Clarity

by Nicole Dykes

  I shake my head adamantly. I know he thinks I'm not fully satisfied, but I don’t understand how he could think that. My body responds to him in every single way. “It won’t be you. I don’t want that.”

  He looks back at the bottle. “You can’t stop me, Blair.”

  “Yes. I can.” I take another step close to him and his eyes track the movement. “You aren’t pretending with me.” I lift my ring finger and his gaze darts to my hand. “This isn’t fake.”

  He doesn’t argue.

  I kneel on the ground next to him, ignoring the cold. “I know it hurts. I know you’re always actively hurting. I hate it for you.” I reach out carefully, giving him time to realize my hand is going to touch his cheek. He still flinches as I make contact, gently brushing my hand over his stubble and turning his face so he’s looking at me head-on. But he doesn’t pull away. “Give me your pain.”

  “It doesn’t work like that.”

  “It does, Rhys. Talk to me. Make love to me. Fuck me. Scream up at the sky with me. Cry with me. Break with me. So we can go ahead and put the pieces back together because I’m not going anywhere.”

  His chin drops, and I use my other hand to lift his face, my hands holding his cheeks as my forehead rests against his. “Blair,” my name is a drawn-out rasp.

  “I know. I can’t imagine what it was like today in the courtroom, to hear him talking about Bree. I wanted to kill him.”

  He swallows tightly. “I hate that motherfucker. The way he talked about her. Like he was ready to groom her.”

  I cringe, thinking about it. “I know, but she’s ours now. She’s safe.”

  “So many aren’t.”

  My eyes close as I rest against him. “I know.”

  His eyes lift, and I pull back enough to look directly at this beautiful man. “She used to touch my leg under the table at dinner.” His teeth clench. “And other things. It was like her sick little game. Her fucking kids and husband were right there, and she would stroke my cock, like she was my lover, promising something more later.”

  “What a twat.”

  He snorts a quick laugh, and I swear it’s the most beautiful sound I've ever heard. His hand wraps around the back of my neck, and he presses a quick kiss to my lips. “It always put so much fear in me, like he was going to see it and beat the shit out of me. Everything he did, it was with brute force.”

  It’s so hard to picture Rhys being afraid of anyone or anything. He’s so massive and strong, but thinking about his fourteen-year-old self, smaller and purposely malnourished . . . It makes me sick that there are people like them out there. “You’re strong, Rhys. You always have been.”

  “I’m happy we have Bree. I’m glad she’s safe, but you’re fucked. You know that, right?”

  I smile, my lips against his. “Happily.”

  His head shakes, but he doesn’t move his lips from mine. “I want you to be able to touch me whenever you want to.”

  “So that means I have permission?”

  “Always,” he says effortlessly and lets my hand rest against his thundering heart.

  “Good, but if you break,” I love the feeling of his fingers curled around the back of my neck, holding me possessively to him, “do it with me. Don’t ever run to anything else.” My head swivels, and I look over at the bottle of whiskey.

  He breathes deep, his lips ghosting over mine when I look back at him. “I promise.”

  I press my lips to his, and he doesn’t wince this time, just kisses me softly. “You saved Bree today.”

  “You did.” He nips at my bottom lip, his voice raspy. “And you saved me a long time ago,” he breathes against my mouth.

  He may think I saved him, but he gave me a purpose, saving me from a mundane, uncertain world.

  Who the fuck knew that Blair was my cure-all? I mean, I'm clearly still fucked-up. Last night made that apparent. Buying that bottle of whiskey was stupid, but I just wanted to forget for a moment. To stop thinking about the horrific people that fostered me for two years.

  But I knew deep down it wouldn’t help. And there she was. Even though I was horrible to her at dinner, she was there. She’s stubborn and fucking everything I never thought a guy like me could ever have.

  And she held her ring finger with the ring I gave her proudly in the air and told me she wasn’t going anywhere. It was at that moment that I knew I didn’t want her to.

  Not ever.

  “Are you okay?” I look over to Bree, who’s zipping up her jacket as we prepare to go to her school.

