Chapter 3 Sketches and Secrets #2
Roy wouldn't be home for another couple of hours.
That suited Elliot just fine.
After spending an entire day around strangers, he welcomed the solitude.
He carried his backpack inside and dropped it onto his bed before changing into a comfortable oversized T-shirt and sweatpants.
The moment he finished, his attention drifted toward the sketchbooks resting on his desk.
Drawing had always helped him process things.
When life became overwhelming, art made sense of it.
Today had certainly given him plenty to think about.
College.
New opportunities.
New people.
A completely different future.
Yet surprisingly, those weren't the thoughts occupying most of his attention.
No matter how hard he tried, his mind kept returning to one person.
Damon Blackwell.
Elliot groaned and flopped backward onto his bed.
"This is ridiculous."
The ceiling offered no response.
Unfortunately.
Because he could really use someone explaining why a complete stranger had become such a distraction.
They'd spoken for all of five minutes.
Maybe ten.
Yet the memory remained frustratingly clear.
The deep voice.
The rough hands.
The calm confidence.
The way Damon had fixed the porch light as if the task required no effort whatsoever.
Everything about the man felt larger than life.
Which was ridiculous.
Plenty of people knew how to repair a light fixture.
Most people probably weren't secretly thinking about it twenty-four hours later.
Elliot rolled onto his side.
The problem wasn't the repair.
The problem was Damon himself.
The man seemed to exist in complete contrast to everything Elliot knew.
He was strong where Elliot felt vulnerable.
Confident where Elliot often hesitated.
Solid where Elliot sometimes felt adrift.
The differences fascinated him.
At least, that's what he told himself.
The alternative explanation felt significantly more embarrassing.
A knock sounded against his bedroom door.
Elliot jumped.
"Yeah?"
The door opened.
Roy stepped inside carrying a bottle of water.
"How was your first day?"
"Good."
"Just good?"
"Actually, really good."
Roy smiled.
"That's better."
Elliot sat up.
"I like the art department."
"That's important."
"My professor thinks I have talent."
"Well, she's clearly intelligent."
Elliot laughed.
The older man leaned against the doorway.
"Make any friends?"
"Not yet."
"You will."
Hopefully.
Making friends had never come easily.
Roy seemed to sense his uncertainty.
"Give it time."
"I know."
The conversation shifted toward classes and schedules.
Eventually Roy mentioned work.
Then local football.
Then neighborhood gossip.
Typical small-town topics.
The discussion remained casual until Roy casually asked, "Run into Blackwell again?"
Elliot immediately regretted how quickly he looked up.
Roy noticed.
Of course he noticed.
The man had known him his entire life.
"Maybe."
A suspicious look crossed Roy's face.
"Maybe?"
"I saw him yesterday."
Roy sighed.
"Elliot."
"What?"
"I meant what I said."
The warning again.
Elliot couldn't help smiling slightly.
"You really don't like him."
"It's not that simple."
"Then explain it."
Roy considered the request.
For a moment, Elliot thought he might actually answer.
Instead, the older man shook his head.
"Some lessons are easier learned from experience."
"That sounds ominous."
"Probably because it is."
Elliot rolled his eyes.
Roy laughed.
"Just be careful."
The concern sounded genuine.
Which only made the mystery more frustrating.
Because despite all the warnings, nobody ever provided details.
Just vague statements.
Complicated.
Dangerous.
Troubled.
The descriptions painted a picture without actually revealing anything.
After Roy left the room, Elliot found himself staring thoughtfully at his sketchbooks.
Curiosity burned stronger than ever.
Who exactly was Damon Blackwell?
The version described by town gossip sounded intimidating.
The version Elliot had met seemed...
Different.
Gruff, certainly.
Quiet.
Maybe a little intimidating.
But not cruel.
Not dangerous.
Not the monster people seemed determined to make him into.
Elliot walked to the desk and opened a fresh sketchbook.
The blank page waited patiently.
An idea formed almost immediately.
Before he could reconsider, he picked up a pencil.
The graphite touched paper.
Lines appeared.
A jawline emerged first.
Strong and angular.
Then the shape of a nose.
The curve of a mouth.
Dark eyes.
Elliot froze.
"Oh no."
He knew exactly what he was drawing.
Damon.
Apparently his subconscious had made the decision before his brain could object.
The smart thing would be stopping immediately.
Instead, he continued.
The portrait gradually took shape.
Memory guided every line.
Every shadow.
Every detail.
The process felt strangely effortless.
Artists often drew things that captured their attention.
That was all this was.
A study.
An exercise.
Absolutely nothing more.
The fact that he remembered Damon's face so clearly meant nothing.
Probably.
The pencil moved steadily.
Features sharpened.
Expressions emerged.
Soon the rough outline transformed into something recognizable.
Something real.
Elliot leaned back and examined the drawing.
His breath caught slightly.
The resemblance was surprisingly accurate.
Not perfect.
But close.
Very close.
The portrait captured the exhaustion he'd noticed beneath Damon's eyes.
The strength in his features.
The quiet intensity that seemed to surround him.
Most importantly, it captured something Elliot couldn't quite define.
Loneliness.
The realization startled him.
Because that was what he kept seeing whenever he thought about Damon.
Not danger.
Not anger.
Loneliness.
A man carrying burdens nobody else seemed to understand.
Maybe Elliot was imagining things.
Maybe his artist brain was inventing stories.
Yet the feeling persisted.
The drawing stared back at him.
Silent.
Complicated.
Mysterious.
Very much like its subject.
"You've officially lost your mind."
Elliot closed the sketchbook.
Then immediately opened it again.
The portrait remained.
Looking somehow even more personal than before.
Heat crept into his face.
This was embarrassing.
He'd been in town less than a week.
Already he was drawing handsome oil workers from memory.
Wonderful.
His life choices were clearly excellent.
A sudden sound from the hallway made him jump.
Footsteps.
Coming closer.
Panic shot through him.
Without thinking, he slammed the sketchbook shut.
A second later, Roy knocked on the door.
"Elliot?"
"Yeah?"
"Dinner's ready."
Relief flooded through him.
"Coming."
"Good."
The footsteps retreated.
Elliot stared at the closed sketchbook.
For several moments, he remained motionless.
Then he carefully slid the book into the bottom drawer of his desk.
Beneath old notebooks.
Beneath loose papers.
Beneath anything someone might casually examine.
The portrait disappeared from sight.
Exactly where it needed to stay.
Because if Uncle Roy ever discovered that Elliot was secretly sketching Damon Blackwell from memory, the resulting conversation would probably kill him from embarrassment.
After ensuring the drawer was fully closed, Elliot stood and headed toward the kitchen.
The drawing remained hidden.
Safe.
Secret.
And despite all his efforts to ignore it, he couldn't shake the feeling that it wouldn't be the last time he put Damon Blackwell on paper.
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