Brazen Mistakes (Brazen Boys #3)

46. RJ

Chapter 46

RJ

B y the time we get home, I know I’ve stayed quiet for too long. Clara’s holding my hand, but the tension in her grip has been building the longer I’ve stayed silent.

There aren’t words for right now, though. None worth saying.

None worth feeling.

She and Trips told me about my dad, and all I could do was nod.

It’s a good solution. Not perfect, but it’s something, which is more than the holey offense I’ve been running. And I appreciate the help. But even that’s too much to say right now.

I need to sleep in my own bed. For maybe a day.

Then I can process. But not now. There’s nothing left.

If I try, the only thing that’ll come out of my mouth is a scream.

So. Tomorrow. Tomorrow I can talk .

Jansen has the back door open the second we pull up behind the house, and while I know he means well, both he and Walker, when they pull me into whatever you call a man hug, it still makes my skin crawl. Too much.

I slip away from them, Clara trailing behind me, her hand sweaty.

Even her palm touching mine overwhelms me, but I don’t want to let go. It’s like she’s the tether for my balloon, and if I let go, I’ll just float away.

Once we’re alone in my room, I force myself to just breathe, eyes closed against the cold dawn breaking outside my window.

Clara pulls away to shut the blinds, throwing a blanket over them for good measure. Once it’s dark, I scramble for my shower kit, needing to stand under the running water until my skin feels like my own. Once I have it in hand, I croak out a simple “Stay,” and if it comes out as more of a command than a request, well, at least I said something.

The hot water is exactly what I needed, the lights shut off, my shower cap tight around my skull. Everything is too much right now.

Instead of thinking I just breathe, leaning against the wall as the water sluices over my back. I breathe and hope that my body won’t feel foreign to me for much longer.

I breathe until the water turns cold and the sun is bright enough that the faded light in the bathroom feels blinding.

Avoiding the mirror, I dry off, both hoping and dreading what I’ll find in my room. Did she stay? Did I want her to? Would it be better to be alone right now ?

Cracking the door open, a clean, dark room greets me, Clara sitting cross-legged on my chair, her phone in her lap. She looks up, and in the dark, I can’t guess her emotions, and I don’t want to. I want to sleep. And I want her here.

Please stay quiet.

I pull on my most comfortable pajama pants and my softest t-shirt, and even they feel scratchy against my skin. I do the barest necessary to keep my braids from turning into puffballs, wrap my head, then crawl under the blanket, holding it open to Clara.

She strips down to just a t-shirt and panties, then joins me. I position her so her back is to my front, our skin only barely touching. Grounding, not overwhelming.

The light from outside shifts to the cool white of a winter morning, and I watch it, not able to relax, to process, to do much of anything besides hold Clara like she’s my personal teddy bear.

Thankfully, she falls asleep, and eventually I join her, the dark stealing the painful light from my mind.

I wake to night, my bed empty. Scrambling upright, Clara rushes to me, placing one hand gently on mine.

“You stayed,” I say.

“You asked.”

I’m pulling her to me, probably too tight, but she stayed.

No one’s ever stayed before, not that I’ve asked since I was little, but God. I pull her even tighter to me but loosen my hold as soon as she makes a little squeak of discomfort. “Sorry.”

Her dark eyes are concerned as she peeks up at me. “How are you?”

She stayed. She didn’t leave; she didn’t beg me to say anything; she didn’t give up, telling herself that she’d deal with me tomorrow. “Better. Not good, but better. What time is it?”

“Five-ish. Do you want something to eat? I think Walker’s been stress-cooking.” My lips twist up, just a bit, and Clara relaxes, pressing her palms against my chest. “You scared me,” she whispers.

“But you stayed.”

“Of course, RJ. Are you okay? I mean, I know you’re not okay, but—”

“Clara, I’ll be okay. I just don’t think I’ve ever been that scared before. I needed to know I was in a safe place. And I was. With you.”

It’s her turn to squeeze me, both of us taking pleasure in the presence of the other.

