by Hazel James
“Seriously, Lei. You deserve happiness. I, on the other hand, deserve a shower. I’ll call you tomorrow, okay?”
“Thanks, Kiki.”
Three pairs of eyes hone in on me when I return to the kitchen, but in typical fashion, Clay rescues me. “We should probably head out before it gets too dark…”
There’s still plenty of light out, but his dad takes the hint and walks us to the back door. “I want to get started on that demo early tomorrow. Say, six thirty?”
“I’m sleeping in until at least eight. Don’t you show up here one minute before then.” Mrs. P points a finger and shoots Clay her best stern look, which isn’t stern at all, then turns to me.
“It was wonderful to see you again. Don’t be a stranger, okay?” She leans in for a hug and then passes the brownies to me.
In one container.
“See you kids tomorrow!” With a glint in her eyes, she pulls the door closed, leaving us on the deck overlooking their property.
“Please don’t pay attention to her,” Clay begs, taking the dish from me. “This doesn’t mean—”
He glances down and watches me reclaim the brownies. “One bowl is fine.”
“It is?”
I nod.
“And by that you mean…” He controls the arch of his brows, a sign that he’s trying not to get his hopes up for the literal or metaphorical meanings behind my comment.
“It means I was wondering how you felt about trying this—us—again.”
“Really?” Control be damned, his brows meet his hairline and his jaw hits the ground, making me laugh.
“I know, it’s not something I thought I’d say a few days ago, either.”
We step off the deck and amble down the walkway to his place. The flowers lining either side of the cobblestone are in full bloom, adding a lingering sweetness to the warm evening air. I should ask Mrs. P what they are.
“You sure about this?”
I cast a glance at him, appreciating the way the setting sun illuminates him from behind. He looks angelic. That is, if angels had scruffy jaws, big muscles, and wore fitted black t-shirts. “I would have loved it if my feelings for you disappeared when I went back to Colorado, but they didn’t. And, at the risk of going out on a limb, I’d say neither did yours.”
“I failed miserably at getting you out of my head. The more I tried, the worse it got. It’s fitting, considering how stubborn you are.”
“Ha, ha.” I playfully roll my eyes while he enjoys a smile at my expense.
“What made you change your mind?”
“Several reasons. One, we were both victims of Marshall and it’s not fair that the bad guy wins. I don’t want him taking any more from us than he already has.”
“Cock-sucking bastard.” He kicks a piece of loose cobblestone into the grass.
“Moving along,” I continue, “I slept today. Really slept. That hasn’t happened much lately. And when I woke up and saw you crashed out on the other end of the couch, it just felt… I don’t know. Normal and right and like how it’s supposed to be.”
Clay nods. “I was afraid I’d fall asleep and wake up to an empty house.”
“That sort of ties in with my last reason. I’ve never seen anyone as remorseful as you. Hell, I think your clothes are even sorry for what happened.”
“My clothes? You should see my dishes. Those poor guys will never forgive themselves.”
My head flies back as laughter bursts from my chest. God, I’ve missed this—our easy banter and his ability to inject some levity at the perfect moment.
When we reach the front door, he stops and faces me. “So, I guess this means you’re staying in Oklahoma?”
“Yep.”
He returns my smile, but he’s a bit slower on the delivery of his next question. “Do you, uh, need help finding an apartment?”
“Nah. I saw this cute cottage when I drove in, and I was thinking of asking the landlord if he has room for me.”
Clay’s entire body inflates. “He does. He has all the rooms. Ones with beds and couches and showers, and even one with a washing machine. Oh, and he has a pool.” He opens the door and pulls me inside.
I set the brownies on the small entry table to our right and tap my chin, enjoying the hell out of our little game. “Hmm. Does he offer a long-term lease?”
“He prefers it.”
One step closes the distance between us, and then his hands are on my hips. Damn, that feels nice. “But what if I need more space one day? A few extra bedrooms and maybe a yard?”
