Gerald.
Claire's told me about him. About the way he controlled her mother. About the pressure to marry Derek, the perfect youth pastor who turned out to be anything but. About the suffocating expectations and the guilt trips and the years of being told she wasn't good enough unless she was exactly what he wanted her to be.
"Who's asking?"
"Gerald Mitchell." He steps further into the shop, his eyes cataloging everything. The tools. The sculptures. The stairs leading to my apartment. "Claire's mother is worried sick. She left without a word, stopped answering her phone. We've been looking for her for weeks."
"Maybe she doesn't want to be found."
His jaw tightens. "She's confused. Going through a difficult time after her engagement ended. She needs to come home where her family can take care of her."
"Seems to me she's doing just fine taking care of herself."
Something flickers in his eyes. Anger, barely contained beneath that polished exterior.
"I know who you are," he says. "Maxwell Reaves. Navy SEAL, medically discharged. You served with her father."
"That's right."
"I also know you've been sending money to Catherine for years. Anonymous donations to Claire's college fund." He takes another step forward. "Very generous of you. Very... calculated."
The implication is clear. Ugly. It takes everything I have not to cross the distance between us and put my fist through his face.
"You should leave."
"Not without Claire."
"She's not a child. She can make her own decisions."
"Can she?" His smile is thin and cruel. "Because from where I'm standing, it looks like a vulnerable young woman ran straight into the arms of a man twice her age who's been grooming her since childhood."
The word grooming hits me like a bullet to the chest.
Because isn't that what I've been afraid of all along? That I somehow manipulated this situation. That Claire's feelings for me are based on grief and childhood memories rather than anything real.
"That's not what this is."
"No? Then what is it?" Gerald moves closer, close enough that I can smell his expensive cologne. "You watched her grow up. Attended her birthday parties. Sent money like you were waiting for her to turn eighteen. And now here she is, in your bed, barely legal and completely dependent on you."
"She's twenty three."
"She's a child compared to you." His voice drops. "What would Marcus think? His best friend, sleeping with his daughter?"
The name is a knife between my ribs.
I've asked myself that question a thousand times over the past two weeks. Lying awake at night with Claire curled against me, I've wondered if Marcus would hate me for this. If the promise I made to protect his daughter has been twisted into something unforgivable.
Gerald sees the doubt on my face. His smile widens.
"You know I'm right. You know this is wrong. Whatever you think you feel for her, it's not real. It's guilt and obligation dressed up as love."
"You don't know anything about what I feel."
"I know enough." He pulls a card from his pocket and sets it on my workbench. "Catherine and I are staying at the Mountain Haven Inn. When you're ready to do the right thing, you know where to find us."
He turns and walks out without another word.
I stand frozen for a long moment. The heat of the forge does nothing to chase away the cold spreading through my chest.
