation hits me. I have no claim to this woman, I don’t even know her and yet I find myself questioning her as if I’m owed an explanation.

  “What the hell are you doing out here so early? And alone on top of that?” I all but growl the words between clenched teeth. She pulls back and I instantly want her closer. She gestures to the pile of discarded items on the ground.

  “I was sketching,” she explains. She bends over and begins gathering up the loose papers and various pencils. The pages she picks up are all in black and white but each one looks familiar to me, from the shape of the trees to the curve of the concrete fountain that sits in the middle of the park. I pick the thick notebook up from the ground and pass it to her.

  “Are you some kind of artist or something?”

  “Something like that,” she says.

  “And the club?” I don’t know why I’m asking or why I even care.
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  She glances at me and brushes the dust from her bag before swinging it over her shoulder. “I only work there part time,” she says.

  “Hm. And are you always in the habit of spending time in abandoned parks by yourself first thing in the morning?”

  “No. I generally prefer dark alleyways behind sinister looking drug dens,” she replies casually.

  She smiles again and steps toward me, handing me one of her sketches. “I have a studio space in my apartment, but sometimes I like to get outside and breathe. Does that make any sense?”

  “Yeah, I suppose it does.” I hand the paper back to her but she shakes her head.

  “Consider it a souvenir…?”

  “Ethan.”

  “I want you to keep it, Ethan.”

  Hearing my name on her lips shouldn’t satisfy me, but it does. We stand and stare at each other for a moment and I begin to wonder just what else her lips can do. She laughs softly and pulls me from my suddenly vivid imagination.

  “I should probably go,” she says. “I’m working at the club tonight, will I see you there?”

  “Yeah, I’ll be there.”

  “Good,” she smiles. She heads toward the sidewalk that leads downtown but stops short and turns back to me. “Ethan?”

  “Yeah.”

  “You should really watch where the hell you’re going.” She smiles again and I watch her disappear around the corner.

  I’m still thinking about my name on her lips and the feel of her body against mine when I’m standing in the shower an hour later, gripping my aching cock.