20. Clara
Chapter 20
Clara
M onday was hell. Trips came to wake me up much too early, his usual grumpy self. I barely got myself dressed without puking, but he somehow got me in the car with my bag, water bottle, ibuprofen, and snacks. He even went through a drive-thru and got me breakfast and a coffee. I didn’t drink the coffee. It seemed like too big of a risk.
But I made it. I took notes that made sense when I got them back home, despite not remembering taking them, and I didn’t vomit once. Small wins.
By Tuesday afternoon though, I’m eager for Jansen and RJ to get back. I still haven’t seen Walker, but I’ve heard him in the kitchen a few times. Whenever I go out to “accidentally” bump into him, though, he vanishes. I’ve considered texting, but I don’t think I could handle seeing my messages left on read. I don’t know how we’re going to pull off a loving couple this weekend if he’s still avoiding me, but I guess that’s Friday’s problem.
When I turned in my time off for the weekend, my boss Carrie was thrilled I was going on a mini vacation. I couldn’t help but notice her fingering the restraining order she keeps in her pocket when I’m working with her, and I know I’m lucky to have a boss who cares about me as a person. Now I just need to see if I can get my not-boyfriend to care enough about me to at least fake liking me for a weekend. Yay.
Tuesday evening I’m trying to study and failing when Trips sticks his head in my bedroom. Not knocking. Now that I think about it, he hasn’t knocked since I passed out on the lawn Sunday and he carried me in, fed me crackers and water, then disappeared. I guess that does merit a certain level of familiarity.
“Meeting in forty-five minutes. We’re ordering pizza.”
I throw The Red Tent onto the other pink chair, my brain just not kicking on. I felt shitty enough to skip today’s run, and I kind of wanted to wait for RJ, so I’m all kinds of weird today.
Trips goes to leave, and I melt into the chair, stretching. The door clicks, but when I look up, Trips is leaning against it, watching me.
“Can I help you?” I ask.
He glowers, arms crossed, before coming farther in, swiping the book off the chair, and settling in, barely fitting within the confines of the soft pick curves. “I never asked.”
Well, if that isn’t cryptic, I don’t know what is. “Asked what? ”
He looks down at the book in his hands. “If you wanted to help with,” he looks around the room, blue eyes focused on anything except me, “well, with all this.”
I take a deep breath, trying to parse out what he’s asking, and how I should answer it. “Are you asking if I want to help you guys steal shit?”
Trips glares at me. “Well, fuck. You don’t have to be crass about it.”
I roll my eyes. “Listen. I don’t really know where I stand on ‘all this,’ as you so eloquently put it. But I know I’m not happy with who I was. And I want to find out how you all do what you do, to understand it, to try it on and see if it fits me. Do I want to, I don’t know, steal a Ferrari or something?” I shrug. “Not today.”
A smile crinkles around his eyes. “But maybe someday?”
I have no idea how to answer that. Instead, I stand up, stretching, noting the way Trips watches me, no longer pretending he isn’t. “I take it that RJ and Jansen are almost back?”
Trips stands up too, one eyebrow raised to acknowledge that I’m dodging the question. “RJ dropped Jansen off for class a while ago, then ditched the car. They both should be back in the next half hour.”
“Great. I’ll go get drinks and plates and stuff.” I shove my phone into my pocket, but Trips snags my arm before I leave the room.
“You never answered.”
I tilt my head, Trips’ eyes locked on mine. “Which question?”
“My text. It’s not an offer I usually extend. ”
I set both of my palms on his chest, still unsure about how to move forward, but touching him like this, the closeness, it sears through me. “I mentioned I would be interested, but there are caveats.”
“Like you fucking all my friends?” The humor disappears from his face, my heart cracking.
The cotton of his shirt crumples in my fists as I try to get him to understand where I’m coming from. “I’m not looking for anything serious. I don’t want to be locked down again. There’s no way I’m ready for that.”
“So instead, you’re going to play with all of them and run away, leaving broken toys in your wake?”
The anger jolts through me, his shirt falling from my fingers. He’s never been so wrong. It’s a barb meant to hurt, to dig into me and make me bleed. There’s no way he believes I’m just playing with them.
Trips should know that I’d never hurt someone I care about. I fucking broke the law to get him back, and he’s a prick ninety percent of the time.