  “Are you asking me if I'm okay?” I half smile at her. I’m working on it, but I swear my mouth isn’t trained for the action. “I’m the adult.”

  She shrugs her shoulders. “That’s debatable.”

  Fuck, I love this kid. “Funny.”

  She smiles brightly up at me, her curls everywhere. I think she wears it down like this, slightly messy, just to drive Blair crazy. I like it. Blair has tried to take her to a fancy salon to get it cut, but Bree refuses. “I am pretty funny.”

  “Why are you asking me if I'm okay?”

  She puts her arms through the straps of her backpack and looks away. “You seemed . . . kind of upset last night.”

  Way to go, Rhys.

  “I wasn’t upset. I’m so fucking glad we won, Bree.”

  She looks at me cautiously. “You sure? I’m a handful. I know that.”

  I shake my head and put my hand on her shoulder. “No. You aren’t, not even a little bit. But if you want to give this world hell, go for it. I encourage it.” She smiles at that.

  “So, what was wrong?”

  I look at the clock on my phone and see we’re about five minutes ahead of time. “Let’s go out on the porch.”

  She nods and follows me to the porch swing Blair had me put up a couple of weeks ago. We sit down, and I let my feet drag along the concrete. “I’m really glad you’re living here with us. And that it all worked out, but I wasn’t sure it was going to. I was scared.”

  She nods, letting out a puff of breath, not looking at me. She stares at her feet. “I was too.”

  “Bree . . .” Her eyes meet mine, and I try to pull up all the courage I have. “Did he hurt you?” I swallow . . . and fight the revulsion. “I mean . . .”

  “No.” She doesn’t make me say it. “I thought he was going to.” I see tears pool in her eyes that kill me, but I let her speak. “He would get really mad at me sometimes and jerk me around. I had some bruises on my arms and stuff. But . . .”

  I see the fear and disgust in her eyes. Emotions I recognize all too well. “It’s okay. You can tell me anything.”

  She looks back at her feet. “He would whisper in my ear. Things like how pretty I was. Or how I was dressed like a slut.” My fingers dig into my jean-clad thighs. “And he would brush his hand over my back and my arms.” Her eyes lift, desperation in them. “I swear I never dressed slutty.”

  “It wouldn’t fucking matter if you did.” My voice is firm, too firm, and she flinches. I try to soften my tone. “It doesn’t give him permission to make you feel uncomfortable. Nothing gives anyone that right.”

  She nods her head. “I could tell it was coming. I just felt it, and that day . . .” A tear slides down her cheek, and she quickly wipes it away. “That day I ran into your shop, he told me he was going to make me his. Legally. And I just knew . . .” She sobs, and I wrap an arm around her, letting her head rest against my shoulder.

  “It’s okay. You’re here now, and I swear I won’t ever let anyone hurt you.”

  I can feel her smiling. “I was running to Rhett that day. His real father works at the mechanic shop on your street, but I saw your shop, and I darted in.” She looks up at me. “I don’t know why.”

  I smile down at her. “I’m glad you did.”

  “Me too.” Her honesty makes my heart clench with pride.

  “Do you need to talk to anyone? Like a counselor?”

  She shakes her head. “No. I’m okay.”
>
  “I get not wanting to talk, but surprisingly, it really helps.”

  She studies me carefully. “You were hurt.”

  It’s not really a question, but I answer it like one anyway. “A lot.” My voice falters, but I keep pushing through it. “My foster father beat the hell out of me. And then . . .” I’m tense. I’m sure she’s afraid, but she rests her head on my shoulder.

  “He really hurt you.”

  I nod. “Yes. He and his wife. They used me in every way. And they neglected me because they could. And they thought they could keep me weak.” A small smile comes over my mouth. “But they couldn’t. I got free.”

  “I’m glad.”

  “I’m still a little messed-up over it, but I'm healing.” I shrug my shoulders. “You and Blair have helped.”

  “You guys have helped me.”

  “You want to leave that fancy school?”

  She sits up straight and wipes her face. “I’m not sure. I miss Fletch and Rhett, but it’s not so bad.”