“The lease is transferrable to another property.”
Clay’s palms take a journey up my arms and come to a rest on either side of my neck. From this angle, it’s impossible not to fall victim to the pools of hazel staring back at me.
“I really like this landlord.”
“That’s good,” he murmurs, lowering his lips to mine, “because he really likes you.”
Following the “come inside, we’re out back” instructions taped to their front door, Clay and I let ourselves into Paige and DH’s house, stow a fruit and veggie tray in their fridge, and join them outside.
“Hey!” DH pops up from his lounge chair and rounds the pool to greet us. “I hear congratulations are in order.”
“What?!” Paige shrieks, dropping her half-inflated raft.
He laughs at her sudden interest in our conversation. “Relax, babe. Not those kinds of congratulations.”
Unconvinced, Paige follows DH’s path and lifts my hand, then Clay’s, before turning back to her husband. “Andrew Lucas Rhoads, if you’re lying about this, I’ll murder you in your sleep tonight.”
So that’s his real name? Huh.
“No, you won’t.”
She props a fist on her hip and arches a brow. “What makes you so sure of yourself?”
“Because who else would take the four a.m. feedings?”
Her face screws into a scowl, but she can’t hold on to her narrowed gaze for more than a few seconds before she admits defeat. “Dammit, you’re right. Way to steal my ammunition, kid.” She throws a wry smile over her shoulder at Poppy, who’s hanging out in one of those travel cribs by the patio table. “What’s all the fuss for, then?”
DH tips his head toward Clay. “He survived the first meeting of the parents.”
“Ahh.” Paige nods.
“Hey, at least he didn’t meet my mom during one of the most embarrassing wardrobe malfunctions of his life.”
“At least your first conversation with my mom wasn’t, ‘Hi, it’s nice to meet you. Do you have any questions about my arrest record?’ And let’s not forget the reason you went home in the first place. I half expected your dad to shake my hand with a baseball bat.”
“Don’t let him fool you,” I tell Paige and DH. “My parents loved him. Hell, when they pulled up, Mom couldn’t get out of the car fast enough to hug him. Of course, that probably has something to do with being drawn to people in crisis, but still…”
I only brought my toothbrush and a couple of days’ worth of clothes when I came back to Oklahoma last weekend. The night I decided to stay, I called my parents to give them the news and figure out the logistics of getting my Jeep and the rest of my stuff back here.
Dad said he was one step ahead of me. He’d already swapped the adaptive cup on my gear shift with a regular knob and loaded the backseat with everything I’d brought to their house. They got here Wednesday evening and, thanks to the Prescotts’ hospitality, stayed in their guest bedroom.
Mrs. P cooked half of a Thanksgiving dinner that night and the conversation flowed easily with the men trading Army stories while Mom told Mrs. P about growing up in Hawaii.
As far as Mom’s obsession with my diet went, she didn’t say anything about my Fruity Pebbles or junk food shelf when I caught her sneaking a peek in Clay’s pantry. Maybe it’s because she knows someone else has picked up her “look after Leilani” baton.
Still, I wasn’t sure she was going to le
ave without a fight. Dad said he was one step ahead on that, too. They never got to see the Southwest during his military service, so he rented a car Friday morning and told her they were going to the Grand Canyon before heading home.
“Austin, wait a—!”
“CANNONBALL!”
A boy wearing blue and green swim trunks sprints out of the house and dives into the pool, splashing everything in a six-foot radius—including us.
A woman wearing a resigned smile joins us seconds later. “Sorry, y’all! He’s been looking forward to this all week. I could hardly get him to keep his seatbelt on when we pulled into the neighborhood.”
DH doesn’t hear her apology because he’s too busy scooping Austin into his arms after he climbs out of the pool.
“You dare splash me? You’re going down, little man!”
“Uncle D, no!” Austin punctuates his plea with squeals of delight as DH leaps in the air for a two-in-one cannonball, showering us for a second time.