I know what I can handle right now, and a serious monogamous relationship is off the table. Possibly forever. If the guys are willing to join me on this ride? Well, they’re grown-ass adults. I’m not forcing anyone to be with me.
“You know what, Trips? Fuck you. Fuck your ‘oh so amazing’ offer. I’m good.” I turn to leave, but he grabs me again. My fury tugs at her chains, waiting for a chance to leap free and strike.
“You’re a fucking piece of work, Clara. You play the good girl so fucking well it’s easy to forget you’re a selfish bitch. Want all the cake and to eat it too. Just so we’ re clear: I’m never going to be one of your hounds, chasing after you like you’re some fucking bitch in heat.”
My free hand whips out, the sting on my palm reaching my brain before the crack of skin-on-skin echoes in my ears. I’m panting, tears blurring my vision. “You sure have a low opinion of your team, Trips. Get the fuck out.”
The fire in his gaze is bright, his lips curving into a cruel smirk as he strides around me and out the door. I make sure he’s really gone before I crumple onto the floor, silent sobs shaking me, so quiet I know he can’t hear me. No one can hear me.
My hand burns, the snap of the slap reverberating over and over in my ears. I’ve never hit anyone before. I’d promised myself the first time my mom slapped me for being smart that I’d never do that to someone else. That resorting to violence made me no better than her.
But the new beast in my chest? She’s vicious; she’ll protect with force. God, I know I’m fucking shit up, but these beautiful men? They’re no lost puppies looking for a warm body to fuck. They’re beasts that bite—a snake, a panther, an owl, all of them at the top of the food chain. They don’t dance to my tune—they wouldn’t know how. But they’ll dance with me, circling, pulling close, dodging away.
Trips is a fool if he thinks I’m leading this dance. I’m just trying to survive it with my pelt intact. I entered the dance as a jittery rabbit, but it’s changing me. And I don’t know what kind of beast I’ll be when I leave.
But one thing is for sure. I’m not a zookeeper. I’m just another wild animal, trying to find the place she belongs.
I’d hoped I belonged here.
Starting the kettle warming, I scoop some coffee into a filter, making enough for both Trips and me. Not that I want to, but acting like everything is normal will piss him off the most, and I’m in a petty mood.
He’s a fucking asshole. I mean, he’s always been an asshole, but this time it’s directed at me. So I’m going to be friendly, kind, and helpful. I can’t think of anything that will get under his skin more than acting like our fight was insignificant.
Even if his words are still pounding through my brain, telling me how selfish I’m being, how inappropriate, how not-good I’m becoming.
The fridge is mostly empty. I haven’t gone grocery shopping in weeks. Apparently, I’ve become accustomed to Walker’s family meals, and now? He’s the weird uncle that went to jail, for all I’ve seen of him.
I pull out one of Walker’s kombuchas and a Mountain Dew for RJ, taking down mugs for Trips and myself, and the cute little teapot of Jansen’s. While the coffee brews, I toss a little milk and cocoa mix into my mug, leaving Trips’ empty. I debate salting his cup, but the sliver of me that feels terrible for slapping him vetoes that plan. I pull out the bulk bag of Jansen’s tea, scooping leaves into the built-in filter of the teapot.
After the kettle whistles, I pour the water over the loose leaves. A beep beep beep sounds next to me, and I jump, some of the hot water sloshing out of the kettle, searing the skin of my bare foot.
“Shit.” I scramble to wipe the water off my skin before it burns more, my foot already a blaze of red. I twist to find the offending sound, discovering Walker with a kitchen timer. I ignore him, checking on my foot again. It needs to go into the sink. I pop it into the kitchen one, just because I’m feeling bitchy, instead of going to my bathroom, cranking on the cold water.
“Jansen likes it to steep for three and a half minutes,” he says, looking at the timer instead of me.
“Good to know,” I say, my toes slowly going numb.
He notes the coffee—mugs prepped—the kombucha and Mountain Dew. Last, he looks at me, standing on one foot, cooling the other in the sink.
“Sorry I scared you.”
I shrug. “I probably couldn’t hear you over the kettle. You’re good.”
Walker’s eyes skirt over me, landing on my foot. “Will it be okay?”
“Yeah, it should be fine.”
