I hadn’t seen or heard from Ford all of Monday, despite the repeated texts I’d sent him from my new cell phone. I’d had to work so that’d kept me somewhat busy, but I’d started to worry that maybe he’d had a run-in with his brother so I’d gone by his house. His car hadn’t been there, but I’d seen his mother and stepfather in the driveway emptying grocery bags out of their car. I’d been hurt that he hadn’t told me his parents were back in town, but I’d attributed some of his distance to them being around. I’d finally gotten a text from him Monday night asking me to meet him at his studio. Once again, he’d been all over me as soon as I’d walked in. He’d ended up fucking himself on my dick as he’d ridden me while I’d been seated in the only chair in the small space. It’d been as passionate as every other encounter I’d had with him and he’d held nothing back from me. But once we’d slaked our need upon one another, he’d shut down again and he’d turned down my invitation for him to spend the night at my house.
Yesterday, I’d seen him by chance outside a fabric shop that was near the police station, but when I’d called out to him he hadn’t heard me.
Or he’d pretended not to.
I hated that that was where my mind was going, but I couldn’t help it.
Especially since he’d shown up that night and once again fucked me senseless. When I’d asked him to stay and have something to eat and maybe watch a movie, he’d agreed. But like now, he hadn’t made eye contact with me much and we’d barely talked about anything besides what was happening in the movie.
I hadn’t planned to attend dinner at the sanctuary when Isaac had invited me, but when he’d mentioned that Ford was going to be there, I’d changed my mind. It was Isaac who inadvertently let it slip that Ford had been spending a few hours at the sanctuary every day working on some murals Maddox had asked him to paint in some of the buildings. Knowing that Ford had kept that from me stung, but I was trying really hard to let it go.
“You okay?” I asked.
“Yeah, fine,” Ford said. “I just… I need to clean up my brushes and stuff in the nursery.”
“Okay, I’ll come with you.”
“Okay.” His response was stiff and forced. It was just after eight in the evening so it had been dark for a while, but the sanctuary’s footpaths were well lit and many of the buildings had motion detection lights on them. Snow crunched beneath our boots as we walked and the cold air caused our breaths to frost over when we exhaled. We didn’t speak at all and I couldn’t help but hear my inner voice that had been yelling the same thing at me for days now.
You’re losing him.
“I saw that your parents are home,” I ventured.
“Um, yeah.”
“Did they have a good time?”
“Yeah.”
“They were on a cruise, right?”
“Yeah.”
We’d reached the nursery where baby animals were housed as they were being nursed back to health. I opened the door for Ford. He murmured a thank you and entered. I followed and looked around. Since it was winter, there weren’t any babies in the small building. But even if there had been, I probably wouldn’t have noticed because I was immediately drawn to the mural on the far wall.
“Ford,” I breathed. “It’s incredible.”
The mural depicted several baby animals walking or running or flying across a field toward a group of other animals, none of which were the same species. I looked at the small banner beneath the mural where some words were neatly printed.
“Finding Family,” I read aloud. I glanced at the painting again, then looked at Ford who was cleaning off some brushes that were sitting in a small bucket filled with some kind of liquid. I was about to ask him about the painting when I looked at it again. “They’re being welcomed home by new families,” I mused. “Different kinds of families.”
Ford stilled for a moment, then resumed his cleaning.
“None of the babies are going back to parents of the same species,” I continued as I studied the painting. I remembered Ford’s comments about his family always putting their family first and couldn’t help but wonder why he’d painted this particular scene. “It’s beautiful, Ford,” I said, because I doubted he would have answered my question about his inspiration.
“Thank you.”
The emptiness in his voice became the flashpoint I’d been trying to avoid. But instead of boiling over into anger, it rooted itself deep inside me in what I could only classify as despair.
My inner voice had been right. I was losing him.
“Did I do something, Ford?” I asked.