Chapter Twenty Three #2
“Could you, ah…can I ask a favor?” Clayton rubs the back of his neck, his eyes dropping to the floor.
I wait for him to look back at my face and read the bored expression there.
If he wants something, he’d better bloody say it.
“Someone has been visiting my mom with a fake name, pretending to be related to me. Dekken H. Cornerstone. His name was in the visitor’s book and I found a beanie hat in her room.
I think he’s…impersonating me?” Clay mutters.
A bubble of fury rises within but I just about manage to keep it contained.
Why the fuck didn’t he tell us this earlier?
Plucking the laptop from the coffee table, I head back to the kitchen island. The very same surface I had Harper laid across like a buffet and ate out like a man famished. I still am, and my appetite is only for her.
Taking a few photos of the model numbers, or whatever shit the hacker might want, I’m so invested in my phone screen that I didn’t notice Clayton let the doctor in.
He might as well put on an outfit and become my official bellhop.
I’m distracted by messages while my nose is reset, more so by the extortionate sum the hacker is demanding.
I’m sure this is just some kid who lives in his bedroom, but he came recommended.
In the background, McClean is tackling the dry wall scattered all over the floor.
I’m curious to see what he does with the broken railings before telling him I’ll call in a repair crew.
My nose is taped in place, the deep ache of bruising seeping towards my eyes.
It won’t be pretty, but I have bigger problems to deal with.
One of which is throwing his weight around, huffing and pacing without any sense of direction.
Waiting for the Doc to leave, Clayton leans his arms on the counter.
“We can’t keep sitting around, waiting for these threats to get worse.
” I shudder at his use of the term, we. There is no we.
There’s no, the boyfriend of my girl is also my boyfriend, type shit going on here.
We’re enemies trapped in some ridiculous paradox where Clayton Michaels is in my kitchen, looking for some kind of camaraderie. “What about a private investigator?”
“I can’t risk hiring anyone officially and my father finding out.
He’ll intervene, and trust me, you don’t want Harper in his sights.
” The thought makes me shudder. We’ve got enough problems without adding my father into the mix.
“Anyway, stop your fretting. I’ve been working on it,” I grunt, tensing my features to test out the extent of pain in the center of my face.
“You have?” Clayton frowns. “When?” Rolling my eyes, I nudge my stool over to put space between us.
“You don’t think I’ve actually been studying every evening, do you? I’ve been cataloguing.” Opening a locked folder on my phone, I bring up my spreadsheet and flash it at him. A smile grows across Clayton’s stupid face and I snatch my phone back with a grimace.
“You’ve made an actual spreadsheet? With an attendance list?” He’s almost laughing now and my fingers form into a fist.
“Stalkers always return to the scene of the crime,” I mutter bitterly.
I don’t know why he’s mocking me, he’s the one that said we need to do something.
Well, I’m doing something. He should be thankful I’m not twiddling my thumbs, only considering how to next pleasure Harper.
I’m covering all bases here. “Whatever happens, we can’t let that recording get out.
” This suddenly sobers him, the scowl I’m accustomed to returning in a flash.
“Worried about your reputation?” Clayton scoffs. I’m used to the accusation that my interests are only surface level, and up to a few months ago, they would have been right.
“I don’t give a shit about my reputation.
I won’t let any harm come to Harper.” Rising from the stool, I wander to the far end of the island, needing the space to think this all through in the clear light of a new day.
“There’s nothing we can do to take back the recording now.
If it’s going to be leaked, then we will just have to own it.
Unless…” I stop mid-stride, my left eye beginning to twitch.
“It’s intended to be used for blackmail. ”
“Blackmail for what?” Clayton cocks his head to the side. I throw my arms in the air.
“Oh, I don’t fucking know. I smashed my crystal ball last night,” I bite back sarcastically.
“But blackmail is the best outcome. We can bend to demands, I can pay the fucker off, whatever it takes.” The atmosphere in the kitchen thickens, falling heavily between my declaration and Clayton’s scrutiny.
His dark eyes are fixated on my face, hunting for the deceit he’s accustomed to.
“So what, we’re making some kind of truce?” he asks. If my head wasn’t already throbbing, I’d have thrown it back in disgust.
“No truce, just a basic understanding. Harper’s wellbeing is paramount.
What we are to each other is insignificant.
Agreed?” Being the voice of reason isn’t a skill in my wheelhouse, in fact, it tastes like acid on my tongue, but Clayton nods, dropping into my vacated stool.
As far as making a pact, that’s as deep as I’m willing to go.
I stare at him for a few moments, watching this brain tick over as he makes absolutely no move to leave.
Ugh, I don’t have the energy for this. I’m going back to bed.
Passing McClean in the hallway, I tell him to call in a repairman and plumber.
He gives me a solid thumbs up in response and I decide I might actually like him.
I make it halfway up the stairs before Clayton speaks again, following my ascent.
“Do you really care for Harper?” I stall, slowly turning back to glower at him. Clayton doesn’t falter or shrink back, and that’s how I know I’m losing my touch. “Do you really care for her safety, her hobbies and interests, her wellbeing and her happiness?”
“What does it matter to you?” I spit, my heckles rising. Since when did anyone dare to scrutinize me in my own house?
“It matters because if I’m going to compete for her affections, it had better be against someone worthy of them.
If being with her is just another way to get at me,” his knuckles crack, “if you build her up just to toss her aside when you’re done, I will come after you.
I’ll show you what true pain feels like. ”
My scowl falls away for a menacing smile to break free.
Clayton has no idea what true pain feels like.
He has suffered loss, but he had that love to lose.
I was raised by hired staff who feared my father’s rule.
I was beaten into submission before I stood a chance to rebel.
Well I’m rebelling now, and no one is going to take Harper away from me.
Not whilst I have breath left in my lungs.
Shaking myself, I continue up the stairs.
Why I even tried to come up for an answer for Scum is beyond me.
I don’t owe him shit. Slamming my door shut, streaks of sunlight bleed through the curtains, illuminating the twisted covers on my bed.
Two head prints are indented in my pillows, the smell of musk and sleep perfuming the air. My teeth clench hard enough to crack.
Of all the spare rooms down the hallway, they came here.
Violating my space. Clayton spooned Harper in my bed, and that better be all he did.
I should storm back out and kick his ass, but I’m exhausted.
I’m tired of always being angry. My limbs are heavy from the constant fight I have with my own being.
If I had controlled my temper, it could have been me here with her last night instead.
Clayton wouldn’t have had the chance to swoop in and cradle her as she sleeps.
Wouldn’t have felt the curve of her ass pressing against him, the silky ends of her hair tickling his chest. I drove her toward him, and it won’t happen again.
I flop onto the mattress, dragging the covers over my head.
This is no longer working for me. This lone wolf, me against the world attitude.
Do I really care for Harper? The question echoes around my head, but I don’t have the tools to fully understand the answer.
I have no comparison to what this feeling actually is, but it’s something.
It’s real and alive, pulsating in my chest everything I think about her.
Yet, admitting it out loud sets me up for everything I try to avoid.
Rejection. Humiliation. It opens up a void in which others can witness my demise, should Harper eventually tire of me.
She bends my steadfast morals, she’s the voice of reason in my head.
I feel her burying herself into my soul, the weight of her burdens causing my own to seem irrelevant.
She’s my weakness and my strength, my power and my flaw.
It’s not so much do I care for her but that I need her.
I need her to bring the light to my darkness.
A dull, bitter laugh trickles from between my lips as I realize, I am completely and utterly fucked.
“Yeah,” I whisper the answer for my ears only. “I really do care for her.”