by Bethany-Kris
Sean was looking for Evelyn, without outright saying it.
Connor wasn’t about to hand her over.
“Lean forward,” Evelyn demanded.
Connor did as she asked, surprised when her hand came up to skim over the coarse hair covering his jaw and cheek. Her fingers danced along his two-week beard, tickling and feeling as she watched his expression with soft eyes.
“It’s … soft and not at the same time,” she muttered.
He chuckled. “I’ll shave it when it starts irritating me.”
“Huh.”
Connor grabbed onto Evelyn’s wrist, stopping her from moving again. “I don’t think the texture of the beard is going to help you draw me, lass.”
“Wrong. It helps me immensely. Also, I was curious. I thought it might be … too much.”
“Too much for what, exactly?”
She smiled slyly. “Doesn’t matter.” She dropped her hand, and leaned back. “Hold out your right palm, please?”
Confused but amused, Connor did as she asked. Evelyn’s gaze skimmed over the shamrock shaped scar inside his palm, her finger coming up to trace the mark’s many layers.
“This is not one time,” Evelyn said. “It has too many ridges to be once.”
“Good eye, lass.”
“Won’t you tell me why?”
No.
Because he didn’t even like to tell himself.
Connor flipped over his other hand, showing the shamrock scar there, too. “I have two.”
Evelyn’s gaze lowered, and she went back to her pad. “I have two of something, too. Brands, though you won’t ever say that to my face. The difference between my brand and yours, is you can cover mine. You’ve made it impossible to cover yours. Have you branded your body without ink, Connor, or did someone else do it?”
Good eye, he repeated internally.
“Draw, love,” he murmured.
Evelyn’s gaze flicked up to meet his, but she dropped it just as fast. He was thankful she had seemingly dropped the topic of his scars, and relaxed in his seat as she drew in silence.
Connor wasn’t sure how much time had passed—probably close to an hour—before Evelyn made a noise of triumph, and she sat up with her legs hanging off the side of the seat. She looked over her shoulder to stare out the window, still keeping her pad hidden against her chest.
“Am I really free?” she asked softly.
It was the one question he had been afraid she might ask.
He could say yes.
He could say no.
Neither of them might be right.
He settled on, “Yes.”
“Could I leave?” Evelyn looked to him, her face devoid of emotion to tell him how she felt about that question. “Tonight, if I wanted. Tomorrow, if I woke up and felt like it. Could I?”
Connor’s chest tightened, but he answered honestly. “Yes, but I would prefer that you don’t go.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m not sure how well you would do alone right now; you’ve been shut in for a long time. You’re not self-sufficient, lass, not in money, or even being able to cook for yourself.”
Evelyn frowned. “I could learn all of those things.”
She could.
And he was teaching her, when he had the time.
“But it’s mostly because I’m a selfish bastard,” Connor admitted, “and I would rather have you here with me right now. Even if transplanting you across the country might be the safest thing, or just getting you somewhere no one knows your name or your face, I would rather have you—”
“Here with you,” she interrupted gently.
“Selfish.”
Evelyn’s eyes twinkled with amusement. “You forgot the bastard bit.”
“Aye, but it goes without saying.”
Seemingly satisfied with Connor’s answers, Evelyn pushed off the window bench and landed damn near silently on her feet. She headed for the door, apparently done.
“You’re not going to let me see the drawing?” Connor asked.
Evelyn froze, turning slightly as she hugged the sketchbook even tighter. “No.”
“Why not?”
“We’re different, you and I, but we’re still the same. You won’t like it, Connor, because you won’t agree with how I see you. You’ll think the image I see doesn’t reflect who you believe you are, or the person you look at that is staring back at you every day. Just like I don’t see the same reflection staring at me in the mirror that you do when you look at me.”
“I don’t know if that’s true, love.”
Evelyn nodded once, and then flipped her sketchbook over to show him the image. There was an almost defiance to her actions, like she was doing it, only to dare him to prove her words wrong. The fire in her gaze remained as she held the image on her sketchbook steady, both proud yet scared of her own work.
And she was right, he realized.
He actually realized it quickly.
Her drawing was beautiful. Perfect lines, exact precision in detail. She’d caught the shape of his sharp cheekbones even beneath his beard, and the strong lines of his jaw with his head tilted just a bit to the side. The shape of his lips, though not set in a line as usual, curved at the corners almost teasing smile as he stared, unhidden and open, at the person beyond the paper.
Her, he knew.
He was staring at her.
The slightly longer bit of hair atop his head was both smooth and messy, like he’d run his fingers through the brown strands to push it back, but the waviness was still out of control. Each mark on his skin, the scar that split his left eyebrow, and even the dimple in his right cheek were perfectly reflected in the image.
She had left nothing out.
The tattoos up his neck were amazing in detail, from the rush of a wave along the left side, to the image of the Virgin Mother Mary on the right. And though he hadn’t been sitting the way she portrayed him, he was leaning forward a bit, his hand outstretched, with a feather resting on top of the shamrock scar in his palm.