We stand in the kitchen, not looking at each other, until the timer goes off. Walker pulls out the filter. I take my foot out of the sink so he can set the spent tea in the basin. “So,” I say, trying to figure out what I feel right now besides pissed (fuck you, Trips) and so lonely I want to fling myself at Walker and pretend that everything is normal.
“Thanks for the drinks,” he says, a fake grin plastered on his face. He grabs his kombucha and RJ’s soda and leaves .
Closing my eyes, my wet foot dripping onto the floor, my hand beats the familiar one two three four five on my leg as I breathe, trying not to cry. I will not cry. I just finished crying. No more. This Clara isn’t a puddle, she’s a beast.
The coffeepot sputters out the last of the water. Giving myself a mental kick in the ass, I open my eyes, load the rest of the drinks on a tray, and go join the meeting in the living room. I can do this. I will not be a weepy mess in the kitchen. I’m strong. And nobody is going to make me feel small—never again.
Walker is back in RJ’s chair, avoiding the couch. I set the tray on the table, handing Trips his cup with a smile. His confusion feeds the fire of my anger.
I pick up my own mug, settling into the middle of the couch. Footsteps trudge down the stairs, and it’s all I can do not to leap up and exit stage right. The tension in the living room is akin to walking in a thunderstorm, and all I want is a lightning-proof umbrella. The doorbell rings, and ten agonizing seconds later, RJ comes into the room with a pile of pizza boxes, the scent of melty cheese, tomatoes, and fresh crust filling the room.
I slide the drink tray over, making room for the boxes. As soon as RJ folds himself into the corner of the couch, I wrap myself around him, squeezing tight. “Welcome home.”
After a second of hesitation, he pulls me tight against him. “Glad to be back. ”
I pull away sooner than I want to, but I don’t want to make him uncomfortable. He’s smiling though, and doesn’t let go of my hand, so I think hugs are now normal. The unreasonable excitement I feel at that change drags my mood most of the way out of the pit of despair I’d fallen into. I’m just so fucking grateful he’s back.
Walker and RJ joke about some car-thing Jansen did while we pass around the pizzas, and seeing Walker’s real smile? Yeah. It feels like my heart is being gnawed out of my chest by a fucking boa constrictor. Although, I don’t think those snakes eat you alive. Eh. I stand by the way it feels, even if it would make Emma’s pre-vet self cry.
I take a bite of Canadian bacon and pineapple pizza, glancing at Walker. No one else knows this is my favorite. I want to show some appreciation, some subtle thank you, but I don’t know where to begin.
I want desperately for shit not to be broken between us. He fucked up. I may have overreacted. But if he doesn’t even want to talk to me? How the fuck am I supposed to work with that?
Trips catches my eye, glancing between Walker and me, an eyebrow raised. In response, I scratch my cheek—with my middle finger. He barks out a laugh, and the other two guys look at him, trying to figure out what he was laughing at. That was not the reaction I’d hoped for. Damn it.
Luckily, we’re both saved by a flurry of blond hair and boundless energy that leaps on me from behind the couch. Jansen scoops me into his lap, kissing my nose, my cheeks, and my forehead, making me giggle like a toddler. Finally, he gives my lips a solid smack, before pulling me under his arm and grinning at the rest of the room. “So what’d I miss?”
He nabs a piece of veggie pizza, pours himself some tea, and relaxes back into the couch, tucking me against him. And it feels so good I don’t even care that I’m not acting professional. Trips shakes his head at Jansen, something tight around his eyes as he looks at us. I sneak a glance at Walker, but his face is a perfectly calm mask. RJ shifts so he can see us, stifled mirth in his eyes.
Trips sets down his slice of everything pizza and wipes his fingers on a napkin. “We waited for you. So how’d things go in Chicago?”
RJ switches to his Mountain Dew, and the urge to put my slightly scalded foot on his now plateless lap is almost overwhelming. I contain myself. Barely. “It took two days, but we cut a hardline into their security system. As long as no one goes looking for my hardware, we should have access indefinitely. It lets us see camera feeds and any door or window alerts.”
