I follow him out to his truck, and he drives us to a little diner about twenty minutes away from the island, which is small and mostly empty. He takes us to a booth by one of the windows, and the lady behind the counter brings over coffee straight away while looking at me curiously. She takes our order before going back over to the counter.
I wrap my hands around my mug, and across the table Clay is looking at his phone, scrolling and hyper-focused. I leave him to it for a few minutes, then curiosity finally gets the better of me, and when I peek at what he is reading, I glimpse Kyle’s address, schedule, and Nixie’s name in the notes.
He angles the screen away when he notices me looking, but it’s too late. He places the phone face down next to his cup of coffee. “I can’t let him get away with hurting my sister.”
I stare at him across the table. “So what are you going to do?”
He regards me for a long moment, but before he answers, the server brings out our food and places it down in front of us.
“A gentle warning,” he says once she is gone.
And that is how I know we are not just driving past Kyle’s apartment on the way home.
While I should tell him to take me to my place first—I should absolutely not get involved in whatever Clay considers a gentle warning to a man who cheated on me, lied about me to his new girlfriend, and then sent her to harass me at work—I only have to think about it for a second. “I’m coming with you.”
“No.”
“Clay, I’m coming,” I repeat more forcefully. “And before you tell me to stay in the car, if you leave me there, I will just get out.”
He scowls at me for a long moment, then puts his fork down.
“You stay behind me,” he says. “And you let me handle it.”
“Sure.”
“Kayla—”
“I heard you.”
Once we finish breakfast, he drives toward Kyle’s. He is quiet the entire time, focused on the road with both hands on the wheel. The building is as nice as I remember it. Clay parks across the street and glances toward me before we get out. “Just remember he deserves this.”
Kyle comes out of the building right as we reach the entrance, his gym bag tossed over his shoulder, and he stops dead when he sees me. His eyes move to Clay, and he does the thing men do when they size someone up. “Kayla,” he says carefully. “What is this?”
“This is a friendly conversation,” Clay says, and his voice is anything but friendly. “About Jess.”
Kyle’s expression shifts. “I don’t know what she said, but...”
“You told her Kayla was stalking you,” Clay says. “That she cheated and was harassing you.” He tilts his head slightly. “Funny thing is, Kayla has every message you sent her and every missed call. Jess scrolled through all of it. What I would like to know is which part of the story you want to stand behind.”
Kyle says nothing as his gym bag slides off his shoulder.
“That’s what I thought.” Clay takes one step closer, and his voice drops further. “You are going to call off whatever you have going on with Jess. Today.” He lets that sit for a second. “And you don’t go near Kayla again. Not the bar. Or her street. Not anywhere she might be.”
Kyle looks at me, the way he has always done when he wants me to feel sorry for him after he lies. “Is this your new boyfriend?”
I open my mouth, but Clay speaks first.
“She isn’t my girlfriend.” One more step and Kyle is now pressed against the wall of his building with nowhere to go. Clay’s voice is almost pleasant. “But she’s mine. And you don’t want to know what I do to men who look at what’s mine the way you are looking at her right now—like she owes you something. She doesn’t owe you a single fucking thing.”
Kyle laughs, though it’s filled with nerves. “That doesn’t even make...”
Clay hits him once, and Kyle folds, going down beside his gym bag.
Clay crouches to his level. “Jess. Kayla. Both of them. You are done. Nod if you understand me.”
Kyle nods, and Clay stands. Then he straightens his jacket and turns back to me like nothing happened. He jerks his head toward the car and starts walking.
I fall into step beside him. “She isn’t my girlfriend, she’s mine,” I say back to him in a voice that sounds like him. “You know that makes no sense.”
