Page 214

Then he laughs, sharp with disbelief. “Another what?”

My face burns. “You know.”

He must. He has to feel the heat coming off of me. He has to see it in the way I can’t stand flat on my feet without shifting.

“No, Paul, I actually need you to use your big-boy words here.”

The panic is still in my chest, hot and crowded, pressing against my ribs with nowhere to go. Lawyers. Dogs. Jessica. Renny. Clint. Want. Shame. Everything stacked on everything.

I cover my face with both hands.

“It’s all wrong.”

The bed shifts. When Clint speaks again, his voice is more awake.

“Okay.”

I drag my hands down my face.

He’s sitting up now, sheet pooled in his lap, eyes on me instead of the mess I gestured at.

“You need to sit,” he says.

“I’m fine.”

“Nope. Too much energy for morning.” He pats the mattress beside him. “Sit your naked ass down.”

I want to argue, but it fails somewhere in my throat.

For a while, I don’t say anything. The mattress is too soft under me. Clint is too warm beside me. The open door makes the room feel safe in a way I don’t understand.

“I feel stuck,” I say finally.

Clint waits.

“Under all of it. Renny’s things. My things. Things I thought were mine until he died and I realized I had no idea what belonged to me at all.” The words come out unevenly. Not polished. Not sexy. “I came here telling myself it was for him. For tradition. To honor what we always did.”

“But it wasn’t?”

“It was.” I look at my hands. “But it wasn’t.”

Clint shifts beside me, still not touching.

“I think I wanted to let something go,” I say. “I thought if I came here, I could… I don’t know. Stand in the right place and become someone else. Or become myself. Whatever that means.”

“Instead, you found me swimming in your pool.”

My laugh is small and useless.

Clint’s hand lands on my chest. It isn’t sexual, though my body is apparently too dim to understand distinctions anymore.

The pressure stills me.

“What do you want?” he asks.

My throat tightens.

The first answer is easy—him. I want his weight pushing the air right out of me. I want his rough fingers scratching at my skin. Want his taste at the edge of my throat again.