  I smile at that, nodding my head. “Well, it’s up to you. You just let us know what you want, okay?”

  She stands up. “Guess I better get to school.”

  I stand with her and pull my keys out of my pocket. “I guess so. You can have your friends over tonight if you want.”

  “Thanks. I know they won’t admit it, but they really like coming over here.”

  I shrug as we walk to my car. “They aren’t so bad.”

  I drive her to school and then go to my shop, going about my day like I didn’t have a full-on breakdown last night.

  I expect to be haunted by memories all day after yesterday and then recounting it all to Bree today, but I'm in a surprisingly good mood until I get home in the evening. I decided to close down the shop to go home and eat dinner with the kids and Blair.

  That sounds fucking crazy.

  But I’m happy as I turn down the street and see a black car I don’t recognize parked in front of the house. My eyes dart around, and I see Bree sitting on the porch.

  That’s not strange at all. She loves to hang outside and read. It’s something she does often.

  Fletcher and Rhett got into some shit at school today, and both had detention, so they were supposed to come over tonight.

  But I don’t see them.

  I do see Herrington though. Standing in front of Bree with his fucking hands on her shoulders as she freezes in fear.

  I’m out of the car in a flash and running up to them.

  I’m going to kill this motherfucker.

  A loud scream makes me rush out the front door. I was trying to get a little work done and wait for dinner to be delivered, but the scream sends unimaginable fear through me.

  When I open the door, I see Rhys on Mr. Herrington, raining down blow after blow with his heavy fist. “Rhys!”

  I look over at Bree. “Are you okay?”

  Oh my God. I didn’t hear anyone pull up. I had no idea this asshole was here.

  “Bree?” She looks down at the scene in front of us frozen. “Did he touch you?”

  “Yes,” Rhys growls as he lands another hit into Mr. Herrington’s face.

  “Rhys. Stop,” I plead. “Don’t kill him.”

  Rhys’s fiery eyes meet mine, and I see the murderous gleam in his eyes. “He came to our home. He had her by the shoulders.”

  I turn back to Bree. “What happened?”

  She shakes her head. “He said that he may have lost in court, but he would have me.”

  I want to tell Rhys to kill him, but I don’t. I can’t lose him. I look back to Rhys. “Let him up.”

  He shakes his head, still pinning him to the ground, his thighs straddling his waist, and that fucker isn’t going anywhere.

  “Rhys.” I’m firmer this time. “If you kill him, you’ll go to prison.”

  “It’s where trash like him belongs,” Herrington says before spitting blood out on the porch.

  “Shut the fuck up before I remove your balls and kill you myself.” I glower down at him, but then look back to Rhys. “I’m so sorry. I never in a million years thought he would show up here. I thought she was safe.”

  He’s shaking. I can see his hands shaking, and I feel so damn guilty for not going out here with Bree.

  “I’m twelve. It’s not weird to let me be outside alone.” It’s like Bree heard my thoughts.

  I look over at her, smoothing my hand over her cheek. “I should have been looking out for you.”

  “It’s not either of your fault,” Rhys grits out. “It’s his.” He glares down at Mr. Herrington, who doesn’t look as scared as he should be.

  “Rhys . . .” I place my hand on his shoulder, and he jerks it away, but I reach for him again. This time he leaves my hand there. “Let him up.”

  His breathing starts to slow as he looks down at him and then back at me and Bree. Finally, he climbs up and Herrington reaches his feet shakily, blood pouring out of his nose and trickling from his swollen lip.

  “I’m calling the cops, you crazy deviant psychopath.”

  I laugh, “Go ahead. Call the cops and tell them that you showed up at our house and accosted a twelve-year-old girl. Please. Be my guest.”

  He looks at Bree, and I move my body between them shaking my head. He sneers, “She misses me. I wanted to assure her that I’d still be in her life.”

  “Over my dead body, motherfucker.” Rhys is a hulk of a man on any given day, but today, my God, he towers over us all, his rage filling him out even more, dwarfing all others.

