Saving Little Clark (Brave Daddies #4)

Chapter 13 Clark

Alex grabbed my hand and was tugging me towards the door with an excited bounce in his step. Taking a deep breath, I turned the knob and swung the door open.

There he was. Beautiful, stunning, heart-stopping Brody, standing there on my doorstep with a shy smile.

"Hi," he said softly, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he took in the sight of me. "Wow, Clark. You look amazing.”

"Thanks," I mumbled with a bashful grin. "You look pretty incredible yourself."

He was dressed in a simple button-down shirt and dark jeans, but the way they hugged his muscular frame made my mouth go dry. His hair was artfully tousled, his eyes bright, clear and so damn blue.

"I got you something," he said, holding out a pink gift bag with a hopeful expression. "I saw it at the store the other day and I couldn't resist. I know it's a little silly, but..."

I felt a flicker of curiosity and excitement as I peered into the bag. Amidst the tissue paper and ribbons was a stuffed T-rex with a goofy grin on its face and a bright red bow tied around its neck.

"Oh my god," I breathed, pulling it out of the bag with reverent hands. "This is amazing. How did you know I love dinosaurs?"

"I remember you saying that Jurassic Park was one of your favorite movies," he said, rubbing the back of his neck with a sheepish grin.

I clutched the stuffed animal to my chest, and beside me, Alex let out a low whistle, shaking his head with a wry grin. "Damn, son. You really know the way to Clark's heart. I mean, forget flowers or chocolates. You went straight for the jugular with the dino merch."

Brody laughed, his eyes sparkling with mirth. "What can I say? I'm a man who knows what he wants, and what he wants is to see Clark smile."

Alex, of course, chose that moment to embarrass me. "Oh man, Clark. I can't believe you never told Brody about your childhood dream of having a pet dinosaur. You told me it was all you could talk about for like, three whole months. You even had a whole elaborate plan for how you were going to train it to be your loyal steed and ride it to school every day."

"Is that so?" Brody asked, his voice low and teasing. "Well then, I guess I'll have to step up my game for our next date. Maybe see if I can track down a real, live T-rex for you to adopt. I'm sure that would make quite the impression at the office."

I laughed, shaking my head. "I'm pretty sure I’d win Employee of the Month on the spot."

"So," Brody said, his thumb stroking over my knuckles. "What are we going to name this little guy, hmm? How about Barney?"

I shuddered, shaking my head vehemently. "Oh god, not Barney. I still have nightmares about that creepy purple abomination. The only thing worse than his incessant singing was the dead-eyed stare he used to give the camera when he thought no one was looking."

Eventually, we settled on a name that felt just right.

"Rexy McFluffykins," I said, holding the stuffed animal up with a proud grin. "Loyal companion, fearless adventurer, and certified badass in the world of prehistoric playthings."

"Well!" Alex said brightly, clapping his hands together like a camp counselor trying to wrangle a group of unruly toddlers. "As much as I hate to break up this little lovefest, I just realized that I have a very important thing to attend to. You know, a thing that requires my immediate attention and cannot possibly wait another second."

I blinked, turning to look at him in confusion. "What thing?" I asked, my brow furrowing. "I distinctly remember you saying that you were free as a bird all night long. You’re tagging along for the date, remember?"

Alex waved a dismissive hand. "Oh, you know how it is. I’m like a busy bird. Things come up. Urgent, unexpected bird things. Nests to build, worms to catch, eggs to sit on. That sort of thing. A bird's work is never done, you know."

I stared at him, my mouth falling open in disbelief. He couldn't be serious. He couldn't honestly expect me to believe that he had sudden, pressing bird-related duties that required him to abandon me in my hour of need.

But as I met his gaze, saw the mischievous sparkle in his eyes and the barely suppressed grin tugging at his lips, I realized that was exactly what he was doing. The little shit was trying to give me an out, trying to push me out of the nest and into Brody's waiting arms.

"Alex," I said, my voice coming out small and pleading.

His expression softened, his hand coming up to squeeze my shoulder with a reassuring firmness. "You don't need me. You just need to trust yourself."

Before I could get a word out, Alex was already bounding towards the door, his steps light and jaunty with barely contained glee.

"Don't do anything I wouldn't do, kids!" he called over his shoulder, his hand on the doorknob. "And remember, safety first. Wrap it before you tap it, and all that jazz."

"Alex!" I yelped, my voice strangled with horrified laughter. "I swear to god, I'm going to tell Brody about the time you got drunk and made out with a potted plant at that frat party."

Alex gasped, clutching at his chest in exaggerated outrage. "You wouldn't dare."

"Try me," I said, narrowing my eyes at him in a playful challenge. "I have photographic evidence, and I'm not afraid to use it."

With a heavy sigh and a melodramatic eye roll, he threw up his hands in defeat. "Fine," he grumbled. "But don't think for a second that I won't be expecting a full report later, mister. With all the juicy, sordid details!"

"Goodbye, Alex," I said pointedly, giving him a look that clearly said get the hell out before I throw something at you.

He grinned, blowing me a kiss before finally, mercifully, slipping out the door and closing it behind him with a decisive click. And then, it was just me and Brody.

