Chapter 4 Lines in the Sand #2
What was unusual was the figure sitting beneath it.
Damon frowned.
Elliot sat cross-legged in one of the porch chairs with a sketchbook resting on his lap.
The younger man appeared completely absorbed in whatever he was drawing.
His pencil moved steadily across the page.
Even from a distance, Damon could see the concentration on his face.
The sight should have been unremarkable.
Instead, he found himself watching.
For a few seconds.
Then a few more.
The kid really did draw constantly.
Roy hadn't been exaggerating.
As if sensing the attention, Elliot glanced up.
Their eyes met across the yards separating their houses.
A smile immediately appeared.
Warm.
Friendly.
Dangerous.
Not because of anything Elliot intended.
Because Damon had spent years building walls, and somehow Roy's nephew kept walking straight through them without even trying.
Elliot lifted one hand in greeting.
Damon nodded back.
That should have been enough.
Unfortunately, Elliot stood.
A moment later, he crossed the yard.
Damon watched the approach with growing suspicion.
The kid seemed entirely unaware that normal people didn't voluntarily seek out awkward conversations with grumpy oil workers after midnight.
"Elliot."
"Damon."
The younger man stopped at the bottom of the porch steps.
"Can't sleep?"
Damon raised an eyebrow.
"You either?"
Elliot laughed softly.
"Guess not."
For some reason, the answer pleased him.
Which was ridiculous.
"What's keeping you up?" Elliot asked.
Damon considered lying.
Work.
Stress.
Anything simple.
Instead, he shrugged.
"Thinking."
The younger man nodded.
As if he understood.
Maybe he did.
"Mind if I sit for a minute?"
The smart answer was yes.
The safe answer was definitely yes.
The answer Damon gave was a silent gesture toward the empty chair beside him.
A decision he regretted almost immediately.
Elliot climbed the porch steps and settled into the seat.
For a few moments, neither spoke.
The silence wasn't uncomfortable.
Oddly enough.
The younger man seemed perfectly content simply sitting there.
Looking up at the stars.
Listening to the sounds of the neighborhood.
Most people felt compelled to fill silence.
Elliot didn't.
Damon appreciated that.
Eventually, Elliot broke the quiet.
"I like it here."
Damon glanced over.
"Willow Ridge?"
"Yeah."
"You're the first person who's ever said that with enthusiasm."
The younger man laughed.
"I'm serious."
"I can tell."
Elliot looked out across the dark street.
"People are friendly."
"Mostly."
"The town feels peaceful."
"Mostly."
Another laugh.
Damon found himself smiling despite his efforts not to.
The kid had an easy way about him.
Not loud.
Not demanding.
Just genuine.
A quality Damon rarely encountered anymore.
"College going okay?" he asked.
The question escaped before he could stop it.
Elliot's surprise was obvious.
As if he hadn't expected Damon to care.
Truthfully, Damon wasn't sure he should.
Yet here they were.
"It's going well."
"Good."
"My professor likes my work."
Something brightened in the younger man's expression.
Pride.
Excitement.
Hope.
The emotions practically radiated from him.
Damon remembered being that age.
Back before life had taught him caution.
Back before disappointment became familiar.
"What kind of work?" he asked.
"Art."
"That narrows it down."
Elliot laughed again.
The sound was becoming alarmingly enjoyable.
"Mostly drawing. Painting too."
Damon nodded.
"You're good?"
The younger man hesitated.
The confidence vanished instantly.
A familiar insecurity replaced it.
"I think so."
Interesting.
Damon had expected certainty.
Instead, he saw doubt.
The same kind he'd carried for years.
The observation made something inside him soften unexpectedly.
"You don't sound convinced."
Elliot shrugged.
"I've spent a long time hearing that art isn't a real career."
"That's stupid."
The response came immediately.
Without thought.
Without hesitation.
Elliot blinked.
"What?"
"If you're good at something, it's real."
The younger man stared at him.
For a moment, neither spoke.
Then a small smile appeared.
"Gonna write that down?"
"No."
"You should."
Damon rolled his eyes.
The kid was impossible.
The conversation drifted naturally after that.
College.
The town.
Books.
Movies.
Random topics neither expected to discuss.
To Damon's surprise, an hour passed without either noticing.
It had been a long time since talking to someone felt this easy.
Dangerously long.
Eventually, the conversation turned more personal.
Not intentionally.
It simply happened.
