Clarity

by Nicole Dykes

  She doesn’t say anything, and I take her hand. She pushes the shower door open, and we both walk inside, the warm water hitting me first. I expect her to ask me questions. But she doesn’t.

  She just steps under the spray and washes her hair as I watch her in amazement. We’ve made a lot of progress even if we don’t have a lot of contact when we fuck. Sometimes, I let her touch me.

  Today, she seems to know I’m not in the mood to be touched. She keeps her distance as she washes, the suds falling over her immaculate body, and I'm frozen, still just watching her.

  She smiles at me over her shoulder after washing her face. “We don’t want to be late.”

  I nod in understanding as she allows me the spot under the showerhead, and I wash my hair. I face away from her and let the water run over my face, the liquid washing over me. But even though the water is warm, it’s not enough to wash away the cold deep inside me.

  I can’t stop thinking about the what ifs, and I'm irrationally angry that Bree chose my shop to run into that day. Afraid of failure. Afraid of so many fucking things.

  What if that was the worst decision for her? What if I fuck her up even worse than the Herringt— I can’t even finish that thought. I know, without a doubt, that would have been far worse. And I love that fucking kid.

  She’s mouthy and strong. I’m fucking terrified of just how much I care about her.

  “What if we lose?” It’s a weak, quiet question that escapes my throat as I place my hands against the tile of the shower and let the water spray over me.

  “We won’t.”

  “We could. He has a shitload of money.”

  She’s quiet for a moment. “Then we take Bree and head to Mexico.”

  I turn around to face her, seeing that smile on her lips that makes me ache with need. People think Blair’s a bitch. They’re wrong.

  “I need to protect her.”

  She nods her head once, taking a deep breath. “We will. We have this, Rhys. There are no better parents for that little brat.”

  She’s grinning, and I shake my head at her, fighting a smile. “You can’t call her that there.”

  She laughs easily. “Will you move your big ass? I need to shave.”

  I laugh, turn around to make sure all the suds are gone, and then move out of the way.

  “I like seeing that ring on your finger, by the way.” She looks over her shoulder at me again as I push the door open.

  I smile at her this time and wink. “Marking your territory?”

  She nods her head assertively. “Damn straight.”

  I climb out of the shower and wrap a towel around my waist, letting her finish up. I want to go right back in there, plunge deep inside her and make us late, just live here in this safe space forever. But I know we have to go.

  I have to face this head-on.

  I hate what today is doing to Rhys. I know it’s tearing him up inside. There are so many things I want to say, but I don’t. We drop Bree off at school. She spoke to the judge privately yesterday afternoon but won’t be at the hearing. And now, we’re on our way.

  When I felt him rush toward the bathroom this morning, I knew his anxiety about today had manifested and left him physically ill. I wanted to comfort him. Instead, I gave him quiet and time. I know that Bree is just as anxious as we are.

  I could see it in her eyes today, and I hate that she has to await her fate while she’s at school.

  When we arrive at the family courtroom, the Herringtons and their lawyer are already there, along with that bitchy social worker and the judge. I see Gillian is sitting with her husband on our side of the courtroom and smile at them as we make our way to the front.

  The judge lets us know he’s read the file. He’s read statements from Ms. Winters and Gillian, which I didn’t know was allowed but am grateful for, and then he asks us both to make a statement for our cases.

  Mrs. Herrington goes on and on about how they can give Bree a wonderful life full of vacations and private schools, but I think it’s apparent by our financials that we can match them on that front.

  The judge thanks her, and then it’s Mr. Herrington’s turn. I feel Rhys’s body tense beside me.

  Please don’t let him get sick in the courtroom.

  “We fell in love with that little girl from the moment we saw her,” his deep voice begins, and I take Rhys’s hand in mine between our bodies. He jolts at first from the touch, but he doesn’t pull away. “She came to us dirty and malnourished.” Rhys’s fingers squeeze tightly, and I grimace, but it’s a pain I can stand. “We fed and clothed her. Had planned to enroll her in a private school well better than the public one she was attending.” He sounds impassioned and angry as he speaks. It makes my stomach twist in knots. The way he speaks about Bree is as if she was their property that was taken away. “Why she acted out and made up lies, we don’t know. But we still want her in our home.”