“They can’t even wait ten seconds, can they?” The woman shakes her head in amusement and turns to me, extending her hand. “You must be Leilani. I’m Eric’s wife, Maggie, and the youngest child in the pool is my son, Austin.”
Her playful jab at DH makes me laugh. It’s hard to reconcile the stories he’s shared at Battles about his PTSD with the guy dunking his nephew in the deep end. Knowing Clay played a large role in that makes me even more proud of him.
“Where’s Eric?” Clay asks, draping an arm over my shoulder.
“Right here,” he replies, joining us on the deck. “Had to get this one suited up. Jordan, can you say hi to Clay and Leilani?”
Eric’s daughter extends her chubby toddler fingers and waves, then points at the pool. “Yummy?”
“We have to find your floatie.”
“Yummy!”
Paige holds her arms out to Jordan. “Come here, sweetheart. I know where it is.”
“Yummy!”
Clay and I exchange confused looks. “She wants to eat the pool?” I ask.
Maggie shakes her head. “Anything she likes is yummy. Food. Animals. Swimming. Even Austin, sometimes.”
“Oh my gosh, that’s adorable! And also brilliant. She’s a girl after my own heart.”
“It’s not so great when we have to figure out which yummy she’s talking about.” Eric adds. “It’s turned into a running joke in the house: Show me the yummy!” He says it in the voice of Rod Tidwell from Jerry Maguire, which makes it even more hilarious.
A short time later, Paige’s parents and little brother arrive with Rebecca, Bristol, and Blake in tow. Although we’ve spoken on the phone several times, it’s the first I’ve seen her since I went back to Colorado.
I can’t imagine what’s been going through her head in the last two weeks. Marshall may have gotten me fired and attempted to destroy Clay’s business, but neither of us are dealing with the level of shame Rebecca feels for being in a relationship with him.
“It wouldn’t be as bad if it was just the sex,” she’d confessed the last time we talked. “But I brought him around my children. I keep thinking about all the times he played with Bristol and the pictures he took of the kids. What if he sent those to someone?”
Clay told her to make a list and focus on the things she could control. Instead of moving into her new place next week, she’s staying at her parents’ house, and she got GPS trackers for her kids that are made to look like tiny smartwatches.
DH even put her in contact with one of his friends at the Moore Police Department who volunteered to give her handgun training. When Rebecca joked about putting Marshall’s face on the targets, I knew she was going to be okay.
She pulls me in for a hug, and despite already apologizing for believing the things he said about me, she does it again. “Thanks for inviting me out here. I didn’t realize how much we needed a break from reality until the kids saw the pool,” she says. “And speaking of, nice bathing suit.” She points to the red bikini I’m wearing under my tank top.
I laugh, remembering my murderous thoughts when I opened my suitcase in Hawaii. “Yeah, I had this friend who shoved me out of my comfortable nest when I took a trip with my hot boss. Turned out she had pretty great taste.”
“Any word on your surgery?”
“I called Dr. Anderson’s office and they’re squeezing me in next Friday for my initial consult. He can’t guarantee anything, especially since he hasn’t seen me yet, but based on the general timeline, I could be looking at getting my reconstruction sometime around Valentine’s Day.”
The arch of her brows tells me she understands the significance of the date. “That’s awesome! What about you and Clay? Are you guys okay now?”
His name draws an immediate smile. I don’t even care that I look like a dorky seventh grader talking about her crush. “All things considered, we’re doing so, so good.” Instinctively, I scan the deck for him.
He and the guys are over by the grill having a deep, meaningful conversation about—you guessed it—cars. He hated giving up his Chevelle to cover his bail and legal fees, but earlier I overheard Eric and DH say they’d help him look for a new project. I get the feeling that being elbow-deep in engines and grease with friends is exactly the kind of therapy he needs right now, so I don’t mind.
I’m just about to suggest some pool time before we eat when my phone buzzes in my back pocket. “Oh shit,” I mutter, glancing at the screen.
