So I sit there, gripping Harper until the sun has begun to dip in the sky, until our stomachs growl from the scent drifting through the single-glazed windows.
“Promise you’ll stay with me forever,” I ask, my voice rough against the dryness of my throat. I have no right to demand so much of Harper, but she’s the only solid, tangible thing I have. All I know is my love for her. Peeling back just enough to look down at me, I’m lost in her patient beauty. In her silent strength.
“I will,” she smiles, then tilts her head. “But forever can wait one more day.”
Chapter Thirty Three
By the time Clayton’s truck rattles back onto campus, the sky has deepened into that inky blue that feels heavier than night has any right to be. The frat house looms ahead of us, a dark structure lacking light or life. I keep twisting in the passenger seat, half-expecting Rhys to be there, even though I’m the one who insisted he stay behind. Toying with the cuff of my sleeve, I settle back, chewing on my lower lip.
It’s ridiculous to miss him this much, considering he’ll be back in the morning, but it’s for the best. All through dinner, he remained pressed against my side, his thigh glued to mine like he needed the contact to stay seated. While Phillip proudly ladled out bowls of his spicy parsnip soup from his tiny kitchen, Rhys’ arm remained banded around me, his thumb rubbing circles into my hip.
The atmosphere was warm, and it had nothing to do with the electric heater in the corner or the candles on the table. Phillip spoke of his vegetable patch, of how he tends the yard out back while Della watches from the porch, and how he reads to her every evening without fail. Della smiled when she was supposed to, but couldn’t help from staring at Rhys longingly,desperate for the connection she’s been waiting years to reignite. In return, Rhys kept his head lowered, content to let me carry the conversation.
Although the evening was perfectly pleasant, it remained strictly surface level. It became apparent to me that while Rhys barely touched his soup and Phillip filled the silence with small talk, the three of them wouldn’t be able to delve into what they really wanted to say with Clay and me there. They need space, and I wasn’t going to stand in the way of that.
Pulling into the garage and killing the engine, Clay looks to me with a frown pinched between his brows. Apparently, I’m not the only one having reservations.
“I really don’t think we should have left him there,” Clay murmurs, his hand lingering on the key as if preparing to gun us all the way back on a rescue mission. “Aren’t his moods a little… unstable?”
“They are,” I admit quietly, unbuckling my seatbelt. “And that’s exactly why he needed to stay. Rhys needs to face this without hiding behind me. There might be some ugly truths they all need to face, and they won’t be able to do that whilst I’m acting as the middleman.”
I hug my arms around myself as I hop out of the truck, the evening air sharp against my skin. With every step I take, I remind myself that this was the right thing to do. That it’s just one night, and then we’ll be back together. Still, as the door shuts behind us and the familiar quiet of the house wraps around my receivers, I can’t shake the feeling that I’ve left a part of myself behind on that porch with him, waiting in the dark.
Clayton doesn’t say anything at first, his silence is heavy as we simply stand in the kitchen, lost to our own thoughts. I wonder if he’s picturing the same thing I am. Rhys perched on the sagging couch, his mother dozing under a blanket, his father trying to pretend the past twenty years didn’t just collapse inon itself. I just hope Rhys is open-minded. His parents tried to protect him in their own way, and the real Phillip Waversea was left with an impossible decision. To save his dying wife or risk everything to reclaim his son.
“I still can’t believe Fiona is the mother of the imposter parading around the manor,” I say, filling in the silence, my mind working overtime. Huffing a laugh, I start making connections, piecing together the jigsaw that is Rhys’ life. “I bet there was no NDA. She just didn’t want to expose her own son.”
“She did give you the hospital record. I suppose that was her way of reaching out without burning any bridges.” Clay lifts a shoulder in a shrug and reaches for my hand. Brushing his thumb over my knuckles in that grounding presence he has, we move through the house quietly, as if making any noise would shatter whatever fragile calm we’re clinging to. The stairs creak beneath our feet as we climb, and with every step, the tension in my chest shifts, loosening just a fraction.
When we reach Rhys’ room, Clay closes the door behind us and pauses to lean his forehead against mine for a moment, his shoulders rising and falling with a slow exhale. I watch the lines of his body outlined in the low light, sensing the ache he’s holding in.
