He stepped back, surprised they were here again. For the past eight years, Dean would never have considered he would ever get Clara back in his car again. Now, within the span of twelve hours, he had had her in his passenger seat twice, all because of that asshole boyfriend of hers.
When he got in and he was safely driving - he still wasn’t exactly sure where he was going - he turned on the air conditioner. His finger itched to turn on the radio, to fill up this space of silence between them, but he wanted to give her the opportunity to talk if she needed to talk about anything - even if it wasn’t about Bill. Even if it wasn’t about the red splotchy mark still lingering on her skin.
“You didn’t have to threaten his life,” she finally said.
“Sure I did,” he disagreed, his tone cheery. “Anyone touches you, hurts you, rips one strand of your hair from your delicate head, I will beat the fucker into a bloody pulp. You are a goddamn temple, Clara.” He glanced over at Clara even as he drove, locking eyes with her to show just how serious he was about the statement. “A strong woman who deserves to be fucking worshipped. I will not allow anyone to touch you, or talk to you a certain way. And, quite frankly, neither should you.”
“What makes you think I would let him talk to me that way?” she asked. She turned her head and he could feel her eyes on his profile.
“I know you wouldn’t,” Dean said. “You’re also very important to me, Clara. I don’t know what we are, exactly. What this” - he gestured at the space between the two of them - “is between us. But I know I care about you more than I care about a lot of people.”
Clara sighed. He came to a red light and watched her pinch the bridge of her nose.
“What is this, Dean?” she asked. She started twisting her seat belt with her hands. “Whatever this thing is, it’s... I don’t know. I’ve been avoiding you since you came here a few months ago. I wanted nothing to do with you, to be honest. I didn’t want to feel anything for you. But Bill left me...” She shook her head. “I don’t care. I don’t want to talk about it. Never mind.”
“Still can’t make up your mind about anything, can you?” Dean shot her an amused grin, pressing gently on the brake before he made a right turn. His driving was completely on autopilot. He had no idea where he was going but he didn’t care. He just wanted to be around Clara.
There was a moment of silence that passed between them. Dean couldn’t tell if it was awkward or if it was comfortable.
“Do you want to talk about what happened?” he asked, his voice gentle.
“Not really.” She dropped the seatbelt and placed her hands on the leather seat, her fingers curling around the sides.
He nodded once and looked back out his window. He had hoped she would say yes. He wanted her to say yes more than anything. But he had a feeling she would say no only because Clara was the sort who would keep things close to her chest. Even when they were together, she didn’t talk much about what was troubling her, if anything. He wanted to make it better but he didn’t know how if she wouldn’t communicate.
“Hey.” He dropped one hand from the steering wheel to cover hers. He could feel all the tension dissipate, at least from her hand, before it became limp in his own. “I know things between us...” He stopped, glanced back at the car in front of him. He had never been that good at saying the right words at the right time. In all honesty, he was better with gestures than with words. “It doesn’t matter. What matters is that you and I are...” Another sigh. Another hesitation. “I’m here for you, Clara. You are important to me and I just want you to know that if you need anything, I’m here for you.”
Clara used her free hand to start twisting the seatbelt again. Dean almost wished he wasn’t driving so he could hold onto both of her hands, to try to soothe all of her rather than just one part of her.
“How do you want me to respond to that?” Clara asked. “If I talk to you, you’re just going to go off and beat him up. You’re volatile, Dean. You always have been. You chainsawed a sofa, for crying out loud!”
“I’m working on it,” Dean replied. He wasn’t proud when he heard how defensive he was. He clenched his teeth together and looked away, out his window. He recognized the area, still unsure as to why he was coming here but deciding he wasn’t quite ready to turn around. Not when he was getting so close to having a serious conversation with Clara. “I know I’m not perfect, Clara, but did you ever think, for one second, I would ever hurt you? Did I ever scare you because you thought something would happen to you?”
Clara tipped her head down, staring at her phone in her lap. She stopped twisting the seatbelt. Her hair fell into her face, her profile now masked by it.
“No.”
The word was barely a breath, barely a caress, but he heard it. He didn’t know why he felt relieved, but he did. If, even for a second, she was ever doubtful of him, he wouldn’t know what to do. How to feel.
Dean pulled into a parking spot and Clara picked her eyes up.
“Where are we?” she asked.
Dean grinned. “You don’t remember?” he chided. “Our spot.”
Chapter 11
The beach.
Dean had taken her to the beach.
How fitting.
It really was their spot. They had spent so much of their time here. Clara could still feel the one bad sunburn she had received that summer. She remembered the feeling of Dean’s hands on her back, rubbing lotion into her skin. It stung and felt amazing, a contradiction that constantly seemed to plague Dean. Made Clara fall in love with him more because of his complexity.
Dean stepped out of the car and went to go pay for parking while Clara continued to wait in the car. She wasn’t exactly dressed for the beach. She had on striped Calvin Klein pajama bottoms and an oversized t-shirt, with flip flops on her feet. Her hair was a tangled mess thanks to the fact that she couldn’t brush it before she chose to leave.
“You coming?” Dean stood by the side of the car, giving her a curious look. “The machine didn’t spit me out a tab for the parking.”
