I don’t know what to do.
Chapter 16
Clara
Ispend the rest of the week doing things I can control.
I fold my laundry and stack my threadbare clothes back in their boxes, another pair of jeans so worn in the knees that I turn them into shorts. Not helpful now, but at least I’ll have them in the summer. I stare at the designer clothes that came back with me from Trips’—the plain gray sweater and black slacks, the plummy pink silk tank top—and I note the absence of a very expensive designer dress.
The ring box appears on my desk one afternoon, and I don’t ask who brought it in. I don’t want to know. I shove it in the bottom of my backpack, not wanting to deal with it. See it. Acknowledge it.
RJ and I go for a run, passing Trips and Jansen on their way back, the silence between the men in my life grating. But what can they say?
This isn’t something fixed by words.
It’s only fixed by actions.
So I work on my written code, experimenting with writing in reverse like I learned to do in elementary school, with my shorthand I’ve used for notes, looking up the kinds of abbreviations court reporters use, and historic codes from various world wars. Makes me wish I’d talked Marie into teaching me Ojibwa in high school instead of just gossiping about guys and complaining about our English teacher or Coach Smith making us do burpees until we felt like we’d pass out.
Spanish is too common a language, but I play with it too, hoping to make something out of the jumbled-up mess I can work with.
I need to get the thoughts out of my head and onto paper.
And plain text isn’t an option anymore.
When my brain seems ready to bleed from overuse, I switch to researching being a Domme. Which feels scandalous, and I click away from the research more often than I should. I don’t know why I’m embarrassed, but I am. Only, playing that way with Jansen is fun. And super-hot. And the last thing I’d ever want to do is hurt him. So, research it is.
I set aside looking into Summer. My curiosity will just have to wait—there are more important things to figure out.
At night, tucked between the three guys that still talk to me, I stare at the ceiling and replay every word Trips’ dad said, trying to find a way out of his net.
Out of his life.
But I have no plans this time. My mind has nothing but pending grief. Terror that once again, I’m going to be caged.
Caged with a man who won’t look at me, won’t talk to me. How long can the two of us last before we grow to resent each other, unable to point that resentment where it belongs, at the gilded bars his dad locked us behind?
And cuddled up tight, Walker’s breath warm against my neck, Jansen’s hand on my hip, and RJ’s arm under my head, I’m scared that it won’t be long at all.
Friday, I get a call from Emma, and I can’t put off answering it. Even if I feel like the weight of my secrets is suffocating me.
“Hey,” I say, trying to add some light and humor into my tone, already feeling like the world’s biggest liar.
“Girl, I’m halfway back. That concert is tomorrow, right? I looked up pictures of the band, and there aren’t many, but I saw one fan picture of what has to be Jansen’s sister, and oh my God. The genes in the Pierce family really are something. And now I’m super fucking nervous. Want to come over tonight, have some girl time, and help me pick out an outfit?”
A legitimate chuckle pops out of me. “Actually, that sounds amazing.”
“Getting bored with all those boys of yours?”
“Ha. Yeah, right.” I flop back onto my mattress, the scents there comforting in a way I don’t think I’d admit to anyone. Citrus and sage, maple and pine, clean laundry and earthy sandalwood, my own floral scent tying it all together. “But I need some girl time. I’ve missed you.”
“I’ve missed you too, my love. So, how about I pick you up on my way in, we grab a pizza, and you crash at my place tonight?”
“That sounds amazing. I have a feeling I’ll have to have a guest at the beginning of this plan, though.”
“Why?”
“How do you feel about a new alarm system at your place?”
