Ace
Ace could understand Phoenix not calling him back the same day he had left a voicemail. It was the weekend, after all. He could even see Phoenix not calling him back on Sunday. But by the time Monday morning rolled around, he was annoyed. If nothing else, Phoenix could have sent him a text to set up an in-person interview. Instead, he’d gotten nothing but radio silence.
That ended today.
Fortunately for him, Mckenna had been able to provide him with an address for Phoenix. It wasn’t lost on Ace that the address listed was fifteen minutes from town. Apparently they hadn’t been kidding about the recluse thing.
He turned onto the gravel road leading toward a small, brick house. Aside from a small yard, the place was surrounded by tobacco on three sides, and Ace wondered how someone could stand to live in such claustrophobic quarters.
There was no car out front, but a small building out back, so Ace turned the car off and climbed out, then walked up the path to the front door. He hesitated only a moment before ringing the buzzer.
Seconds passed with no answer.
He tried again, knocking this time. Maybe the buzzer was broken. But as more time passed with no response, he started to get the feeling that no one was home. Or maybe old Phoenix had died and no one had noticed because he was a recluse. Then he remembered Phoenix couldn’t be that old, because his parents were still around.
“What do you think you’re doing?”
Ace jumped, his heart thudding as he whipped around to find a man staring at him intently. An attractive man. He was thin almost to the point of lanky, and his shoulder-length hair curled wildly. His eyes were so dark they were nearly black, but they were incredibly expressive. At the moment, they were expressing confusion, accusation, and something else Ace couldn’t quite figure out. Phoenix crossed his arms, and Ace remembered he was supposed to be saying something.
“I tried calling,” he said, then realized Phoenix would still have no idea why he was here. “I’m Ace. Well, Arin, but only my dad calls me that anymore.”
“I know who you are,” Phoenix said, his gaze unwavering.
He hadn’t been expecting that. Sure, the name had sounded familiar, but if he were being honest, even though he logically knew better, he had expected Phoenix Wrenn to be an old man who’d become a hermit in his retirement, not this incredibly attractive man in his late twenties.
He ran a hand through his hair. “Er, sorry. Do we know each other?”
“We went to school together. You were a junior when I was a freshman. We didn’t talk much.”
Ace wracked his brain. He was fairly sure if he had been in the same class as someone like Phoenix, he would remember. And then it hit him. God, he had changed over the years.
“You were in art with me,” he said. “You were the—”
He stopped himself before he could continue. Phoenix was the quiet, slightly odd kid who’d sat at the back of the class, working intently when everyone else had goofed off. His hair had been much shorter than it was now, and he wore horribly large glasses that seemed to take up his entire face.
“I was the strange one who didn’t interact,” Phoenix finished. “It’s all right. I was.”
There was something defensive about the statement, and Ace regretted alluding to it.
“It’s just… you’ve changed, is all.”
Phoenix shrugged. “We all change as we get older. I wouldn’t expect you to look exactly like you did when you were in high school. I’m glad you let your hair grow out.”
The words took him by surprise, but Ace smiled. “I’m glad you let yours grow out, too. It suits you.”
He still couldn’t quite believe that the gorgeous man standing in front of him was the same person as the boy who’d been so shy in art. Back then, it seemed like he took up as little space as possible and tried not to be noticed. It was impossible not to notice him, now.
“You never answered my question,” Phoenix said, and Ace jolted out of his thoughts. “What are you doing?”
“Oh. Right. Wilmingson Life wants to do a feature article on you and your art, and I’m the writer assigned to the story.”
Phoenix blinked a few times, as though he were processing the information. “Why do they want to do an article on me?”
“Because you’re a well-known artist. They do pieces on members of the community people might not know,” he said, parroting Makenna’s words. “And since you don’t get out that much, the editors thought it might be a good idea for you to let me interview you, so that people could get to know you.”
Phoenix’s eyebrows drew together, mistrust in those beautiful brown eyes. “Did Joel put you up to this?”
“Joel?”
“Don’t act stupid. If he put you up to it, you can tell him I’m not going to do this or his exhibit, so he can stop trying.”
He turned to walk away, and Ace’s breath hitched. If he couldn’t get the interview, then Bud would probably fire him and he would have no way of getting out of this godforsaken place. He reached out and grabbed Phoenix by the upper arm.
“Wait,” he said.
Phoenix stilled and looked up at him as though he had committed the gravest of sins. Ace let go of his arm quickly.
“Sorry.” He knew that if he was going to get the interview, he needed to be honest. “Look, I’m not with Joel. I don’t even know Joel. I just moved back to the area and got a job and I really need to be able to do it so I can get out of here.”
Pursing his lips, Phoenix seemed to consider it for a moment. “Where were you?” he asked. “You said you moved back.”
Did he really not know? Ace thought everyone knew. That was what had made the prospect of moving home so unbearable. They would see him as a failure.
“I was in Boston working at a newspaper,” he said finally.
“And now you aren’t.”
“And now I’m not.” The words came out harsher than he intended, but Phoenix didn’t look affronted. “I got laid off, so I had to come home. It’s temporary, but I really need this job so I can have something as filler on my resume when I start applying to places.”
“Where will you go?”
Ace had asked himself that question many times. He’d thought about going back to Boston, but as much as he had enjoyed the city, there was no connection there. His friends had also been reporters, more acquaintances than anything. Only one or two had called or messaged in the three weeks he’d been back in Wilmingson. He didn’t blame them. They had their own lives.
“I don’t know,” he answered. “Maybe New York, maybe out west to California.”
Neither of those places seemed particularly appealing, but the anonymity those places afforded certainly did.
Phoenix wrinkled his nose. “You would willingly move somewhere like that? With all the noise and lights and the…people.” He managed to make the last word sound like something of a curse, and Ace couldn’t hide his grin.
“It’s not the worst thing in the world. You get used to the noise, and the people, well, no one knows who you are, so it isn’t like they’re constantly trying to talk to you. Not like here.”
He hadn’t meant for that last part to slip out.
To his surprise, Phoenix nodded. “Yes, I know what you mean. It’s why I live out here. No one to talk to.”
Was it Ace’s imagination, or was there a note of sadness in his voice? No, it had to be in his head. Phoenix had chosen to live out here, after all.
“I’m starting to see the appeal,” he said with a small smile. He waited a few minutes, letting silence descend once more, before clearing his throat. “I know you said no, and I respect that—I do. But I really, really need a break right now. There wouldn’t be any cameras, just you and me doing a few interviews. Just so I can see your creative process. I’ll be totally professional, I promise. What do you say?”