As I sat on the couch, eagerly awaiting Brody's return from the kitchen with our drinks, the doorbell rang. Puzzled, I got up to answer it. When I opened the door, there was no one there. Just a small, neatly wrapped package sitting on the welcome mat.

Another surprise gift from Brody? What other sweet gestures did he have up his sleeve?

But as I tore off the wrapping paper and opened the box, my excitement quickly turned to sinking dread. Inside was a bottle of cologne. It was Sterling's signature scent, the one he always wore when we were together. The one that still haunted my nightmares, that made my stomach churn with fear and revulsion.

"Hey, what's that?" Brody asked, coming up behind me with our drinks in hand. "A present from a secret admirer?”

He was grinning, his tone light and teasing. But when he saw the stricken look on my face, his smile faded, replaced by a frown of concern.

"Clark? What's wrong?”

I swallowed hard, my throat tight and dry. Brody deserved to know the truth about my past, about the demons that still haunted me. But I was terrified of seeing the pity or disgust in Brody's eyes when he realized just how broken and damaged I really was.

I set the box down on the coffee table and sat with Brody. Then, haltingly at first but with growing urgency, I began to tell him everything. I told him about how I had met Sterling at a bar when I was young, naive and desperate for love. How he had swept me off my feet with his charm and his confidence, how he had made me feel special and desired in a way I never had before.

But as our relationship progressed, things started to change. Sterling became possessive, controlling, his sweet words turning sharp and cutting whenever I didn't live up to his impossible standards. He was nearly twenty years older than me, and he used that power imbalance to keep me in line, to make me feel small, helpless and dependent on him.

The worst was when Sterling drank. He would fly into rages at the slightest provocation, screaming and throwing things, his face twisted with a hatred that terrified me.

Over time, I learned to recognize the signs that a storm was brewing. He had a particular phrase he would use when he was on the verge of a drunken meltdown - "I need a fucking drink" - and as soon as I heard those words, I knew to brace myself for the worst.

One night, after a particularly bad bender, Sterling stumbled into our apartment at three in the morning and demanded that I make him dinner, even though I had to be up for work in a few hours. When I protested meekly that I was exhausted and had nothing ready to cook, he slapped me across the face so hard my ears rang.

"Useless piece of shit," he slurred, grabbing me by the hair and shaking me like a rag doll. "I keep your pathetic ass around for one reason only, to serve me, and you can't even do that right?"

He threw me to the floor then walked out again, leaving me curled up in a ball on the cold linoleum, sobbing and shaking with fear and humiliation.

But the next morning when he returned, hungover but sober once again, he was all sweetness and light again, as if the previous night's horrors had never happened. Bringing me breakfast in bed, covering my bruises with gentle kisses, whispering apologies and promises into my skin.

And fool that I was, I believed him. I let him convince me it was my fault, for provoking his anger, for not being good enough. I was so twisted up with fear and shame that I couldn't see a way out, couldn't imagine a life without him, no matter how miserable and scared he made me.

But the final straw came a few months later. Sterling came home from the bar one night even drunker than usual, reeking of whiskey and cigarettes, barely able to stand. But instead of lashing out at me, he collapsed on the couch and started mumbling incoherently, his face buried in his hands.

"It's my fault," he kept saying over and over again. "He's dead because of me. Oh God, what did I do?"

As I sat beside him, trying to soothe his agitation, the whole sickening story came pouring out of him in fits and starts. Ten years ago on Christmas Eve, a married Sterling had picked up a man at a bar and brought him home. Sterling’s neighbor caught him cheating. Things had gotten rough, out of hand, and in a drunken rage, Sterling had strangled the neighbor to death with his bare hands. He had never told a soul.

I was stunned, sickened, my mind reeling with shock and disbelief. A part of me didn't want to believe it, couldn't imagine the man I loved, or thought I loved, was capable of such monstrous violence. But deep down, after everything I had seen and endured at his hands, I knew it was true.

The next morning, after a sleepless night of wrestling with my conscience, I had called the police. I was terrified, half-convinced Sterling would kill me before they arrived. But I knew I couldn't live with the knowledge that I had let a murderer walk free.

When the cops showed up at our door, Sterling was furious. He screamed and cursed at me, his eyes black with rage and betrayal. But even as they dragged him away for questioning, he turned to me with a smile that chilled me to the bone.

"You'll regret this, you little bitch," he hissed, his voice low and venomous. "I'll make you pay for what you've done. I'll haunt your dreams and stalk your steps until the day you die."

I moved out of that apartment that same day, changed my number, tried to erase every trace of him from my existence. But the damage was done. His threats, his parting words, had burrowed deep into my psyche. I was too afraid to date, to let anyone new in. I jumped at every shadow, woke screaming from nightmares of his hands around my throat.

But Sterling was still out there somewhere, the specter of him always lurking in the back of my mind. The police had never found him after he skipped bail and disappeared.

And now this gift, this horrible reminder of everything I had fought so hard to overcome. It felt like a message, that he had finally come back to make good on his promise to destroy me.