Eventually, she pulls back. “I’ll text Walker, have him bring food. Unless you want to go downstairs?”

A shudder rocks through me, unwelcome in its strength. “Not yet. Get food, but I think I just, I don’t know, need to lie here with you. Just for a while.”

She perches beside me, waiting to see how I want her to lie. Because I totally manhandled her last night. Shit.

I end up just opening my arms, and she crawls into them, resting her head on my chest. “Food can wait,” she says, and I mumble an agreement. I click on my lamp, ready for some light again .

Clara’s fingers trace the letters on my T-shirt, and the weight of her across my chest has me sighing in comfort.

Right. This is right.

“Do you want to talk about it?” she asks.

“No.”

She makes a little huff noise. “It sucks being on the other end of that answer.”

“Yup.”

She stops tracing the letters, smoothing my shirt against my chest. “Guns scare me.”

They scare me too.

Non sequitur, but okay. I rest my cheek against the top of her head, the curls soft against my skin, even as they catch a little on my stubble.

“I’ve never had one pointed at me. But once, after Bryce got mad at me for something and I’d begged for forgiveness, he’d said it was fine. That I was forgiven. Then he described in vivid detail the way he felt when he’d go deer hunting. How he’d wait for a buck to show, how time stilled before he’d fire the gun, the mixture of pride and disgust he felt for taking a life. Then he looked at me, like he’d feel the same level of disappointment at my demise as a deer. Like, if it were necessary, if it was what was best for him, he wouldn’t hesitate to pull the trigger.” She drapes her leg over me, and I stroke her back. “Sometimes that’s what wakes me up in the middle of the night. I see Bryce with a shotgun over his shoulder, a calm, sad smile on his face as he steps toward me.”

That monster deserves so much worse than he’s gotten. My guts twist, knowing she’s worried about that for years. Worried that one day her partner might just shoot her in the head with the same level of concern he’d feel for taking out a twelve-point buck. “He’s a monster. Both in real life and dreams.”

“Yeah. I just wish I’d noticed earlier.”

Me too.

I cover her hand with my own, wishing I could have protected her before now.

Her openness sparks my own. Even knowing that was her intent. Strategic. Functional. Smart. She caught me. “Having the guns pointed at me was terrifying. But somehow, that wasn’t the worst part.” I swallow, forcing myself to continue. “It was the way I had to smile at these two grown men with guns, how I had to appease them, prove to them that they were safe when I’m the one with two weapons pointed at me.”

Closing my eyes lets the words out easier, so I block out everything except the flower scent of Clara’s hair. “I mean, I’m tall, but I’m not a huge guy, not like Trips. My flashlight was shining out the back of my phone. In no world I can imagine would a cellphone with the flashlight on be mistaken for a gun, but still, I dropped it immediately when they asked. The thing’s totally busted. Even when I was cuffed in the back of a cop car, I had to keep smiling, keep saying ‘yes, sir, no, sir,’ careful not to defend myself with any sort of confidence. Because even restrained with a cage between us, I’m still seen as dangerous.”

When I open my eyes, I see Clara’s risen to her elbow, dark eyes shining with unshed tears. It’s like she’s transposed the tears that I’m too tired to shed into her own person. “RJ,” she murmurs, and I don’t want her to say anything else .

Instead I press my lips to hers, not quite a kiss, but she allows me to pull her down, draping her over my chest. I clear my throat. “You’re not only dreaming about Chicago?” I ask, not able to share more. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

She waits for a moment, then seems to allow the subject change, her voice more frustration than sadness. “No. It turns out there’s a lot that I’d decided not to remember over the years. But asleep Clara hasn’t seemed to have gotten the memo.”

We lie like that for a while. She doesn’t add anything else. And I don’t either.

Eventually, a soft knock comes to the door, and when Clara doesn’t stir, I notice that she’s once again passed out on my chest. If only it were twenty-four hours ago, I’d feel that same burbling pride that she felt safe with me.

But it’s not yesterday. It’s today. Even though I got out of there in one piece, I can’t help but feel like that was my one warning shot. My next run-in with the cops, I’m not getting that lucky. If you can even call that lucky. I guess any day you’re alive is lucky.

