I’m closer to fifty than I am to forty, and I think my ship has sailed. After the disastrous relationship with Ryan’s mother, it left me picking up the pieces for so many years that I couldn’t trust another soul again.
Packing up at the office, I turn off the lights and lock up. As I pass by reception, I tell everyone to have a good weekend before taking the elevator down to the garage.
Thinking about how to improve it on my drive home, I figure I’ll drop an email next week asking whether anyone has ideas. I’ve increased wages and given more leeway in getting your work done. If you can do it better at home, or from a beach, who the hell am I to judge?
I’ve been generous since everyone works so well together, and I like to think that even though I’m the boss, they appreciate the tight-knit community we’ve built.
Understanding work-life balance for others is important to me, and although I don’t always get it, productivity has skyrocketed since I made certain things mandatory.
Once I hit my street, I drive my Lexus to the end and pull into the garage. I thought I’d be sent out for a business meeting, but thankfully not.
I’ll have to go down and see if Ryan has the rent money. Just because we have money doesn’t mean he gets a free ride.
That kid has tested the limits of my patience. He’s like his fucking mother, a drunk.
I’ve wanted to kick him out of my house for months, but I hesitate because of Clara. God, he’s really punching above his weight class. She could do so much better.
Ryan’s past girlfriends have met his drunken anger; several women I’ve passed on their way out with bruised, tear-stained faces. I’ve spent many nights talking to him about it, trying to get him to enroll in anger management or therapy.
I’ve offered and gone so far as to drop him off at a retreat, but I can’t make him stay to do the work. His deep hatred of women might stem from his mother leaving, but that doesn’t give him an excuse to take it out on other people.
He needs to work that shit out.
With Clara, I’d do anything for her. She never asks, but I’d love nothing more than to show her the good the world offers. I’veseen some of the same patterns from times before, and as much as I’ve tried, she won’t open up to me.
She sticks up for Ryan and keeps a flawless exterior. The edges have cracked over the last year, and I wish I could be there for her more.
I’ve warned Ryan several times that if things escalate with Clara, he will be kicked out and I will disown him. He has no right to abuse or control anyone because he thinks that way.
Clara came to live with us a couple of years ago. She’d been homeless for a year, and once she met Ryan, I told him she could live here.
Her worthless stepfather kicked her out over something stupid. He’s been in the back of my mind to take care of, but I can’t go around killing people because they piss me off.
Although I have connections, I don’t use them for personal reasons. When the job calls for someone to be put down, we use them, but otherwise I don’t want to bring work home.
I walk to the side of the house, and a line of beer bottles come into view.
Making my way over to their patio, I trip over one and fall forward, whacking my head off the brick.
Placing my hands on the house, I give my head a shake to try and sway the dizziness away. Fucking hell, I’ve told him more times than I can count not to leave bottles out here.
Picking up the brown bottles, the world spins as I stand, and I notice something red drying on the grey brick of the house. Lifting my hand to my head, wetness coats my fingers and my brain feels fuzzy. The liquid drying isn’t mine, and my stomach twists in knots.
Taking a step toward the patio walkout, I stare through the glass. Clara is standing with her hands on her hips, looking around the kitchen. Her dark hair is pinned up in ahigh ponytail, but the black shadow across her face tells me everything.
I knew he was back to his old ways, but I didn’t realize it was physical—not that one is better than the other, but I thought my warnings were working. After he went to therapy for a few months, I thought I had reached him.
I watch for a few more minutes. Ryan is tied to a chair, and Clara seems frustrated as she waves her hands and sifts through things on the counter.
Clenching my jaw, I stomp away from the door and head to the garage. I pace, wondering what to do.
I would love nothing more than to be her knight and save her from everything bad in her world, but that’s not what a woman like her wants. Clara is so fucking strong. The armour she wraps herself in is there for a reason, and I won’t minimize her strength.
Setting the bottles into the recycling bin, I unsteadily trot up the stairs and into the house.
After hanging up my suit jacket in the hall, I round the corner to the kitchen and grab a tea towel to stop the blood from running down my face, with my other hand I grasp my knife block.
I don’t want to take away her power, but like fuck will I let her struggle with whatever plans she has for him.
