Free Rewired (The Progress Series) by Amy Queau Page A

hurried panic, he retrieved his easel and pencils and started a pile in the entryway. He ran to the closet, where Charlie kept all her old journals, and grabbed a box filled with folders and an assortment of brightly colored spiral binders. Taking a trip out to his car, he filled the trunk with the first load and went back for some clothes. Leaving the apartment door ajar, he ran back to the closet.
    Just as he was setting down a handful of dress shirts and relief was setting in that he had avoided a confrontation, he heard her voice.
    “Hello?” she called out, remaining in the hallway.
    He snapped up, hitting his head on the shelf above the kitchen table. “Ouch.”
    Charlie slapped open the door and her face flushed. “Sam?”
    Rubbing his head, he looked up with bloodshot eyes. “Hey, I…er…I’m just picking up a few things.”
    She ducked her head and began fumbling with her keys. “I—”
    “Where were you just now? It’s Tuesday, I thought you’d be h—” He shook his head. “Sorry, that’s none of my business.” He sighed. “I’m going to go. Sorry I didn’t call first,” he clipped, keeping his eyes down. Oh, a real warrior, Sam. I had a million things I wanted to say to her and all I come up with is… ‘Um, sorry I didn’t call first?’
    I just didn’t realize how hard it would be to look at her.
    “No, that’s fine,” she whispered. “Can I… I mean, how have you been?”
    He gave Charlie a long hard look as his stomach fell. Shaking his head, he softened. “I’m leaving now. I’ll be back in a few days to get the rest of my things.”
    “Wait, Sam. Can we talk?” she pleaded as he walked into the hallway with a bundle of clothes, hanging off their hangers, wedged into the corner of his arm.
    Turning back, he tenderly lifted his hand to cradle her cheek, but never finished the gesture. With her eyes still closed and waiting for his touch, he whispered, “Not now, but when I’m ready, you’ll know.”

Chapter Three
     
     
    Sam couldn’t get back to Gabe’s fast enough. Having blown through three red lights, completely ignoring courtesy for other cars on the road, he screeched into the driveway. He dug out the box of journals from his trunk and carried it up to his room.
    He was more than disappointed to find that the journals were dated from high school. Pulling out each one, he thumbed through their contents. He had hoped to get some insight to her actions over the past few weeks, but these journals weren’t going to tell him anything.
    Taking trips back and forth, Sam gathered the rest of his belongings from his car, passing Gabe, who was making out with an unknown brunette on the couch. He ignored the couple and got to work setting up his easel in his room.
    He carefully taped the edges of a new piece of canvas paper. His homemade charcoal was reserved for certain projects—for the drawings he knew would always be special and portray the heaviest of emotion. He would add watercolor later, but for now he’d work on Charlie’s face.
    With each soft stroke, he focused on harnessing the beauty of her profile. Remembering to include the tiny beauty mark under her lip and the perfect downward swoop at the tip of her nose, her hair dark, shaded and soft, Sam made sure he used the smearing pencils and worked the highlights perfectly. He took his time, precious time he knew he shouldn’t be spending. But his forever had changed, leaving him to constantly question things to which he didn’t have the answers. Drawing Charlie was the perfect distraction, yet the perfect way to excuse away his thoughts of her.
    After spraying a fixative on the charcoal, he dipped the paintbrush into the blob of red paint on his palette, mixing it with the perfect amount of water. Testing the hue on a separate piece of canvas paper, he swiped the brush twice and removed the excess red. He wanted to make the coloring as soft as possible, truly executing her glow and velvety skin.
    The entire