Project Take My Life Back
RILEY
I’ve been on the lounger by the pool for two hours.
The afternoon is soft, and the Los Angeles sun is the kind of light that makes everything look like it has been color-graded for a film.
I'm in the only swim-adjacent thing in my new wardrobe, which is to say a pair of tiny cotton shorts I bought at Valentina’s because Easton wordlessly held them up off the rack with an eyebrow raised, and a white tank top I may never have the occasion to wear to since my life currently revolves indoors.
My hair is in another one of my messy buns, with strays everywhere, but as long as they’re not in my eyes, I don’t really mind.
My notebook is open on my stomach. My phone is on the small side table beside me, and there is a glass of water sweating onto a coaster I found in a drawer Easton has clearly never opened.
He left at six-thirty this morning. He left coffee in the machine, a note on the counter that said back by four, don’t wait, and the hall light on for me.
I stare at everything I’ve scribbled on the note in the past hour.
My supposed plan to get my life back. Close the Preston chapter. Get my parents on track. Find a job or something. Anything useful to keep me going.
But now that I look at it carefully, there’s only one thing I’ve underlined. The one thing I’m not sure I can still do. Photography.
It’s been six years.
Six years since I last touched a camera.
Six years since I picked up the portfolio I was working on and put it in a closet, where it has sat ever since, behind a stack of winter coats Preston insisted I buy and never wore.
Six years since I last sat in front of a frame and felt the small specific click of yes, that, that is what I was looking at.
Hell, I’m not even sure I can tell better angles and good lighting.
How the hell am I going to make this into a career? Live off it?
Maybe it’s a lost cause.
I exhale and toss the book aside.
I close my eyes against the sun and let myself sit with the warmth against my skin.
I open them and pick up the phone.
I don’t know what I'm about to do, and I don’t let myself overthink it. I tilt the phone toward the water, angle it to catch the skylight overhead, and tap.
The photo opens on the screen.
It's the water, and the broken white shape of the skylight reflected in it, and the way the surface fractures the light into something that looks like glass that has been dropped from a great height.
It isn't a good photograph. It's exposed wrong.
The composition is off-center in a way that doesn't pay off.
The phone camera has flattened the depth.
I look at it for a long time anyway.
It isn't good.
But if I can recognize that it’s not a good photo, then that has to be a sign, right? Like I know enough to pick up from where I left?
Preston called it cute.
I have heard that sentence in my head for years. I have used it to keep myself from picking the camera up again.
Cute meant small. Cute meant not a real thing. Cute meant don't get serious about this, because serious women have lives I can't manage.
I pick up the pen, and reach for the notebook again. I open to a fresh page.
Photography, I write at the top, and then I cross it out, because the word is too small for what I want it to be, and I write underneath it getting my life back instead.
Then I write, slowly, the things I would need.
A camera. Not the phone. A real one.
A portfolio. Reshoot what I had, or start over.
Money. To live on, while I rebuild.
I stop on the last word.
That is where it falls apart, and it falls apart fast. I don't have money. I have money, technically, in accounts that are linked to Preston, or to my father, or to both of them, and every one of them is a thread I can't pull without him knowing exactly where I am.
I would need a lawyer. A lawyer who isn't affiliated to Preston, which in Los Angeles narrows the list.
I would need to disentangle the joint account, which means a sit-down conversation I'm not strong enough to have yet. I would need to untangle my parents from him, which is its own project, and one I can't even begin until I have my own ground to stand on.
I write lawyer underneath the money line. My fingers are weak now, because suddenly, it’s beginning to seem like an unachievable goal.
I’ll need money for a lawyer. And I need a lawyer to get my money.
Mason.
My face lights up. I pick up the phone, scroll to his name, and press call before I second-guess this decision.
He picks up on the first ring.
“Ri…”
He sounds surprised. But not in a bad way. More like he wasn’t expecting a call from me, so soon.
“Hi…” My voice comes out smaller than I intend.
