Brazen Mistakes (Brazen Boys #3)

15. Clara

Chapter 15

Clara

“ W ait, wait!” I yell after him, stumbling over Walker’s feet as he struggles upright as well, both of us giving chase.

Jansen’s laugh trails behind him as he flings open the front door and takes off down the porch and around the side of the house, leaving Walker and me stunned at the entryway.

“Did he really just…” Walker asks, staring at the last place we saw Jansen.

“Yup.” We look at each other in shock, the wind buffeting the snow from the banister to settle on my bare toes.

The giggles take over just as Jansen appears on the other side of the house, howling about how cold it is.

It’s bitter out tonight.

And his feet are as bare as the rest of him.

“Jansen, wait, stop, you’ll freeze! Or get arrested! ”

“Beautiful, this is for you!” he yells as he vanishes around the corner again.

“Oh my God,” I choke out, tears leaking from my eyes.

Hoots start up from the party house next door, and four guys crowd onto their porch, beers in hand as they rush to the edge, waiting for Jansen to sprint by again.

“What’d he do?” one guy shouts across at us.

“Told a secret that wasn’t his to tell,” Walker yells back.

“What the fuck is going on?” Trips asks from behind Walker and me.

I motion at the front yard, like that means something, while Walker says, “You’ve got to see it to believe it, man. It’s, oh my God. Here he comes.”

Jansen’s yelling nonsense as he books it past the front porch for his last lap.

“Is he…” Trips starts, trailing off as Jansen’s naked ass disappears around the side of the house, yells and jeers from next door following him.

“Yup,” Walker chokes out through his laughter.

“I…this…what the fucking hell is wrong with you people?”

The thump of Trips’ feet on the stairs disappears as Jansen dashes around the house one last time, catapulting up the stairs and plowing straight into me, as the guys next door roar with laughter. He tosses us both onto the pile of pillows scattered around his meditation space, me somehow landing on top of him.

“I think I frostbit my balls.”

“You’re an idiot, Trouble. What were you thinking?” I say, his chest chilly against my cheek as I debate the merits of a blanket from the living room or just crawling into bed with him.

“Forgive me?”

“Only if you didn’t damage any important bits.”

Walker chokes out a laugh as he slams the door shut, a box and an envelope in his arms. “Which parts are you counting as important? Because I’m not sure how his brain is faring right now.”

Jansen plants a kiss on my lips then hops up, taking me with him to the living room where he covers all that yummy, albeit chilly, skin with clothes. Walker trails us, the smile slowly falling from his face.

“What is it?” I ask, watching him finger the envelope.

“You have mail. A box and an envelope.”

The levity flashes out of existence. “Any return address?” I ask as Jansen yanks on his sweatshirt and pulls me into the circle of his arms.

“Nope. None of that mess tonight. I deny its existence,” he says, his nose burrowed into my hair.

Walker tosses the envelope onto the coffee table. “The box is safe. It’s from Emma.”

I glance at the envelope, blue this time. “Bad news first, presents second.”

“I thought you didn’t want presents?” Jansen asks.

“I didn’t want to celebrate, but I forgot to tell Emma. And she’s big on getting real mail, so she’s always mailed her gift like a weirdo. I sent her a pair of tickets to one of her favorite bands a few days ago. As I haven’t gotten a screaming phone call yet, I have to assume they haven't made it there yet.”

The three of us stare at the envelope. “Band-Aid off time,” I grumble, reaching down and tearing into it.

A photo of a dog gazing out a window graces the front of this card, “Thinking of You” scrawled across it in sentimental cursive. Inside, it’s blank, but once again, there’s a photo. This time, of me tucked against Trips’ chest, Walker cuddled behind me, awkwardly framed through a gap in my closed curtains. Two nights ago.

Scraped in jagged letters across the bottom, Bryce has once again left me a message. “Bad girls get punished.”

I shudder, dropping the photo and flopping back into Trips’ chair. “Still not particularly inventive there, Bryce. I agree with Jansen. I don’t want this tonight.”

Both guys look at the photo, Jansen’s fists tight, Walker’s eyes squeezed shut while his breath stutters in and out.

“Fuck.” Walker scoops up the photo and marches from the room.

Closing my eyes, I try to capture some of the playfulness I felt earlier, but it’s ephemeral. Gone.

Weight settles on my lap, and I open my eyes to Jansen squatting next to the chair, my present from Emma on my thighs. “It’s not a solution, but maybe it’ll cheer you up?”

“I was just fucking cheerful. I’m so mad right now, Jansen. So furious. And I’m moving out of my room until this is fixed.”

Jansen grins. “You know my bed always has space for you. But we need something more permanent than bed hopping. Everyone needs a place for just themselves, even you, Clara.”

I open the box instead of answering.

Inside I find a pile of bottles: seven different flavored syrups. Dark chocolate, white chocolate, and caramel, I expect. What I don’t expect are the bottles labeled lavender, blood orange, rose, and hibiscus. At the bottom she’s left a piece of notebook paper. Opening it, I find her familiar round lettering, and a small piece of my anxiety settles at the normalcy.

To my best-est bestie Clara-

You’ve had a shit run of it. And I know it’s harder than you’ve told me. I know there’s more going on than you’ve shared.

I might hate it, but I get it. We all need secrets, at least for a little bit. A tiny piece of something special to hold close until we know it can survive being shared without it shattering.

So until you’re ready to let me know what’s really going on, I want you to have all the sweet and interesting things you deserve.

I love you, no matter what’s going on or what you’re willing to share.

Emm a

I’m choking back sobs, my stomach dropping. Jansen takes the box of syrups away from me, clutching both of my hands in his calloused ones. “Clara?”

“I hate lying to her. I hate it so much.”

Jansen’s green eyes glitter with shared tears. “I hate the lying, too. It gets easier the longer you do it, but in some ways, that’s worse.”

“I don’t want to hurt her. I need her. I can’t push her away, Jansen. She’s the only friend I have left, and she’s amazing. How can I keep her without putting her in danger, too?”

He doesn’t say anything. Maybe because sometimes, there isn’t an easy answer.