Christmas Home (The Coming Home #6)

38. Clyde

thirty-eight

Clyde

I sat next to Ruther in the chapel, staring out at the view. We’d finished helping clean up at the winery, and then Ruther told me he wanted to show me this special place. It was spectacular—beautiful views as well as the all-glass architecture—and very private.

“I-I’m not good with men,” I said, beginning the difficult conversation about my past. “I don’t think anyone in my family is. My dad was abusive, and my mom codependent. Hell, the whole family is fucked up because of them. I-I don’t trust myself in relationships, but Ruther, I’ve been thinking about us a lot since I found out you were coming back to town.” I turned to see his expression, and when I only saw kindness, I decided to keep going. “I’d like to pursue something with you, but you gotta understand, I ain’t just gonna be able to jump into a relationship. I need to make sure I do it right, take my time, get to know you more.” I looked down at my hands and sighed. “Make sure you’re safe.”

I felt him stiffen. “Clyde, I’ve never hit anyone in my life. I won’t be starting with you.”

I nodded. “Here’s the fucked up thing about all this, Ruther. If I don’t do this with the support I’ve set up, I can actually make you that way. It’s all I’ve ever known.” I stood up and paced. “I-I’m fucked up from my childhood and all the beatings my dad gave me and my mother. I have to do this right, or not at all. That’s what I’m tryin’ to say.”

Ruther stood up and drew me into a hug, which, to be honest, I had to force myself not to resist. I settled into his arms, though, and let myself feel for the first time in a long time how good it felt to be held by a man I liked.

“I’m not in a hurry to push you one way or another, Clyde. I like you, and I really did like the stuff we did during the summer. Our walks, meeting you during your work breaks, eating the donuts you brought over, and our wine tasting. I especially liked the kissing,” he said and chuckled. “The thing is, you can take all the time you need. I’m in no hurry, and I’m not seeing anyone else either, so there’s no need to feel pressured, okay?”

I nodded. “Okay,” I said into his firm chest.

“Now, about that kissing stuff, would you feel okay if I did that now?” he asked, and I eagerly nodded because I wanted to kiss him so bad, I could pop with anticipation.

Ruther put just enough space between us to cup my face and tilt it up toward his, then he gently pressed his lips to mine. The kiss was so tender and felt so meaningful, I might’ve shed a tear had it not sent me into pure bliss. “I’m not sure I’ve ever wanted anyone like I want you,” I admitted after we pulled apart.

Ruther pulled me back into an embrace and rested his chin on top of my head. “It’s the same for me, but since we’re coming clean about our pasts, I’ve kept some ugliness hidden from you too.”

He sat back down and gestured for me to join him. “I have childhood trauma that causes panic attacks like the one you saw last summer.”

Ruther looked out the big windows overlooking the panoramic view and sighed. “I almost burned to death in a fire. It happened years ago but it still haunts me.”

He shuddered, and I quickly reached for his hand. He squeezed mine in acknowledgement of my support, but his gaze remained fixed on a point out the window as he continued.

“My parents weren’t home, and the fire started when I was asleep. I was alone in the house…the big house on the hill that the town librarian owns now. I woke to flames, and when the ceiling fell in, it trapped me in bed. Had it not been for the firefighters getting there…” He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “It’s still hard to talk about, and if I talk too much, I’m going to have an attack. But you should know, I’ve got extensive burn scars from my chest to my feet. Somehow, by some miracle, it didn’t burn my face or hands. Probably because the covers shielded me. I’m an ugly monster under my clothes.”

I turned to him, aghast at the suggestion. “That’s bullshit, Ruther. You survived, and I don’t know what the scars look like, but you are not a monster—you’re a survivor.” I reached over and slid my hand along his jaw, and turned his face to look at me. “Listen to me, I’ve been doing therapy since you left, and one thing I learned is that you have to celebrate the part of you that survived the ugly stuff. No more talk about you being a monster.”

“You haven’t seen me.”

“Okay, show me. If…if you’re comfortable, show me.”

Ruther froze. “I…Clyde, I don’t know if I’m ready.”

“Then show me when you are. I’ve only just begun to get to know you, Ruther, but I like what I’ve seen. Your heart is beautiful, and you’re special. I can tell you now, I will never see you as a monster. Trust me. I’ve seen monsters, and if Sheriff Pat is right, I barely escaped the last one with my life. Having scars don’t make you a monster. Hurtin’ people for your own twisted gratification? That’s what makes a monster.”

Ruther ruminated on that a moment, then pulled me into a hug even though we remained seated. He held onto me tightly. I’m not sure if it was for my benefit or because of what he’d disclosed to me. Either way, his arms felt so good around me. I snuggled in and let his presence feed my soul.