“You typed in a license plate?” Clara opened the door and stepped outside. The sun was high in the sky overhead, shining down on everything it could touch. “You don’t have to do that anymore. Put something on the dash, I mean. It logs your plate.”
“Oh.” He stepped back as Clara turned and closed the door. “You ready?”
“Ready for what, exactly?” Clara asked, her voice hesitant. “Some food and - hey, what happened to the Stuft Surfer?”
Clara glanced over at the restaurant that was still under construction. “They’re updating it, I think,” she replied. “I don’t know when it’s going to be done, though. I miss it too.”
Dean looked down at her. “Really?” he asked, seemingly surprised. “You still come here.”
“Don’t let it go to your head,” Clara said, a knowing look on her face. “I like the food. That is it.”
“Okay.” He did nothing to mask his doubt. “Talk to me.”
Clara fiddled with the edge of the shirt she wore. She tried to twist it and slide the twisted material underneath the shirt, tying it without an actual knot.
“About what?” she asked.
It was still April. Tourists didn’t descend until May, around Memorial Day, so the boardwalk was somewhat empty. There was an elementary school on the beach with a playground in the sand. Besides a couple of toddlers, no one else was hanging out there. Some roller skaters skidded past the two, and an older couple walked their old beagle on the sand.
It was a nice day. The sun was bright, not a cloud in the sky, but there was a gentle breeze that picked Clara’s hair off of her shoulders. A bike rang its bell behind them and they stepped out of the way so the bike could maneuver around them.
“How you are,” he said. “What have you been up to? I wrote you when you graduated school. Did you get my letter?”
“Surprisingly, yes.” Clara felt her lips curl up. “I don’t think my mom wanted me to have it
. She was worried...” She let her voice trail off. She didn’t want to say too much.
“Worried about what?” Dean prodded. At least he had the decency to be gentle about it.
“That it would break my heart all over again,” Clara forced herself to finish. “To hear from you, I mean.”
“Would it?” Dean asked. He turned his head so it was close to her, too close. His chin nearly grazed her shoulder, his lips nearly skimming over her cheekbone. But there was still a space between them, the space that protected the two from any distracting touching. “Would hearing from me have broken your heart?”
His voice was entirely too husky for a question like that. Clara didn’t know how to answer because she didn’t know how she would react. Instead, she sighed and turned away from him, looking at the narrow, three-story mansions that lined the boardwalk. Some paid two grand a week just to rent a place. Because of the limited space, barbecues were on rooftops and balconies were nonexistent. It bothered Clara how many of the houses were filled with glass. It was so easy to look inside and see how someone lived. There was no privacy living right on the beach, even for a week.
“Why did you take me here?” Clara asked him. She crossed her arms over her chest. The breeze turned colder and she felt her arms burst into goosebumps. Even though her hair had dried, there was a chill that slid down her spine. She stopped walking and a skateboarder nearly ran into her. She didn’t even care. Her focus was on Dean.
“Honestly, I don’t know.” The way his blue eyes gleamed, Clara could tell he was being serious. He didn’t look amused, the way he usually was about everything. Now, he looked pensive, maybe even slightly unsure, which was typically how Dean acted even if he felt otherwise. “I knew I had to get you away from Bill. I didn’t want you to think I was taking advantage of the situation and I didn’t want to make you feel uncomfortable by taking you back to my place. So I took you here.” He looked away from her, his eyes going over to the water. Without warning, he wrapped his arm around her waist and brought her across the cement sidewalk until they reached the sand. Now, they could talk without worrying about anyone bumping into them. “You always looked so peaceful here. That time you got into that huge fight with your mom when she found out we were dating, we came here at midnight. We weren’t supposed to be out so late but the cop who caught us was a hockey fan and he gave us a warning. You remember that?”
Clara chuckled in spite of herself. Her eyes were focused on the horizon but she could feel Dean’s arm still hanging onto her waist. She didn’t want to remove it from her, even if she should. It managed to take that chill from before and quell it with warmth.
“How could I forget?” she asked. “It was the only time in my life where I thought my mom was going to hit me.”
“How is your mom?” Dean asked. He sounded like he genuinely wanted to know.
“You know how she is, though she has calmed down a bit,” Clara said. She removed her flip flops and buried her bare feet in the cool sand, feeling herself relax even further. “I guess tempers do calm down with age.”
Dean snorted, giving her a disbelieving look. “I highly doubt that,” he said.
“She was glad when we broke up,” Clara admitted. She walked further towards the ocean, Dean walking right beside her and keeping up with no effort. “But she didn’t like who I was when I was getting over you. I did, though, eventually. And now I have my own business. She liked Bill –”
“Liked?” Dean asked, turning his head. Clara let him catch eyes with her, her hair pushing against her face as though the red locks could magically go through instead of around. “Are you saying Ms. Daniels doesn’t like him anymore?”
Clara snorted, shaking her head. His arm was still wrapped around her waist and she couldn’t help but let herself imagine what this might be like if they weren’t awkward puzzle pieces, trying to fit together, unsure if they would again. But he made her feel warm. He made her feel taken care of. And that was something Bill hadn’t provided. Maybe that meant something. Maybe now wasn’t the time to think about it.