In her image, he was holding her—his light, wee feather—in the palm of his hand.
The drawing was amazing.
Evelyn and her talent was amazing.
But she was right.
The playful, relaxed, handsomely happy man she saw, was not the man Connor believed himself to be when he stared in the mirror. He saw his marks and scars and tied them to memories. His eyes never shone quite like she thought they did, because his monsters were always too close to the surface, ready to explode from his mind.
“You made me look …” Connor trailed off, unable to find the right words.
Evelyn ticked her chin up, bold and sweet at the same time. “I see you exactly as you are. I made you look exactly as you are. I never thought you’d like it, though. Don’t forget, I told you that you wouldn’t like it.”
With that, she turned and left the room.
Connor let her.
• • •
Connor tinkered away at his Harley, the makeshift mat he’d made out of a blanket doing practically nothing to act as a buffer between his back and the hard ground. The motorcycle didn’t really need work or tuning, but sometimes it was good for him to clear his head by looking at something other than his drawings or the television.
He wasn’t entirely sure what made him tip his head up to look toward the brownstone, but when Connor did, he found Evelyn standing in the back doorway. She was staring out at him, but stood far enough back to be nearly hidden by the shadows.
As though she was scared to move further …
“You need something, love?”
She shook her head.
Connor wondered if Evelyn didn’t understand that she was allowed to leave the brownstone if she wanted, though he needed to be with her for safety reasons. Right then, however, he was doing nothing but sitting in his private, fenced yard where no one could see them. The fence was too high, and surrounded the backyard entirely. He’d purposely had it
built that way. Despite having half-decent neighbors, he needed the privacy.
“It’s a nice day out, isn’t it?” he asked.
Evelyn didn’t say a thing or move.
Connor let out a sigh and pushed out from under the bike so he could sit up. “Get your arse out here, Evelyn.”
For a long while, she simply stared at him, a wariness in her features. Then, she moved forward, slow at first, but still sure of her steps until she was standing in the middle of the backyard. She stopped just a few feet away from him, and looked up at the sun.
Evelyn’s green eyes squinted hard at the sky. “It’s very bright.”
Her words barely broke a whisper.
His curiosity chewed at him, and the words spilled out before he could stop them. “How long has it been since you’ve sat in the sun and soaked it up?”
Evelyn looked down at him, unsure for a second as she chose her answer. “A while.”
Too long, then.
Long enough that she couldn’t give him even an estimated date.
“Come here, lass.”
“What?”
Connor patted the spot on the blanket beside him. “Come, sit.”
Evelyn shifted her weight from foot to foot, her fingers dancing together as she glanced back at the brownstone. “I don’t know.”
“You know that’s not your prison, love.”
“So you’ve said.”
“And shite, even inmates get yard time every day.”
Evelyn smiled a second before her laugher spilled out to the quiet backyard. Connor’s grin began to grow at the sight of her amusement and joy. It was a beautiful image, and he wished he had a camera to capture it for her. Too often, her silence and self-imposed loneliness took away her joy, even if she thought he didn’t notice.
Connor noticed everything.
Especially about Evelyn.
“Come here,” he demanded again.
That time, Evelyn didn’t argue. She came to sit beside him on the blanket, pushing away the tools he’d been using to tinker with his Harley. For a long while, she sat still beside him, staring up at the bright sun with a pleased, contended smile curving her lips upward at the edges.
“Nice, isn’t it?” Connor asked quietly.
Evelyn nodded without opening her eyes.
And when she did open her eyes, Evelyn was no longer staring at the sun, but at him. Connor only saw happiness reflected in her gaze, and he thought that was the image he wanted to capture. Or at least, keep for himself.
• • •
“Get dressed. We’re going out.”
It took him two weeks to finally work up to the decision to take her out after the day he found her sitting in the window, drawing him. He had told her she was free, yet he still kept her hidden away like a precious doll, even now that she managed to wander outside every so often.
She wanted to be free?
He was going to let her.
Evelyn didn’t look up from the book in her hands. Despite how out-of-touch and simple she had seemed those first few days, as though she had never gotten a taste of the outside world, Connor knew the lass was far from stupid.
“I’m enjoying my book, Connor.”
“Did you read often before?” he dared to ask.
Sometimes, he got answers. Sometimes, she didn’t say a thing.
“I had a man who preferred for me to read to him while he did whatever he was doing; he was not kind when I stumbled over words, but I got better. Another liked to beat me with books, but was then stupid enough to leave them with me after he left me alone.” She glanced up to meet his gaze, a sly smile curving her lips wickedly. “I didn’t mind the beating, and the books were icing on the cake. He didn’t know it, though.”
She was a wee bit crazy.
And a wee bit strange.
He hated that those were her experiences, but he liked the woman it had seemed to shape her into through it all.
Connor scrubbed a hand down his face, half wishing he hadn’t asked. “Your book will be here when we get back, and it won’t be used to hit you with.”