  Rhys’s grip is almost unbearable, but I squeeze his hand back to let him know I'm there. Surely the judge can see through this sick asshole.

  “I believe she has something special, and under the dirt and the grime is truly a stunning child.”

  Bile rises in my throat as I risk a glance at the judge, a man in his mid-fifties, with slicked back salt and pepper hair. He listens intently. “We fell head over heels for her and had plans, only to have everything ripped away by them.” Mr. Herrington glares in our direction, and I stare right back, unwavering, and he continues. “I don’t know why she would lie like she did, but we know she’s a troubled child. We forgive her.”

  I cringe, not wanting to think about the ways he could punish Bree.

  “Alright. Thank you, Mr. and Mrs. Herrington.” Rhys and I both focus on the judge. “Mr. and Mrs. Moore, do you have anything to say before I make my decision?”

  My knees feel weak, the realization hitting me that we could lose, and I speak up. “Yes. I do.”

  The judge nods his head at me. “Bree isn’t troubled.” My eyes dart to Mr. Herrington and then back to the judge. “She’s exceptional. I’ve never met a person like her.” I tuck my hair behind my ear and smile as my eyes meet Rhys’s briefly. “Well, maybe one other person. My husband is like Bree. They were both children who were abandoned by the people who should have loved them the most. And we didn’t pick her out like a puppy at the pound, she came barreling into our lives at the perfect time, seeking help and protection, from him.” I pin Mr. Herrington with a hate-filled gaze and then look back toward the judge. “Rhys and I love Bree. We will take care of her and learn from her as well as teach her everything we can. We can provide her with everything she needs including the love not offered by her birth mother.”

  The judge watches me, listening as he nods his head. “Thank you.” He turns to Rhys. “Do you have anything to say?”

  Rhys clears his throat, and I know public speaking—hell speaking at all—is so not his thing. “Just that Bree deserves all the best. And she is the smartest kid I’ve known. And, for whatever reason, she wants us too.”

  The judge gives a clipped nod and then addresses us all as a whole. My heart is in my throat, and I can feel the perspiration on our palms as we hold hands.

  “I have not taken this decision lightly. In fact, I've gone back and forth for some time over this case, and while it’s clear you both have the best interest of the child in mind . . .” I feel Rhys’s grip tighten, and I force myself to take a breath. “I did have time to talk to Bree yesterday. You’re right,” he gazes at Rhys and me, “she is extremely intelligent, and I find her competent enough for her opinion to be brought into consideration. She wants to live with the Moores. She was adamant about that. She sees them as her parents, and I won’t tear her away from them.”

  A tear slides down my cheek at his words. And everything else is a blur as he makes it official.

  Bree is ours.

  She’s safe, and she’s ours.

  The Herringtons throw a pissy fit, but we don’t care. Rhys wraps
his arms around me and hugs me tightly, and everything feels so damn right in this moment.

  “Let’s go break Bree out of school.” I wipe another tear from my eye, and he laughs at me.

  “I think this kid broke you. I’ve never seen you cry so much.”

  “Shut up,” I say, but I can’t stop smiling.

  After filling out a shitload of paperwork, we go and pick Bree up early from school to give her the good news.

  She actually cries when we tell her, real tears. And she doesn’t even mock me for my own tears.

  “So, does that mean I can quit the fancy school?” She looks up at us with adorable wide-eyed hope.

  “We’ll see,” Rhys grunts as he opens the front door for both of us to exit the school.

  I know it doesn’t feel real to him, but it is. Nothing can change this unless we did something horrific, but according to the state of Missouri, Bree is our kid.

  She shrugs. “Okay.”

  “You want to invite Fletcher and Rhett out for a celebration dinner tonight?” I ask her.

  She nods her head excitedly, already pulling her phone out. “Sounds good to me.”

  I look at Rhys, my smile bright, but I see the darkness behind his eyes. I know today was hard for him.

  Maybe I shouldn’t have suggested dinner.

