“You see what I’m like, George. This is my fucked-up life.”
“I know.”
“You’re okay with this?”
“No. No, I’m not okay with that.” She pointed at the law enforcement’s orderly mayhem, examining every inch of her home. As if it were only natural, he sank into the empty space beside her, and she put a hand on the hot cotton covering his chest, patted her fingertips over his heart, and said, “But I’m good with this.”
She tilted her head back, so close his breath heated her skin as his eyes flicked over her face, seeking, she thought, some kind of confirmation, some sign of strength; she did her best to give it to him.
“Stay,” she whispered, finally wrapping her arms around him and begging with her body, her heat, her heart. “Stay with me.”
OceanofPDF.com
21
A full twenty-four hours went by before they could return to George’s house, and it had been another twenty-four since then, but the clarity in Clay’s brain had yet to disappear. There’d been some fuzzy moments, like when he’d buried his face in his woman’s neck, or after they’d fucked in their bed at a local B&B. He’d awakened wrapped up in her, close and warm and sweaty, her eyes still soppy wet with tears. Those moments had been soft and blurry at the edges, but what blurred them wasn’t confusion or pain or any of those other things he’d drowned in for years—it was happiness.
His happiness.
Love, apparently, didn’t have the hard edges he’d learned to associate with it.
Love wasn’t pain. That was probably the lesson here, although it might be a little while before he truly took that one on board and made it his own.
Right now, though, Clay felt sort of…at peace with things, which wasn’t entirely comfortable when strife was your constant MO. And yes, it was all new—as new as the henhouse he’d built today to surprise George. But new was okay, and sometimes, adjusting wasn’t so much painful as it was a voyage of discovery.
The knock at George’s door surprised him, and he hesitated before glancing toward the front of the house, thinking about Tyler and whoever else might come back to turn his life upside down.
After a few seconds, he walked through the kitchen, down the hall, and to the open front door.
“Evening, Clay,” the sheriff said, smiling through the screen, six-pack in hand.
“Come on in, Sheriff.”
He led the man to the back porch, where they each snagged a can and popped it open.
“You doing okay?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good.” Steve looked around. “Place looks good.”
“Can’t take credit for that.”
The dark eyes focused on his. “No?”
“Take it this isn’t police business, since we dealt with all of that already.” He lifted his beer. “Also this.”
“No, son” was all Steve said.
“What can I do for you?”
“Well, first of all, we got the kids’ class tomorrow. Just wanted to make sure you were gonna be there.”
Clay sighed. “Look, man, you don’t have to—”
“I know I don’t. Now just…hold your tongue for a second and listen, will you?”
Clay nodded and did as he was told.