Evelyn pursed her lips, looking rather comfortable on Connor’s bed. “Out to where?”
“What does it matter? Get dressed, we’ll have some fun.”
“What should I wear?”
Connor had to think about that for a moment. “Something you don’t mind walking or moving in, I suppose. Something pretty.”
Evelyn set the book aside. “Like a dress?”
“There were dresses in the things I brought for you, right?”
“Yes.”
Connor smirked, and turned on his heel to leave. “A dress it is, love.”
• • •
Hell’s Kitchen was a melting pot of people and businesses. It was a hot spot for people of all walks of life, from tourists new to New York, to the old timers sitting outside the shops, watching time pass them by. Depending on where a person went in the Kitchen, or what exactly they were looking to do, you could run into some interesting characters.
Connor had done all sorts of different work in the Kitchen, so he made it a point to avoid places where his face might be recognized as he strolled through the market set-up with Evelyn at his side.
Evelyn stayed quiet, tucked into Connor’s side, but her wide eyes took in everything they passed with a curiosity that was almost child-like. She constantly stopped at different vendor stalls to look through the items, though he noticed she favored handmade and colorful things, more so than the vendors trying to sell knock-off high-end brands.
“Oh!”
For the first time since they’d entered the market, Evelyn darted away from Connor’s side, the skirt of her blue dress flying wide around her bare legs. Though she certainly couldn’t go far enough that he wouldn’t see her, he still followed close behind, making sure to keep an eye on the faces in the crowd.
The second he saw someone he recognized, they were gone.
“Do you like those ones?” the woman behind the vendor stall asked.
Connor saddled up to Evelyn’s side as she pulled down one of many dream catchers hanging from the ceiling stall. Several different colorful strings made up the inner design of the dream catcher, while beads had been woven into all sorts of places.
Evelyn didn’t pay attention to any of those things. Her focus seemed to be solely on the multi-colored feathers hanging from the dream catcher on several leather cords. The woman behind the stall continued chatting away, explaining how she made the item, their purpose, and a bunch of other nonsense.
Evelyn only nodded in response as she toyed with the feathers between her fingertips. “Do you think I captured the feather properly?”
The woman behind the stall didn’t have a clue what to say to Evelyn’s random question. “Pardon, miss?”
Connor knew exactly what she was talking about—her sketch of him and the feather he had been holding in the drawing. “From idea or memory, yes.”
Evelyn pursed her lips. “It could have been better, though.”
“It was grand, lass. Feathers are magnificent, remember? All of them. For their purpose, not their appearance.”
She placed the dream catcher back on its hook. “So you say.”
Connor rested his hand on Evelyn’s lower back. “So I know.”
“Do you not want the dream catcher?” the woman asked.
“No,” Evelyn said, though her gaze kept traveling back to the feathers. “But thank you.”
Connor pulled the dream catcher back down. “How much?”
Once the dream catcher was purchased and packed up, Connor handed the bag to a smiling Evelyn. She didn’t question it at all as she hugged it to her chest, pleased and joyful. Her genuine gratefulness over something so damn simple made him both happy and troubled.
He brought her back into his side, this time keeping his arm firmly tucked around her waist as he directed them back into the flow of people. She wasn’t going to dart away on him again.
/> “What now?” Evelyn asked.
“Food, I think.”
It didn’t take long for him to find a pizzeria that specialized in a New York delight, with an old-world atmosphere inside the business. After getting them both food and drinks, Connor let Evelyn pick them a table to sit at.
Unsurprisingly, she picked one close to the windows. He might have chosen one that was more private, where less people could see them, and he could give her his full attention for the time being. Instead, he let her do what she wanted.
This was for her, after all.
It seemed Evelyn liked to people watch.
“New York pizza,” Connor said, holding up a slice for Evelyn to take a bite. “One of too many things this city takes pride in.”
She eyed the food. “There’s a lot of cheese on that.”
“There’s supposed to be, love. It’s a feckin’ cheese pizza. Open that mouth of yours, and take a bite.”
Evelyn cocked an eyebrow, but did as Connor demanded, her pink lips parting for the food. She let him feed her one single bite of the pizza, and chewed almost thoughtfully before swallowing. “Cheesy.”
“It’s supposed to be, I said.”
“It’s good.”
“Grand, now eat the rest.” Connor pushed the paper plate and slice of pizza toward his companion, reaching for his own to eat as well. “You could use the extra cheese, honestly.”
Evelyn pouted. “I eat.”
“Eat more.”
She wasn’t dangerously underweight, and she had gained at least ten pounds over the amount of time she had been with him, but Connor still worried. He worried that while she was probably healthier and at a better steady weight, her mindset was not catching up with her body. She could do without food if she needed, or if she was caught up in something else. She could ignore being hungry if she wasn’t in the mood to sit down and eat. He wouldn’t have that, even if he needed to demand she open her mouth and he be the one to shovel the food inside.