There’s a scratch of keys, and Walker inches the door open. I press my finger to my lips, and he nods. When he leans over and presses a kiss to Clara’s head, I once again wonder what else is broken in me that I don’t feel jealous.

It’s better this way. For her. And probably for us, too.

“You hungry?” he asks, his voice barely a whisper.

“I could eat. And I’ve got one hell of a headache.”

He pulls a can of Mountain Dew from the pouch of his sweatshirt. I take it, then inch backwards until I’m sitting up and Clara’s head is on my lap. If I weren’t so hollow right now, I’d probably spend more than a single second remembering the wet, warm heat of her mouth on me when her head’s that close to my junk, but not today.

Today, I’ll start talking again, and maybe leave my room. I can worry about getting the rest of me functioning tomorrow. “Thanks,” I say.

Walker wheels my chair over, falling into it with more drama than efficiency.

“How are you doing?” he asks.

Cracking open the can, I take a swig. But I don’t answer. I don’t know how to. I shared as much as I could with Clara, and for now, that’s going to have to be enough. Instead, I shrug. “Did she eat today?” I ask instead.

Walker slumps, staring at the woman draped across my lap. “She managed one piece of bacon and half of a piece of French toast.” He drags a finger over her cheek, unable to keep his hands to himself, and I get it. I really do. “At least she’s sleeping.”

“She’s started sharing.”

“That’s good. Right?”

“Probably. I’m not a shrink.”

Walker leans back. “And I’m shit at communication. I guess we’ll just have to see. What do you think about the plan for your dad?”

Another question I don’t have the answer to right now. “It’ll work for now. But I don’t know if it’ll stick. Or if we’re even demanding the help he needs.”

“True. But something has to be better than you having to buy them out of foreclosure again. ”

Staring down at Clara, I let the feeling of her curls against my palm ground me. “Trips told you?”

“Is that okay?”

“Yeah. I guess. This affects you guys now, too.”

“I always wondered how you ended up on the wrong side of the internet. Curiosity would bring you to visit, but something else would have had to happen for you to stay.”

“What about you?”

“A slow slide of hubris coupled with the high of being good enough to compete with the masters.”

The Mountain Dew is empty the next time I take a drink, my headache dimming. “He lost Donna’s money, didn’t he?”

“Yeah. Apparently, he and Donna are work friends. He’d mentioned to her that he was looking for someplace to play that was off the beaten track and she invited him. And then he talked her into giving up her seat after she’d bought in.”

Remembering that stilted conversation with my mom last night, my frustration with my dad grows. “Donna works at the same company, but it’s huge, and I didn’t figure they had any reason to interact. I might have to double-check a few other players for overlap with us.”

“Later. I’m assuming you’re not up for running that other project tonight?” He leans over me again, this time to run his hand down her arm, and I debate scooting over and giving him a place on the bed. But that’d be sure to wake Clara up, and she needs all the sleep she can get. Also, I’m not ready for that. Not today.

Dragging my mind back to his question, I manage a simple answer. “No.”

“Maybe Trips or I could go. ”

“With Jansen the way he is right now?”

His laugh is sad. “Point taken. You or Clara are probably the only ones who can keep him from getting himself killed.”

“And she can’t go.”

“Tomorrow or Thursday? I need to tell Jansen something. He’s practically static electricity right now.”

God. I’ve missed a full day of checking up on everything. It’ll take hours to get back on track. Maybe longer if people have been busy. “Thursday. I promised Clara a date.” Not that I’d picked a day or anything. But I want to have her all to myself, to do all the dumb cheesy stuff people do when they’re dating.

She deserves that. And maybe I do too.

“Nice, man.” Walker punches me lightly on the shoulder. “Are you hungry? I’ll bring up some chicken I made.”

“Yeah. That’d be good.”

As Walker leaves, I look down at Clara, a frown forming on her face. Running my knuckle over the creases, I try to smooth them out for her. I try, but I know it doesn’t work like that.