  Gillian and her husband, Phillip, joined us for dinner along with Rhett and Fletcher, and I know I should be on a natural high right now.

  We have her. She’s okay. She’s legally our daughter.

  And all I feel is numb.

  I was so fucking happy in the courtroom. I even hugged Blair tightly to my body, but now, in the noisy crowded restaurant as Blair and Gillian talk about the future and Rhett and Fletcher give Bree a hard time about the fancy school she attends, it’s like everything is blurry around me.

  Listening to that motherfucker in court tell everyone what a saint he was. I can’t stop thinking about the kids we didn’t save, the ones out there in abusive homes, praying for anything to help them escape, whether it be their parents to come back, someone to adopt them who actually gives a damn, or even death. Because anything is better than that.

  I’m happy Bree is with us. I’m happy she’ll be safe, but I go back to when I was fourteen-years-old, and I feel like I'm going to puke.

  “You guys had the good judge.” I snap back to the conversation when I hear Gillian say that and look over at her. “When I saw it was Judge Martin, I breathed a sigh of relief. He’s always fair.”

  Bree is smiling brightly as she sits in between her friends. “Yeah. He was nice.”

  Gillian gives her a kind smile, and Blair lifts her glass to take a drink before placing it in front of her. “Yeah, I was a little worried there for a second, seemed like he was buying Herrington’s bullshit.”

  Now Bree looks worried as my eyes shoot to her. “Really?”

  I see the fear in her eyes, the unmistakable nervous look. “Hey.” My voice is directed only at her, and her eyes meet mine. “It doesn’t matter. We. Won.”

  She gives a clipped nod, but I can tell she’s trembling. Her voice is quiet. “I’m glad.”

  Blair offers her a wide grin. “As if there was any other choice,” she smirks over at me on her left side, “besides Mexico.”

  I smile at that and nod, taking a drink of water. Bree smiles now and shakes her head. “You guys are weird.”

  Phillip laughs now, and it’s odd how much he looks like Logan, or I guess Logan looks like him. And their laugh is similar. “You guys are parents now.”

  Everyone snickers, and we all start to eat. I start to feel my nerves calm, but then I jolt, almost embarrassingly so when I feel Blair’s hand run up my thigh. I jump up out of my seat like she burned me, and everyone gawks at me, horrified.

  Oh. Fuck.

  My breathing is rapid, and I excuse myself quickly, escaping the restaurant and out into the cool autumn air.

  I hear the door push open, and I don’t look over because I know it’s Blair. I can smell her perfume.

  “Rhys. I’m so fucking sorry.”

  God damn it.

  I look at her, seeing her expression and hating how afraid for me she looks. “Don’t.”

  She shakes her head, the wind pushing her wild blond locks all over the place. She shoves it behind her ears and walks closer to me. “I’m sorry. That was so fucking stupid. I didn’t mean—”

  “To what?” I cut her off, feeling a fury that has nothing to do with her. “To touch your husband’s thigh under the table? To fucking touch your husband?” I say the words in a calculated, slow fashion to show her that it’s me who’s acting crazy. Not her.

  She shakes her head, tears in her eyes. “I know better.”

  I laugh bitterly. “You know better than to touch your husband? Do you hear how fucking insane that is? Do you get what you married yet?”

  “I know exactly who I married, Rhys,” she shoots back, deadly certain.

  I shake my head. “You should be able to touch me whenever the fuck you want to, but you can’t. You. Can’t.”

  “I don’t care. I’m just sorry I did it.”

  I shake my head, hating my fucking mind, my body, everything. “You shouldn’t be sorry for touching me.” I place my hand over my chest and look at her head-on. “I’m the freak. I’m the one who is so fucked-up. I saw the way he was in the courtroom today. I know that fucking look.”

  “You’re traumatized by past abuse. It’s normal.”

  Again, my bitter laugh fills the night air. “It’s not normal. I’m not fucking normal. I’m fucked. Up.”

  Why can’t she see that? She should take Bree and run far away, but I know she won’t. She won’t leave me. We’re as good as really married in her eyes.

