Brazen Mistakes (Brazen Boys #3)

23. Walker

Chapter 23

Walker

T here’s a knock on my door before seven, when I only finished working on the masks at two, yanking me out of a dream that was just about to get interesting. With a groan, I poke my toes into my slippers and shuffle to the door.

Clara’s leaning against the frame, black circles under her eyes, slight hollows forming in her cheeks. “Hey,” she says, a grin strung across her face like a piece of poorly stretched canvas.

I immediately bundle us both into my bed, wanting to fix her, but knowing I can’t.

It makes me want to do crazy things, this need to make things better for her, to repair her life so she can sleep, and eat, and smile without it looking like it physically harms her.

”Couldn’t sleep?” I ask, already knowing the answer.

“I did for a bit.”

“Did you eat anything when you got back with Jansen? ”

The silence is answer enough.

“Are you just not hungry?” I press, not knowing what else to do.

She turns, dark eyes meeting mine in the blackness of a winter morning. “Can we just, I don’t know, not talk?”

My guts twist with the switch, her request to do the one thing she wouldn’t let me get away with a month ago. “Are you sure that’s the solution?”

Her forehead presses against my chest, and I can’t help but pull her closer. “Not for forever. I know that. But just for now. Until things calm down? Until I have time to sort through all the shit in my head and make it turn into words?”

I bite my lip. She’s falling apart in front of me, and I don’t know what else to do. “Do you think things are going to calm down? We’re all going to graduate by summer while still building this business. And Trips’ family being what it is, I’m not sure you’re going to be safe after this one party. Trips says he gets his stubbornness from his dad.” I pause, not sure about what I want to say. But it needs to be said. “I guess I’m asking if we should set a date to talk. I’m happy to give you time to process, Clara. But I can’t just wait and worry forever. You’ve been there. It’s the not knowing that sucks.”

A shuddery breath rocks through her rib cage. “I get it. How about the Saturday before the semester starts?”

Weeks. Almost three of them.

I’ve never been so grateful to have fallen for a girl at the same time as my friends. Because no matter where or how she crumbles, one of us will be there to catch her, to piece her back together .

Without them, I would push this, ask for her to reconsider living with the horror that’s literally eating away at her, stealing her sleep and her hunger for anything besides the euphoria of a good afterglow.

But with them? I can worry. I will worry. But I won’t worry alone. “Okay. If that’s a deadline you can live with, we’ll go with that.”

Her ribs collapse under my palms as she exhales the last of the air she had in her lungs. “Thank you.”

She rolls into the little spoon position, slotting her body against mine, and I wrap myself around her, staring at the dark splotches on the easel across from us. In daylight, it’s a study of Clara’s curls, more impressionistic than I usually play with, focusing on color and movement rather than accurate reproduction, but right now, it looks like smears of black on white canvas. “How was boosting cars with Jansen?”

Her chuckle melts some of the worry away. “I don’t even know how to explain it. I’ve never felt so simultaneously watchful, fearful, and powerful before. It was like I was yanking all the instinctual bits of myself to the surface at once.”

“So a rush?”

“Such a fucking rush.”

“Do you think you’ll go with him again?”

“We’re already planning on going again next week.”

I trace the edges of her fingers as I smile into her curls. “Jansen’s got to be thrilled to have a partner in crime.”

“He’s an excellent teacher.”

“Really? ”

She laces her fingers with mine, halting my exploration. “Really. He’s patient and encouraging, while still giving honest feedback. He said next time I get to pick the house we hit.”

“Already?”

“If you’d asked me this afternoon, I would have said there’s no way I’d be ready to do that. But after tonight, I feel pretty confident that I know what to look for. Although if the snow melts, I’m shit out of luck.”

I laugh. “Tracks in the snow are a key part of your training?”

“Apparently.”

“I never realized snow could substitute for criminal training wheels.”

She whips around and punches me in the shoulder, then covers her mouth, eyes wide at her reaction, scrambling from the bed as I groan and chuckle, rolling to sitting, the blankets pooling around me. “Come here, you little slugger,” I say, gesturing her back to me.

Her hand drops to her thigh, and even if I can’t see it, I can tell she’s drumming it against her leg. “I’m so, so sorry. I don’t know what came over me.”

Pulling her back to the blankets, I kiss her, trying to soothe the sudden waves of fear she’s projecting out like some kind of radioactive compound. “No harm, no foul. Although you might have to kiss my arm better. That was a surprisingly solid punch.”

She immediately kisses my bicep, her tongue slipping out and tracing a line up to my shoulder, making goosebumps erupt across my skin.

“Trips taught me how to punch the other night.”

“Then I’m lucky you didn’t break anything of mine. ”

She scoffs, settling into the nest of my crossed legs, our pelvises locked together, kissing me until I’m lightheaded.

“All better?” she asks while rocking against the semi that kiss gave me.

“There might be a little bit of an ache, right here,” I tease, pointing at my lips, and she grins before kissing me again, rubbing against me, trying to escalate, to escape whatever is going on in her head.

Sliding my hands through her hair, my palms resting against her jaw, I halt her, hating to stop, but like everything with Clara right now, I don’t know what else to do.

Sex is great. But I don’t want to be used as an escape. I want to be the masterpiece, not the paint. Fuck. I can’t say that to her. Not right now.

I slide on a grin, making sure it reaches my eyes. I promised her no masks. And this isn’t one. It’s me trying to take care of her. “As fun as this is, I think sleep might be a better choice, and we can revisit this moment in the morning, when there’s light for me to appreciate all of you, and toothpaste so my morning breath doesn’t murder you.”

“It’s not so bad.”

“Maybe not, but still, I think sleep needs to happen first.”

She pouts, all but flouncing into the blankets. “Fine. But you’d better hold me until I wake up.”

“That I can do.”

Cuddled together, hoping for sleep, the window slowly brightens from black to gray, Clara still tense in my arms.

“I love you,” I whisper, all truth but part apology for removing her best coping method from her .

She shifts even closer to me. “I love you, too,” she whispers as we both watch color return to the room, sleep eventually finding us, but not until the day is bright, and the house is humming with movement. Too little.

Too late.