“I didn’t…” I swallow, glancing up into his endless onyx eyes. “I thought you’d be celebrating about having a night without Rhys.” I smile weakly. Clay chuckles lightly, but it’s short lived.
“Oh, I am. There’s just this gnawing unease I can’t quite shift. It’s a lot…finding out your dad isn’t your dad, your mom isn’t dead, but she’s really ill.” The way he trails off makes my heart squeeze.
If there’s anyone who knows what it’s like to watch his mom deteriorate, to know the inevitable is closer than you’d care to admit, it’s Clayton.
Winding my arms around his neck, I pull him into me, only now thinking of the toll today must have had on him. That it has had on all of us. We’re a trio now, our pain is shared, and our grief is connected. Pressing my cheek between his shoulder blades, I breathe him in, that familiar mix of soap and something uniquely him.
“Clay,” I whisper, the overwhelming warmth burning through my chest too much to withhold. He hums softly in response, his arms tightening around me as if bracing for whatever I’m about to say. I lift my head just enough to look at him, my fingers flexing where they rest at the nape of his neck, holding to the solid reality of him. My heart is pounding, loud in my ears, but it’s not fear slicing through my chest. It’s the opposite.
“I love you. Like, I’m head over heels in love with you. You’re my rock, always there when I need someone to lean on, but you’re sensitive too. Understanding, considerate, and despite everything Rhys did to you in the past, you feel empathy for him. You’re quietly strong and vulnerable at the same time, always thinking of others before yourself. I’ve never met anyone like you, and my god, I love you for it.”
For half a second, he just stares at me, like his brain needs time to catch up with his heart. Then his face breaks into the most radiant, unguarded smile I’ve ever seen on him. A laugh bursts from his chest, breathless and disbelieving, as he cups my face in his hands.
“Oh, Harper,” he says, my name holding so much reverence. “I’ve been in love with you for so long, it’s embarrassing.” Clay snorts to himself softly, his eyes unwavering, his touch warm on my face. “I love every version of you. The fierce one, the soft one, the stubborn one who pretends she doesn’t need anybody else.”
“That one’s a liar,” I smirk. “She needs you, and she needs Rhys.” There’s a flicker of doubt within, wondering if my lastomission would break the spell we’re under. Clay’s thumbs stroke beneath my eyes, his head dipping in a slight nod.
“I know. I accept that.” As if a dam has broken free, emotion slams into me so hard, it steals my breath. Before I can say anything else, Clay wraps his arms around me and lifts me clean off the floor. I squeal, the sound lighter than ever as I cling to him, spinning us around like he can’t contain the joy cocooning us. Our laughter spills into the room, blurring everything away. The house, the day, the weight of what we’ve uncovered, until there’s just this. Just us.
Clay’s breath is warm against my temple, the steady thrum of his heart reminding me that it beats for me. My mouth finds his first, unable to stand an inch of separation between us any longer. His tongue responds in an instant, meeting mine between hurried lips and locked limbs. Threading my fingers through his hair, I pull him closer, my thoughts scattering. All that exists is Clay holding me, kissing me, loving me.
Lowering me onto the bed, Rhys’ bed, I don’t hesitate in tugging him down with me. Clay’s hands trace my arms, my shoulders, like he’s memorizing me all over again. He kisses my neck in feather-light touches, a whisper of warmth that sends a shiver down my spine. I close my eyes and sink into the sensation, into the safety of him.
Every barrier Clay reaches, he removes. The collar of my hoodie and T-shirt sees them tugged free, my receivers popping off too. The strap of my bra sees the clasp being unclipped, baring my breasts to his mouth. I groan at the wetness of Clay’s tongue, circling the metal bar through my nipple, tenderly drawing my back into an arch. All the while, my fingers remain laced in his hair, following his descent down my stomach.
The mattress dips and shifts, his knees lowering to tug my jeans free. Bending over the thong Rhys picked out for me this morning, Clay simply breathes over the fabric. My core clenchesat the close proximity of his mouth, whimpering pleas escaping me. Clay hovers there, his hands drawing patterns over my thighs until he finally pries them open and descends. Sucking the fabric into his mouth, I feel him pause, simply inhaling and tasting the dampness of my pussy.