Silence settles over us for a minute, and I realize it’s been a while since we spoke. The last time I saw him was weeks ago, in the morning I was supposed to tie the knot with Preston.
He’d come into the dressing room with the makeup artist finishing the final touches. And his exact words had been, “You know I’ll stand by you in whatever you decide, right? I hope you enjoy this new phase. I love you, Ri.”
He’s always been the quiet observer. Maybe he’d seen something.
“Riley.” His worried voice pulls me back to the present, and I shake off the thoughts.
“I… I’m fine, Mason. I’m safe.”
“Where are you?” He doesn’t believe it.
“Safe. I’m with a friend. I can't say where. But believe me, I’m safe, Mase. I just wanted you to hear it from me.”
He stays quiet and expels a deep breath. Mason has never been one to follow media gossip. So, I’m sure he’s yet to see any of the headlines that’s been flying around.
“Promise that you’ll call me first if you ever need help? To get away, or whatever makes you comfortable.”
I smile. My heart warms.
“I promise.”
“And you’ll tell me what that bastard did to you that made you run?”
“Soon. I promise. Just give me a little more time, and I will come see you. I don't want to do this over the phone. I want to see your face when I say it, and I’ll need your help to find myself again. I can’t… I can’t handle mom and dad just yet.”
“Just say the words and it’s done, Ri. If you need money, clothes, food, anything at all. Just give me a call, and I’ll get it across to you.”
“Thank you, Mase. I love you. But I think what I need right now is a good lawyer. I… I can’t access my entire life. My money. Everything is with Preston. Joint accounts and all.”
“When do you want to begin?” His tone suddenly hardens, and I know it’s his dislike for Preston.
“I’m still trying to put things in place. I just want to notify you ahead. If you could help me find a good one, when I’m ready, I’ll reach out and we can begin.”
“Okay, I’ll get on with that right away.”
“Thank you, Mase. I love you.”
“I love you, Ri. Stay safe.”
“I will. I have to go now.”
“Promise you’ll call again?”
“Pinky promise, Masey…”
He laughs, and my smile widens.
“Bye.”
I hang up before either of us has to say anything else.
I set the phone face down on the lounger.
There’s a tight lump in my throat, and my eyes water. I blink back the tears and take a sip of the cold water to clear my throat. I inhale to clear my constricted chest, and let out a deep breath before closing my eyes.
I picture Mason’s worried face and how he must have looked at the start of the call, then his laughter, and the warmth it brings. I pull myself from the memories.
When I open my eyes, the sun has moved. The skylight is throwing its broken light at a different angle on the water.
I slip out of the lounger, take three steps to the edge of the pool, and I step in.
The water is warm, just how I like it. I sink to my shoulders, then I dunk under, and I come up with my hair plastered to my neck from my loosened bun, and my eyes stinging. I drag my palm over my face to wipe off the water, and blink a few times. Then, I go in again.
I float for a while.
When I haul myself out, I'm dripping, and the tank top and shorts have gone heavy with water, now clinging to my body almost like a second skin.
I slick my hair back and turn.
Easton is in the doorway.
He’s come straight from practice, his bag still on his shoulder, his cap still on, the kind of clean post-practice tiredness on him that means he has been thinking about the drive home while still on the rink.
His eyes are on me. They drop. They come back. They drop again, and stay there for a beat longer than is polite, and that is when I look down.
The white tank top has gone completely transparent.
I can see my own skin through it. The shape of me. All bare, with nipples imprinted on the top. All staring back at him.
I should cover up. But my arms don’t move. Instead, I stare at him, unable to look away.
Whatever exhaustion had been on his face minutes ago is gone. In its place is an unreadable expression.
He gulps and his Adam’s apple bobs. His gaze rakes all over me, leaving goosebumps in its wake despite the warm afternoon sun.
His eyes… they’re darker than usual, and his lips are slightly parted. The tip of his tongue wets his lips.
His bag slides off his shoulder to the floor, and he heads towards me, not breaking eye contact.
I stay rooted to the spot because for some reason, my legs have failed me. I know I’ll trip if I take a step because I can’t feel them.