“My mom changes her mind about people all the time,” she reminded him. She started burying her right foot in the sand, letting the sand fall on her foot before lifting her foot up and letting the sand fall away. “Except you.” She picked her head up and shot him a grin. “She never came around to liking you.”
“I’m honored,” he said flatly. He stepped in front of her, cutting off her view of the ocean. “Tell me, Clara. Was it the first time he laid his hands on you? I get that you don’t want to talk about it. I respect it. But –”
“You think I would go back to someone who hit me?” Clara asked.
“Are you?” Dean squeezed her side before dropping his hand. “Are you going back to him, Clara? Did he hit you? Why?” He pressed his lips together before taking a step back and shaking his head. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t... I’m overwhelming you. It’s none of my business. But I want to know what you’re thinking. I want to know how you feel. I want to know how I can help. I want to know everything. I feel like I’m standing to the side, watching something happen to you that I have no control over. And I don’t know how I can make it better, and that’s all I want to do.”
Clara took in a deep breath, the salt-tainted wind tickling her nose.
“What happened was the first time,” she said slowly, tilting her head so her hair wouldn’t hit her face anymore. She squinted, trying to position herself so he blocked the sun from glaring down at her. “He never came home last night. Didn’t text me. I woke up alone so I went to shower. He came in and saw my phone and decided to go through my messages.”
“He didn’t trust you?” Dean asked.
“We all do crazy things,” she said. “I used to do that to you all the time.”
“I didn’t care,” he replied with a shrug. “I wasn’t keeping anything from you.”
“Yeah, but regardless, it isn’t my business.” She huffed out a sigh and looked back at the water from over Dean’s broad shoulder.
“So, what, you’re defending what he did?” Clara could tell Dean was trying to keep his voice civil but he was having a difficult time doing so. “Since you did it to me, it’s okay for him to do it to you?”
“That’s not what I’m saying at all,” she insisted. “Bill saw the texts from you. He saw your texts and it pissed him off. You pissed him off.” She shook her head. “Regardless of the fight I had with him about not believing me about us, what I did... our texts didn’t exactly help things. If I had seen those texts on his phone –”
“Are you kidding me, Clara?” Dean asked. He hadn’t raised his voice but it was sharp and it forced Clara to snap her eyes back to his. “We are –”
“What? Friends?” She stepped out of his grip and walked around him. She reached down and grabbed the material of her pajama pants and hiked them up so they bunched around her knees. She kicked off her flip flops before heading straight into the water. The sand was mud and slopped up between her toes. The cool ocean rinsed the mud away except those grains that were stuck on her skin. “What are we, Dean? Because we definitely aren’t friends.”
“I don’t know what you want me to say to that.” Dean followed her to the water but he didn’t remove his shoes. The water pushed against him and Clara knew his socks were now damp with salt water but Dean didn’t seem to care. “I don’t know what label you want to give it to make you more comfortable with it. All I know is that I still dream about you. I can still hear your voice in my head. I can still feel your body in my hands.”
Clara felt her hands shake with each word he spoke. She snapped them into fists and wished she had pockets to shove them in. She didn’t want him to see. She didn’t want him to know that he still had an effect on her as well.
“You’re everything, Clara,” Dean continued, taking a step towards her. “You always been. You will always be. Someone hurting you, however minuscule it may be, infuriates me. Because I know I hurt you and I would give anyth
ing - anything - to take back what I did to you.”
“What are you saying?” Clara asked.
But she knew.
She knew.
Without warning, Dean grabbed her face and crashed lips onto hers.
Chapter 12
Dean needed this. He needed this more than he realized. He needed this like women needed chocolate and men needed the remote. He needed to have his lips on Clara’s, to breathe her in, to remind himself what she tasted like - because, god dammit, nobody else tasted the exact same way she did.
He could feel the gentle sea breeze nip his neck and cause the hairs on his skin to stand straight up. He could hear the cawing of sea gulls a distance away and the waves crashing to the shore before sliding back out to sea once more. Laughter pierced the sky; the elementary school was probably on recess and kids were playing on the playground.
None of that mattered. Not when his lips were on Clara’s and she was letting him kiss her like she still belonged to him after all of these years.
Dean prided himself on being both experienced and knowledgeable when it came to pleasing a partner. He had a reputation that he made sure to uphold, no matter who was in his bed or on the receiving end of something quick and meaningless. It amazed him how quickly someone like Clara could bring him to his knees, could make him question everything he thought he once knew about what it meant to please a woman. His prowess was suddenly not natural and he had to remember what to do to make sure she approved of the kiss, to have it sear into her brain like a goddamn tattoo.
Slowly, Clara slid her hands up Dean’s chest before locking her wrists behind his neck, drawing him down, closer to her. Dean breathed her in, a hint of something flowery consuming her and making him fall even harder than before. He didn’t remember that scent from when they were first together. Whether it was new, whether it was old, it didn’t matter. It consumed him, just like everything else about her did.
Brutal Love & Stanley Cups_A Slapshot Novel Page 7