“What happened?” Worry washes over Rebecca’s face.
“It’s Clay’s attorney.”
“Why does he have your number?”
“Clay’s had his phone off since his arrest. He was using his mom’s phone to contact his attorney, but now that I’m back, Mrs. P gave him my number.”
“Well, what did he say?”
“He wants Clay to go to his office on Monday at three.” That’s two days away, which is more like seven years when you’re in the crosshairs of the court system.
“What for?”
“I’m not sure. Clay said he already told the attorney everything he knows, so this has to be something about the charges against him.”
I keep watching the screen, but nothing else comes. I don’t know the etiquette about conversing with attorneys. Am I allowed to respond with follow-up questions?
The guys laugh about something, making the knots in my gut twist tighter. “What do I do, Bec? This is the first time I’ve seen him relax all week. I don’t want to take that away from him.”
As if he can feel me looking his way, he turns and smiles, and that’s all I need to make my decision. Right now, what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him.
I tuck my phone in my pocket and turn back to Rebecca. “This conversation never happened, okay?”
Feel the Burn
ELEVEN HOURS.
That’s how long I have to wait to find out if this nightmare is over.
Like the thunder outside, the sharp cracks of anger and rumbles of dread storming through my mind show no signs of letting up. I keep replaying the last two years in my mind. All the warning signs and red flags were there. How could I have been so goddamn stupid?
He never liked talking about his family or where he grew up. He only volunteered stories about his “service” when other people asked him, and even then, it wasn’t much.
The secretive phone calls and plans he’d cancel at the last minute. His sudden interest in helping the “homeless”… I’d save the court system the trouble and kill him myself if I could.
“Hey.” Leilani runs her hand over my brow and down the side of my face. “How long have you been awake?”
“A few hours.” I shift, pulling my arm from beneath her, and sit up. “Go back to sleep, I’ll take the couch.”
“Nope.”
“It’s okay, babe. There’s no sense in both of us being up.”
To her credit, Leilani tried to spare me the worry. She managed to keep the meeting with my attorney a secret until last night when I mention
ed going on a hike this afternoon. She kept saying we should stay in town and suggested we go for a walk around Lake Hefner instead.
I almost agreed until I realized she was chewing the inside of her lip and made her tell me what was going on.
She lightly smacks my side. “When are you going to realize I won’t let you go through this alone?”
“Stubborn, stubborn,” I tease. The truth is, I do feel better having someone to talk to right now. If that’s what being pussy-whipped means…well, beat me with a bag of bearded clams.
“What are you most worried about?”
That’s like sorting through a bucket of torment and choosing the worst one. It’s impossible, because by default, knowing about something takes some of the fear away.
“That’s the thing—I don’t know. Literally. What if he’s out there pinning more shit on me? What if the stuff we do know about him is just the tip of the iceberg? I’m so fucking afraid I’m going to walk into my attorney’s office and hear a whole new list of charges. Can they even do that there? Or would I be arrested all over again?” I blow out a frustrated breath hoping like hell this won’t be my last night lying next to Leilani.
“Okay, first of all…” She sits up and straddles me. “Stop going down the rabbit hole of what ifs. The police will find him eventually. Second, I find it hard to believe your lawyer would ambush you like that. He’s on your side, remember?”
She waits until I nod to continue.
“And third, remember the advice you give your clients. Focus on what you can control.” Leaning over, she turns on the lamp and pulls a pen and small notebook from my nightstand drawer.
Our nightstand drawer. In our room. Next to our bed. That thought cuts through a layer of my anxiety, making it a little easier to breathe.
Once she settles beside me, Leilani flips the notebook open. “This guy I know told me that by helping others, I help myself.”
“He sounds like a really smart man.”
The corner of her mouth lifts as she pops a shoulder. “Eh, he’s okay, but more importantly, he’s right.” She taps the pen against the paper for emphasis. “We’re going to make a list of three things you can do today to help someone else.”