I look back at him.
“E-Easton…”
He gets to me, and wraps his arm around my waist, pulling me against him. I don’t have time to protest before his lips slant against mine.
I freeze. But when he licks across the seam of my lips, I give in, releasing a soft moan.
My arms reach for his shoulders to steady my legs, and I melt into him. His free hand rests on my hip, traveling higher, past my wet shorts to rest on my stomach.
“God… Riley, you’re gonna be the death of me, baby.” He murmurs against my lips but doesn’t pull away.
His palm splayed on my stomach moves higher, fingers grazing the underside of my breast. I gasp, and he stops.
“Please, tell me to stop…” He groans.
I try to speak. Nothing comes out.
My legs are jelly, and I’m panting. It’s like his palm has left a trail of fire, burning down my spine. His arm on my waist tightens, pulling me impossibly close, and I feel it. The bulge in his pants.
Another gasp of surprise escapes my lips.
“Easton…”
He finally pulls back. His eyes land on me. They’re so dark, with pupils dilated, and the look on his face, like he’s visibly in pain.
I want to say something. Something to break the moment, but my brain fails me.
“Fuck…” He steps back.
“Easton…”
My arms fall to my side. Minutes ago, I was warm from the sunlight, but now, I’m hot. So hot, I can’t breathe properly. And he sees it. I know he does because of the way his eyes eat me up. Yet he stays still.
“I can’t touch you right now, sweetheart. I need to wash off the ice, and I need to sleep. But when I’m up, I’ll take care of you. That works?” He cups my cheek.
I lick my suddenly dried lips and nod, but he comes in for one more kiss before fully stepping away.
He crosses the room to sit on the lounger beside mine. He pats the cushion next to him.
I sit, because my legs don't know what else to do. He pulls his phone from his pants pocket, turns it around, and shows me the screen.
It's me. A picture of me.
At the edge of the pool, hair dark with water, my face slightly turned, soft, and relaxed.
I look carefree, like my world isn’t falling apart.
“You looked so calm, I couldn’t resist.”
I look at him, then at the photograph again. I feel his eyes on me, while I watch the woman in the photo. She embodies the woman I’m struggling to become. The carefree version, with a life of her own.
“I want to start taking photographs again,” I blurt out.
“That’s great.”
“For real this time. Not a hobby. A career. I'm going to need to figure out the rest of it. The Preston part. The money. But I want to take the photographs again, and I want to start now.”
He smiles, then nods. “Okay.”
“That’s it?”
“Yes, sweetheart.”
“You won’t try to stop me? Maybe say something about how I can't possibly start now, with everything that’s happening, and with no resources?”
“You know I’d never hold you back, Riley. You want to start now? Let’s get to it.”
“Easton?” My mouth opens and closes.
“Only your decision and timing matters. No one else’s.”
I look at him, and for the first time since he walked in, I see how truly tired he is.
“Are you okay?”
“It was a long day. I’m just glad to be home.”
There’s something in his voice that gives it away. He’s more than tired. Maybe something happened at the rink, but he’s not ready to speak on it.
“Okay,” I say. “Want to nap while I whip up something for dinner? That way you can rest a bit, eat, then finally retire to bed.”
He chuckles, then rises to his feet.
“I’ll just take a quick bath, and join you.”
I want to object, but I know he wouldn’t budge. Easton gets what he wants. Always.
“I spoke to my brother today. On call.” I look at him. “He’s been worried. Told him I would see him soon. I mean… as soon as I get my shit together.”
He nods, picks up his bag from where it has been sitting on the floor by the back door, and starts to walk past my lounger toward the house. He pauses.
He leans down and he kisses me on the temple.
It's soft.
I sit on the lounger and stare at the pool, replaying our exchange. The kiss comes to mind first. A shiver wracks my body.
And his mouth… Lord…
I swallow.
I sit for a few more minutes. Then I pick up the notebook.
I cross out photography and getting my life back on the top of the page.
I write a new line.
Today, I started. Then I add today’s date to mark the start.