Brazen Mistakes (Brazen Boys #3)

55. Clara

Chapter 55

Clara

I t’s not until around four in the afternoon that I realize Walker is trying to distract me. He’s been doing an excellent job of it, and I’m happily munching on cheese and crackers to recoup some energy when it dawns on me that I haven’t seen RJ or Jansen once today.

“Are you going to tell me why you’re being so attentive?” I ask, as Walker folds the chocolate chips into the batter he’s working on.

He turns from me, pulling out a cookie sheet. “Maybe I just like spending time with you.”

Slipping around the island, I wrap him up in a hug from behind. “That’s part of it, I’m sure. But you’re keeping secrets.”

He spins in my arms, laughing when I squeeze his ass. “Fine, you crazy lady. I am keeping secrets, but they’re not bad ones. RJ and Jansen are working tonight, but it’s not for the business. It’s a surprise for you. You’re just going to have to live with not knowing.”

“A surprise? For me?”

“Yup. It’s from all of us, but RJ and Jansen can handle this one solo.”

“Is it dangerous?”

“Only slightly more dangerous than you and Jay stealing cars every few days. And they’ve been prepping for about a week. It’ll be fine.”

“Don’t the holidays make it hard to predict what’s normal? Is it a public place or a private place?” A thought strikes me. “Are there guns?”

He kisses my forehead. “I’m sure they’re fine.”

“And if they’re not?”

“Then we’ll figure it out. Want to pick out a movie?”

I groan. “You know I’m not going to relax knowing they’re out there and could be in danger.”

“Clara, we’ve been doing this for years. And this is a tiny job. Nothing like the ones you’ve been on. You trust Jansen when you’re out getting cars, right? You trust that if anything goes sideways, he’ll have your back and get you safely away from trouble.”

“Well, yeah.”

“And you trust RJ to do whatever he’s been doing that has you talking to cops, right?”

“You could ask for details. I don’t think it’s a secret.”

“He’ll tell me when he wants me to know. But you trust him, right?”

“Of course. ”

“Then trust that they know what they’re doing. And that you and I would be superfluous. So we’ll watch a movie, eat some cookies, and then I might even show you the drawings I’ve been working on.”

“Really?”

“As long as you taste test my cookies, have something fun to drink, and chill with me on the couch.”

“Your version of bribery is weird.”

“If it works.”

I end up adding some cherry tomatoes to my cheese and crackers, and Walker gets us both a glass of wine. Then we watch The Thomas Crown Affair , and I make it through an entire cookie.

Now that I understand exactly how it feels to pull off a heist, my favorite genre of movies hits differently. Like, these stars play the thieves as suave and debonair. When really, there’s always something that ruins the plan. Always some detail that changes or gets missed. And unlike the movies, there’s no guaranteed happy ending for the thieves. Death and jail are as likely as a picturesque fade to black.

I want to guarantee a happy ending for my guys. And I guess now, for me too.

I want my happy ending.

Jansen’s sheets covering the windows hint at our reality, though. Add to it my anxiety over Jansen and RJ doing a job without me, my awareness of how dangerous tomorrow will be, and the knowledge that our main fence is not available for big gigs right now, and well, my happy ending seems pretty far away .

Then there’s the weird vibes Jansen’s been giving off lately and Trips’ ever-growing need to stay apart. It’s nothing like the movies.

After the credits roll, Walker and I start up the stairs, my phone chirping with an alert that Bryce is nearby. Peering out, I catch sight of his silver sedan, two doors down. My anger spikes. But I don’t let it take hold, instead alerting the guys with a “hot coffee” text. I have enough to worry about, and if he’s here, he’s not catching Jansen and RJ on their job, which is a small mercy I’m grateful for.

Walker sets me up on his couch with a blanket and hot cocoa, both of us choosing to ignore the alert. He turns on some trancelike music and it helps. A bit. Then he drags me onto his lap, his sketchbook beside us. That helps more.

“Was I good?” I ask, hoping to get things back on track.

“Good enough, I suppose.”

I nip his ear, and he laughs. “You did your mandatory taste testing, no worries. I guess I’m just nervous.”

“You? Nervous?”

“Super fucking nervous.”

“Like at your studio? You don’t have to share if you don’t want to.”

He brushes a hand over the sketchbook. “I want to. They feel really personal. Which is ridiculous because they’re of you. I guess they should be personal to you, not me.”

I force him to face me. “Walker, I’m not an artist. I never will be. But it’s easy to see that you put a piece of your soul into your art. And it should feel weird to tack up a piece of your soul on the wall and ask people to judge it. If it didn’t, I’d be worried about you. ”

His lips are warm as they brush against mine. “How do you always know what to say?”