  “I. Don’t. Care.”

  “You deserve so much better than this.”

  She doesn’t let the tears fall, and I can see how angry that makes her. “Don’t say that.”

  “I’m so fucking sick of pretending, Blair.”

  I may as well have slapped her with the way she’s looking at me. “Pretending?”

  “Yes. Pretending.” I take a step back from her, my blood boiling and revulsion rising. Repulsed by myself. “We have Bree now. She’s not living with that motherfucker. We can stop this show.”

  “Why are you doing this?” She barely croaks the words, and I feel like my knees are going to buckle here on the parking lot pavement.

  “I told you. You deserve someone you can touch, you can fuck, you can kiss.”

  “You’ve kissed me.” I haven’t since the night I gave her the ring. We’ve had sex in different positions, but I haven’t actually kissed her lips.

  “What? Twice? Once when you fucking begged me?”

  She shakes her head at me, angry and betrayed by my words, and I know I'm being a dick, but I can’t stop. I hate that I’m freaking out. But my body is on high alert from one mere touch on my thigh.

  On a night that should be celebrated.

  “I like your kiss.”

  I shake my head. “You shouldn’t.”

  “Rhys, don’t push me away.” Her plea is a whisper and hits me deep in my chest.

  “Let’s just go back to dinner.”

  One single tear falls down her cheek as she nods her head, but she doesn’t look triumphant. I know she’s full of worry, and she should be. I can’t ever be anything close to normal. I’m always going to freak out at the most obscure moments. The strangest things are going to trigger me, and she’s going to have to clean it up and deal. It’s not fair to her.

  This is our reality.

  We made it through dinner, and I was careful to keep my distance. I know he’s on edge. I know the hearing was hard for him, but I wish he’d let me in. After everything we’ve been through together, it stung when he said it was all pretend.

  I know it’s not.

  After dinner, we drop the boys off at their respective foster homes, and Bree goes upstairs. I know she’s ha
ppy we won. But she’s a smart kid, and I’m sure she can feel the tension between Rhys and me.

  “I’m going to the gym,” Rhys says as he watches Bree’s door close from where we’re standing at the bottom of the stairs.

  “Please talk to me.” I know I sound weak, but I don’t care. I’ll be weak for him.

  His head droops as he rests his palm against the door, facing away from me. “I can’t. I have to go.”

  I hold back tears as he opens the door and leaves. When the door closes, I watch him back out of the drive through the window and try not to break. I don’t think he’s okay. I know he’s struggling, and I shouldn’t have let him leave.

  Hours later, after lying in my bed and looking up at the ceiling through the dark, I hear the front door and don’t waste time rushing downstairs. I need to make sure he’s okay.

  He’s not in the foyer. Or the living room. I see the back patio door slightly ajar. My heart is rapidly thundering in my chest as I walk out the door, pulling it closed behind me. It’s chilly out, the air crisp with the autumn cold, but Rhys is only in gym shorts and a cut-off shirt, his hair damp from the gym’s shower.

  “Rhys, you’ll freeze out here.”

  He turns to look at me, his eyes almost vacant, and I yearn to see the fire in them. “You’re one to talk . . .” His eyes skim my body since I'm only wearing a satin nightie.

  “Well, let’s go inside.”

  He sits on the pavement of the patio, and that’s when my eyes drop to his hand, and I see he has a glass bottle in it, a whiskey bottle.

  No.

  “Rhys . . .” It’s timid and hesitant, but it doesn’t pull his gaze toward me. He only stares at the bottle which appears to be full.

  “Don’t,” he begs me with his deep voice. “I just want it to stop. I want to forget.” His chin lifts, and now all I see in his tortured eyes is agony. “Why can’t I just forget?”

  My heart splinters for him as I nod toward the bottle of alcohol that is literally poison to any addict. Like Rhys. “That won’t help.”

  “It will for a little bit.” He looks wild and desperate, like he’s climbing out of his skin. “I can drink it and strip you naked, get lost. You’ll like it. I’ll be uninhibited and do anything you want. You can touch me, and I'll fuck you anyway you want.”