Jansen finishes his slice and jumps in. “I checked all entry points on-site. They’re all rigged to the alarm system, but someone messed with one upstairs bedroom window, probably years ago. I got in and out through that window to set RJ’s device. Sadly, it’s on the other side of the house from where we expect Grandpa Cadieux, aka Jimmy Quinn, to leave his briefcase, so it’s a bad exit point if things get dicey.”
RJ takes over again. “I spoofed their Wi-Fi network and got some general household emails. It looks like they started catering for Thanksgiving a few years ago when Grandma decided she was too old to cook for a family of thirty-four. So we might have an in with the catering staff, but as we’re supposed to wait until Sunday, I’m not sure that’s a viable lead.”
I sit up a bit. “Did we ever figure out why we have to get the document on Sunday?”
Trips, Walker, and Jansen all shake their heads, but RJ glances down at his lap. “I don’t know for sure, but Jasmine has a recurring business meeting every Sunday morning, while Grandpa ordered the car for himself later that afternoon. It looks like Jasmine doesn’t want to look like she’s part of this.”
“Sneaky bitch,” Trips mutters. “But I get it.”
The silence is rough. I look around, all the guys caught up in their own thoughts. “Do we know who we’re up against?”
Trips shifts toward me. “I’m hearing a lot of we, there, Clara.”
I try not to roll my eyes. “Figure of speech.”
He picks up his coffee, looking from the cup to me before taking a cautious sip. I smile politely when his suspicions prove unfounded. His nostrils flare. “I’ve teased out a couple of leads, but I need help running them down.”
I scoop up another piece of pizza, settling back against Jansen, his touch soothing some of the hurt I’ve been carrying around. Looking at Walker, I see he’s holding his pizza, but not eating it. Part of me wants to just go over and crawl into his lap. He wouldn’t be able to ignore me then.
But I want him to apologize. I don’t know what’s up with him, but I can tell I’m not the problem. Sure, I blew up and then fucked one of his best friends, but I didn’t start it. He did. And until he figures out what set him off and can look me in the eye and say he’s sorry, any move I make isn’t going to fix things. At best, I’ll be a Band-Aid. And I’ve never been much of a medic.
Trips picks up another piece of pizza, taking a bite before turning to RJ. “Do you think you can work leads later tonight? Or do you have too much on your plate?”
Well, that’s new, at least to me. Trips asking instead of demanding?
RJ taps a few things on his phone. “I don’t know. Maybe?”
He looks like the only thing keeping him upright is his Mountain Dew. I crawl out of Jansen’s embrace and over to RJ’s side of the couch, pulling his hand into my lap. “I’m sure it can wait until tomorrow. You guys have probably had a long couple of days.”
RJ’s fingers lace with mine. “Eh, I’m sure I can get some of these things off my to-do list. Don’t worry about me, sugar.”
Trips claps his hands, redirecting attention to himself. Of course. “I think that’s going to be it for now. Once we have more info, I might need to send you out to scout, Jansen. Where are you at with your classes?”
Jansen sits up enough to grab me around the waist, tugging me back between his legs. “I’m doing pretty well, two A’s, an A- and a B+. I should be fine to miss a few days and keep my almost shitty GPA.”
I twist my head to gawk at him. He laughs, tugging a curl. “I’ve gotten a lot better at being a student over the last few years, but we need someone average around here. Average opens doors that exceptional won’t. So in a house full of natural overachievers, I was the obvious choice.”
“Really? Doesn’t that bug you? ”
He shrugs. “I’ve spent my whole life being underestimated. No reason to change things now.”
I burrow against his chest, wondering what that means. Anything said with that much conviction reads as true on a deep level. Whoever made Jansen feel like he wasn’t enough, well, they deserve salt in their coffee at the very least.
Trips finishes his pizza, wiping his fingers on his napkin again. “Then I might have you skip the next few days if RJ can pinpoint where to send you.”
“Got it.”
Looking around the room, taking in these perfect specimens of manliness while they plan some crazy heist like the pros they are, I ache at my obvious misfit.
Trips wouldn’t ever send me to do reconnaissance. He probably doesn’t even trust me to fill out an online survey without supervision. Walker and I are going to Chicago this weekend, but I’m basically there as an extra body, not as an integral part of this well-oiled machine. I don’t fit. I don’t have a specialty that can be tapped to make money. Unless I take up selling my term papers, I have nothing to contribute.
Why am I even here?