  “Don’t you ever come back here. I’ll call the cops next time, or I'll just let him kill you.” I fold my arms over my chest and stare him down.

  Once again, he tries to look over at Bree, but Rhys moves closer to me, effectively blocking her from his predatory gaze.

  “Leave,” Rhys barks.

  “I’ll be back.” Herrington starts down the stairs, but I can tell he’s still dizzy from the beating.

  Good, maybe he’ll crash on the way home.

  “I’ll be here,” Rhys promises.

  He gets in his car and drives away before I take Bree’s face in my hands and look down into her big blue eyes. “Are you okay?”

  She nods her head in my hands. “Yes. I’m fine. Rhys got here right after he did. I was about to call for you.”

  I nod my head, glad that was in her plan. “Good. Scream loud. Hit him. Do whatever you have to if he ever comes close to you again.”

  “That’s never happening again,” Rhys grits out through clenched teeth, and his eyes meet mine. “She never comes out here alone.”

  I nod my head, and Bree pouts slightly. “I was fine.”

  “What if he would have taken you?” Rhys looks terrified now that Mr. Herrington is gone, and I feel the same fear.

  Bree looks slightly worried, but she squares her shoulders. “I should be able to sit out on the porch. I can’t be afraid of him forever, Rhys.”

  I see Rhys’s throat bob, and I know he’s at war with himself.

  “Not afraid, but vigilant. You can hang out here, but someone should be with you. Fletcher, Rhett, Rhys, or me. We aren’t such bad company.” I smile.

  “Okay,” she huffs and turns to Rhys. “Okay.”

  He nods his head, semi-satisfied, but I know this is going to irk him. She goes inside, and Rhys takes a seat on the top step.

  I sit next to him, my eyes examining his split knuckles. “Did you break your hand?”

  He shrugs. “I don’t think so.” He flexes his fingers. “I can move them all.”

  “I’m so sorry, Rhys.”

  He shocks me when he wraps an arm around my shoulder. “Please stop apologizing. You didn’t do anything wrong. Nothing.”

  “Are you okay?” My voice is shaky, and I hate it.

  “Yes. It felt good to pummel him.”

  I laugh. “I bet. He had it coming.”

  “Yeah. He did.” I lean on his shoulder, but I can feel his worry. “He’s going to do i
t to another kid.”

  “Maybe you scared him.”

  “You know, right before I got sober for the last time, I overdosed.” I turn my head so I can look up at his face. “It was bad. I woke up in the hospital. I almost died. I wanted to.”

  I hate hearing it, but I'm also so happy he’s letting me in more and more.

  “Quinn and Sean found me. They thought it was because Quinn was accepted to a school that was far away and maybe that was part of it, but really,” he pauses and his words are laced with past pain, “really I’d finally found the courage to report the Bradfords. I told a social worker about them. And you know what happened?”

  My stomach sinks. “I can guess.”

  “Nothing.” He laughs bitterly. “I told them everything that happened in vague detail, but the beatings. I told them all about that. And barely feeding me. But I was told that the Bradfords were upstanding citizens and that kids were lucky to be brought into their world. Their fucking world.”

  “I’m so sorry the system failed you.”

  “I didn’t want to live in a world like that, where kids are abused over and over, and no one protects them. I knew it would just keep happening, and there was nothing I could do about it.”

  “You saved Bree. I know it’s not all of them, but one does matter, Rhys.”

  He hugs me closer to him. “Yeah. I’m starting to realize, Blair.” His lips press against my temple. “You helped me see that. One does make a difference.”

  I feel relief pour through my veins. Because I believe him. I know he believes that. “She is going to go on to do good. And we did that.”

  He smiles. “Yeah. We did.”

  “I wish we could save them all.”

  “Me too.”

  So many emotions run through me, but the most prominent one is how much I love this man.

  I don’t say it out loud.

  But I feel it. Everywhere.

  I feel on edge and jumpy, even if beating the shit out of Herrington was slightly satisfying. I’m angry that he showed up here in the first place and that the prick wasn’t scared when he left. I held back. I wanted to kill him.