Free Between Two Wolves and a Hard Place by Cassie Wright Page A

creative joy, and I realize: this is it. This is the theme I'll work with. This is what speaks truest to me, this is where I am.
    I need forgiveness, I need growth, I need to rediscover love. My old, haunted self must die so that a new, braver, more honest version can live.
    Energy fills me, making me wanting to run, to leap and laugh. Yes! I rush back to Honeycomb Falls, cross over the trestle bridge, take a hard right down to Conway Studios, and grab my bike. I need to get started. I need to start sketching, start creating. I ride my bike back to my parents' house, rushing along sidewalks and darting across streets, and despite the cool air I'm bathed in sweat by the time I get home.
    I grab my dad and, explaining everything to him in fits and starts, get him to help me load all my glassblowing equipment from his garage into the back of his car, and then drive it down to my new studio.
    He helps me unload, bemused and happy for me, and doesn't even protest when I hug him as tightly as I can, and then usher him out the door. He knows my creative moods. He knows how I get. With the door closed, I grab my sketch pad and sit with my back to the wall that looks out over the river. With charcoal and pencils I begin to sketch, free-flowing, not holding anything back, page after page of designs, whirls, swirls, forms and figures.
    Time passes. When I finally blink and look up, the sun is setting behind the mountains to the west, and the shadows stretch long across the cement floor. There's a crick in my neck, and my butt has gone numb. I'm surrounded by countless drawings, an outpouring of creativity that I haven't felt in over a year. I grin and stand with a moan, then stretch, fists pressed into the small of my back, and wander over to the wall to flick a switch and turn on the lights.
    Rebirth. That's what my new line will be called. But I have to embody the concept for the art to feel true. And what does that mean? It means I need to clear the air with Dean and Drake. I need to apologize. I need to ask for their forgiveness, and tell them how I feel.
    I dig out my phone and pull up Drake's number. I bite my lower lip. He's going to be furious with me. At my nerve in asking for another meeting. At my utter lack of shame. But I have to call. I have to speak to them both.
    Just then, my phone lights up and rings. It's Drake's number. I nearly drop the phone in my surprise, and then press it to my ear. "Hello?"
    "Kiera?" His voice is tight, almost breathless.
    "Drake?"
    "We need to talk."
    "I - yes! I was just about to call you. How did -"
    "The three of us. Dean's here with me. We need to see you. Now."
    "Now? Yes. Perfect." I feel bewildered. What's going on?
    "Are you at the studio?"
    "I am. Come over."
    The door opens, and Drake steps in, lowering his phone, Dean right behind him. My heart seizes up. They're here. Their eyes burn into me, so intense they seem to glow in the gloom, and fear and desire cause my heart to stop.
     

Chapter 10
     
     
     
    Like that, they're both suddenly there, in the flesh, staring at me, their eyes consuming my body. I have a ridiculous urge to turn and run. But where would I go? Drake closes the door behind him, and for a long, aching, terrible moment we simply stand there, staring at each other.
    And good god, they're delicious to look at. Both of them could be underwear models. No, what am I thinking? They exude far too much primal, dangerous energy to ever just stand around in undies. They would scare and arouse people beyond measure if they were seen naked on subway billboards. Oh no. These two men are wolves, primitive and alluring and oh, what am I thinking? Say something!
    My throat is parched, so I gulp and give my silly wave. "Hi."
    Drake snorts and Dean stalks across the large room to one of the windows, where he looks out at the Conway. I watch him go, and feel even more uncertain. Why does he look so angry?
    Drake runs his hand through his hair. "Thanks for seeing us."
    "Are you