“I don’t. Hardly ever. But I do care about you. I love you, Walker, which means I want you to feel cherished, safe, and protected.”

“Are you some secret ninja master? Going to fight off all my monsters?”

I punch him in the shoulder, and he laughs again.

“Not your body, you doofus. I’m shit at that. We can leave bodily harm prevention to Trips and RJ. But I’ll try my best to protect your heart.”

He kisses me again, and I fall into his touch, almost letting him distract me.

But I pull back. “Are you going to share?”

His breath huffs out as he glares down at the sketchbook. “Yeah. Yeah, I am.”

Setting the book on my lap, he pulls me close, then flips it open, rifling past some still lifes and a study of squirrels before I find myself.

Me. Page after page of me.

Like his studio at the end of the semester, it’s both awe-inspiring and overwhelming. There are drawings of me laughing. Me sleeping. Thinking.

A few pages later, I find the drawings he made of me and Jansen, and goosebumps pebble my skin.

I look bold. Wanton and strong.

The final drawings of that series are hardly more than the barest sketches, Walker hurrying to join the fun, but the emotion there. The trust and joy that I’m finding, they’re captured in their entirety .

“Walker,” I whisper, closing the notebook, too overwhelmed to keep looking. “How do you do that?”

“Do what, princess?”

“Make me look like the better version of myself?”

“Clara, I draw what I see. And that’s what I see when I look at you.”

I shake my head, too many emotions flooding me, especially after my conversation with RJ yesterday. “But what about all my fear? The indecision and fucking mental breakdowns?”

“Strength isn’t holding up the world on your shoulders without crumbling. It’s bending without breaking, and it’s getting back up again when life knocks you down. It’s facing the world head-on and making it work for you. That’s the strength you have in spades, Clara.”

Another view of me. Unlike the roles I’ve been playing, though, this one feels true. Like my bravery last night and this morning.

Is it really that simple? I hate losing. I always have. So, of course, there’s no choice besides getting back up and trying again.

That is a choice, though, even if it doesn’t feel like one. Every day, I get up and decide to keep fighting for what I want. For the safety of the people I love. For my own safety. For all of us to get our storybook happy ending, together.

My heart flies, a piece of myself fitted in my chest that I hadn’t realized I’d lost. The knowledge that being hurt, being scared, isn’t weak. Because despite my obstacles, I’m still working toward what I want .

These men might have invited me into their world of gray morality and broken laws, but I’m the one who’s choosing to stay.

And I love it almost as much as I love them.

I’m not weak just because I’m a little busted. And I’m never going to be a badass bitch or ice queen, not in my heart. But I am going to be a criminal. And the adventure that’s going to bring me on is bound to be amazing.

I set aside the sketchbook and wrap myself around him, holding onto the burst of clarity I’ve found in his arms. And it feels good. Easy even.

When was the last time anything in my life was easy?

I honestly don’t know. But right now, curled up against Walker, it is.

“Thank you,” I whisper.

He tilts my head back, pressing his lips to mine in a kiss so precious, so achingly sweet, that the tears I’ve been forcing away for weeks blur my vision. I let them fall, not afraid of looking weak.

“I’m glad you’re in my life, Clara. Every day with you in it is better than any day without you. No matter what, I’m here. To catch you, to cheer you on, to hold you. Even when I have no idea what the fuck I’m doing, know I’m trying my best, to be my best, for you.”

“I know.”

Surrounded by his comfort, his perspective, I return the same honesty he gifted me. “Your drawings of us are beautiful, Walker. You should consider selling your own work. ”

His scoff has me forcing my gaze to his. “My stuff isn’t that good. It’s all reductive and flashy. Too baroque in style with a modern color palette. It’s not salable.”

“I like your art.”

“You’re supposed to, princess.”

I wish he could see what I can. That he’s amazing. At everything he does. “Promise me you’ll think about it?”

His silence worries me. I already regret pushing him, even though I only want him to see that he’s an incredible artist, not just an incredible forger.

Eventually, long after I’ve given up on his agreement, he sighs. “I promise.”

Sleep comes like a hum from a plane over the horizon as we cuddle, but it comes, the slow rise and fall of Walker’s chest a lullaby under my ear. When his phone buzzes, it pulls me to the surface just enough for a flash of sadness to ricochet through me as he slips from the couch. But he presses a kiss to my head before he goes, not knowing I’m awake, and I let the sadness go.

He loves me.

And together, we’re going to figure this out.