Not who I was.
Not who I couldn’t be.
I head into the compound and find Stella sitting on Tank’s lap, eating a plate of hot wings. I shake my head. She’s a shameless flirt. Stella’s probably fifteen years older than Tank, and the kid seems a lot more interested in playing video games than balancing Stella’s long legs on his lap, but it’s good to see they didn’t kill each other after a day of shopping.
When Stella sees me, she points toward the hallway that leads to the bedrooms. “She’s feeding the baby,” she calls. “I told her to come eat wings with us, but she said she was full from lunch.”
I nod and head down the hallway, a weird excitement in my gut. It’s stupid, for sure, to think anything. To feel anything for this woman. She’s a widow of sorts. A single mother. A woman who’s got a long road ahead of her before she can even think about dealing with whatever she left behind, but I feel my fist tighten around the plastic bag I’m carrying. Why the hell are my hands sweating?
I lightly knock on the door. “Claire, it’s—” But I don’t have time to get the words out before the door opens, and my jaw nearly drops to my chest.
Claire is dressed in her new clothes. She’s wearing a long yellow sundress and gold-colored flip-flops on her feet. Her hair is long and loose, and now that it’s dry and down—not in a messy, matted bun—I can see it’s agorgeous chestnut-brown color. She’s not wearing makeup, but her cheeks are flushed pink and there is the slightest hint of peach gloss on her lips. Her black eye is still swollen and angry-looking, but the rest of her is breathtakingly beautiful.
I stare at her, my mouth open, and I don’t say a thing.
“Savage?” She looks at me, her lips parted. “Are you okay?”
I hear Aurora babbling behind her, and the sound of the baby breaks me out of my trance. “Baby,” I blurt out, holding up the bag like I’m some kind of trick-or-treater expecting candy. “Here.”
She widens her eyes a bit and looks down at the bag. “What did you do now?” She shakes her head, and the long, long hair swishes over her bare shoulders. “Savage…” She motions down at her dress. “Look at this.”
“I am.” The words slip out before I can stop them. “Claire, you’re…stunning.”
She looks shocked and takes a step back. “I’m not,” she murmurs.
“Jesus, stop.” I look her over and can’t let this woman deny what she is. She’s beautiful. How the fuck could anybody have this woman and treat her like anything but a goddess? I don’t say it, though. Instead, I blurt out, “You’re…incredible.”
“Uh, thank you.” She looks uncomfortable at the compliment and motions down at herself with a hand. “Some nice clothes and a shower, and not one, but twoincredible meals at the diner apparently change a person. The clothes, the shoes… I don’t know how to thank you for all of this, Savage.”
She flicks a look at me, and something passes between us. Something that I never would have imagined when I first saw her sweating and cowering in Mad Dog’s shit truck. My heart rate picks up, and sweat breaks out along my hairline. I shove aside every instinct that tells me to move closer to her.
She’s in no position for me to make any moves—I can’t even think about it. I promised her she’d be safe here, and I’m not going to do anything to threaten that. And what the fuck is wrong with me anyway? She’s somebody’s mama and some dead guy’s widow. The last thing she’s thinking about is me.
I shake my head and will any thoughts I have about Claire—her beautiful hair, her gorgeous skin—far from my mind. I shake the bag I’m holding like it’s weighed down by feral cats. “For you,” I tell her.
She takes the bag and motions for me to come in. Little Aurora is lying on a colorful rug, playing with new toys. When she sees me, she gurgles, which is about the only noises the kid can make.
Claire smiles, and the warmth and love that I see on her face is so immense, I honestly do feel like I’ve saved a life. Maybe two. And based on the way I feel with them—protective, intrigued—I know now for sure I did the right thing. I can’t believe that the same woman who would hardly whisper, could hardly get out of thetruck yesterday, is now beside me looking over her daughter with such pride.
“She can’t crawl yet, but I blame myself for that,” Claire explains, kicking off her flip-flops and lowering herself to sit on the floor beside her daughter. She crosses her legs under her, takes a bright pink and purple toy train, and pushes it along the road that is inked into the play mat. “I’ve carried her just about everywhere her entire life. I discouraged her from exploring and crawling. There wasn’t a lot in our room with the Hellfires that was kid-friendly.”
I can’t believe she’s opening up to me, and I debate what to do. Kick off my boots and sit down with her? Sit on the bed? The couch? It all feels so personal. Like I’m in her space, even though she’s our guest. I settle for sitting back on the couch and watching from a safe distance.
“She’s smart,” I say, because I believe it with my whole heart. “She’ll catch up.”
Claire nods. “I think it’s the food too. Her coloring looks better to me. Babies are so resilient.”
She goes quiet then, and I have to fight my entire body. I want to go to her. To reassure her that adults are resilient too. That I’m sorry she and her daughter have to be strong like they are. That they can now breathe and just heal. They deserve it after all they’ve been through.
As much as I want to comfort Claire, I’m not sure what I believe. If I believe that we can fully get over the shit that kicked us down and beat us bloody in ourpasts. But if there is anyone on this earth I want that healing for, it’s Claire.
She peeks at the bag I brought. “What are these?” she asks.
I clear my throat against the clot of emotion that feels lodged in my sternum. “A baby monitor,” I tell her. “So, you can keep an eye on your girl if you want to cook in the kitchen or even just leave the room to hang out with the assholes.” I chuckle. “Or Stella. She’ll introduce you to the other girls, but getting any of them to play babysitter…” I shake my head. “If you’re comfortable, use it.”
Claire’s eyes—even the bruised one—widen when she pulls the slim box holding the brand-new laptop from the bag. “Savage… I can’t…”
“You can,” I tell her. “You got family, use the phone. I’ll re-up the plan if you use all the minutes. You want to email anybody, read the news, I don’t know…” I gesture toward the device. “It’s a low-end model, but I figured something’s better than nothing.”