Elliot mentioned his grandmother.
The warmth in his voice immediately caught Damon's attention.
"You close?"
"Very."
The answer came without hesitation.
"She practically raised me."
Something in the younger man's expression shifted.
A mixture of affection and worry.
"She's sick."
Damon nodded.
Roy had mentioned that.
"That why you almost didn't come here?"
Elliot looked surprised.
"Roy told you?"
"Some."
The younger man stared down at his hands.
"I hated leaving."
The honesty in his voice landed heavily.
"I still do."
Damon understood that feeling.
More than Elliot realized.
Losing people.
Watching them change.
Watching time steal things you couldn't protect.
Those wounds never healed properly.
"They'd want you to keep living your life," Damon said quietly.
Elliot looked up.
The expression in his eyes caught him off guard.
As though the words mattered.
As though they meant something.
Maybe they did.
The silence that followed felt different.
Deeper somehow.
Less casual.
The younger man studied him carefully.
"You know, nobody ever tells me anything about you."
Damon nearly laughed.
"That's a lie."
"Okay. Everybody tells me things."
"Exactly."
"But nobody tells me the truth."
That got his attention.
"What makes you think they aren't?"
Elliot shrugged.
"Because none of it matches."
The answer surprised him.
Most people accepted gossip without question.
Apparently not Elliot.
The realization should have pleased him.
Instead, it made him uneasy.
"Some of it's true."
The younger man waited.
Patient.
Not pushing.
Just listening.
Damon wasn't sure why he spoke.
Maybe because of the late hour.
Maybe because of the quiet.
Maybe because Elliot looked at him like a person instead of a reputation.
Whatever the reason, the words came anyway.
"When I was seventeen, I got arrested."
Elliot's eyes widened slightly.
Not judgment.
Just surprise.
Damon continued.
"Spent time in juvenile detention."
The confession hung between them.
Heavy.
Uncomfortable.
Real.
For years, he'd hidden that part of himself whenever possible.
Most people learned eventually.
Small towns had long memories.
Still, saying it aloud remained difficult.
Elliot didn't speak immediately.
When he finally did, his voice remained calm.
"What happened?"
Damon stared out at the dark street.
"Bad choices."
The simplified answer.
The safer answer.
The truth was far messier.
Anger.
Violence.
A father who disappeared.
A mother who struggled.
A teenager convinced the world owed him something.
Years spent trying to hurt others before they could hurt him first.
The younger man seemed to understand he didn't want to elaborate.
So he didn't push.
Another point in his favor.
"You're not that person anymore."
The statement landed harder than expected.
Damon looked at him.
Elliot held his gaze steadily.
Certain.
Confident.
As if the conclusion were obvious.
The faith in his eyes unsettled him.
Because he wasn't sure he deserved it.
"Maybe."
"You aren't."
The certainty returned.
Damon looked away first.
That felt safer.
A dangerous warmth had begun forming inside his chest.
One he didn't trust.
One he definitely didn't need.
The warning signs were becoming impossible to ignore.
This conversation.
This connection.
The ease between them.
None of it was smart.
None of it ended well.
Which meant it was time to do what he'd been trying to do from the beginning.
Create distance.
"You should head inside."
Elliot frowned.
"What?"
"It's late."
The younger man understood immediately.
Disappointment flickered across his face.
Brief but visible.
Damon hated himself for noticing.
"Right."
The younger man stood.
For a moment, neither moved.
Then Damon forced himself to speak.
The words tasted bitter.
"Stay away from me, Elliot."
Silence followed.
The younger man's expression fell.
Not dramatically.
Just enough.
"Why?"
Because you're too young.
Because you're too good.
Because you're starting to matter.
Because I don't trust myself.
Because I already look forward to seeing you.
Because this is a mistake.
Damon said none of those things.
Instead, he gave the answer he always gave.
"The stories you've heard?"
Elliot nodded.
"Some of them are true."
The younger man's eyes searched his face.
Looking for something.
Finding something.
Damon wasn't sure which.
Finally, Elliot gave a small nod.
"Goodnight, Damon."
"Goodnight, kid."
The younger man walked back toward Roy's house.
Damon remained on the porch long after he disappeared inside.
Staring into the darkness.
Trying to convince himself he'd done the right thing.
Unfortunately, as the night stretched on, one uncomfortable truth remained impossible to ignore.
For the first time in years, staying away from someone was becoming much harder than walking toward them.
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