5. Clayton
Chapter 5
Clayton
Back before everything went to shit, my art was my escape. And now I had nothing. My dominant hand was in a cast and my only hope was that when it came off, I’d still be able to use it like I always had. Gratitude was a strange thing, because while I still had nightmares about the attack, I was thankful they busted my arm and not my hand. I added that to the growing list of random shit I kept meaning to ask my therapist about.
At the top of that list was how every day I wanted to know if Archer asked about me. I’d been stunned that he came when the hospital called. After all that I’d done, I wouldn’t have held it against him if he’d pretended that he didn’t know me. Hell, most days I wished I didn’t know me.
Patricia’s house had a massive back yard with a six-foot tall fence. The back door off the kitchen opened up to a deck and most mornings before my appointment, I liked to hobble out onto the deck and drop down into one of the patio chairs.
The compulsion to gamble, my therapist said, was partly because I’d tried to use it not as entertainment, but as a solution. I’d never had a lot of money. Growing up, I’d worn hand-me-downs. Shoes were worn until my toes stuck out of the end of them. Sometimes we thrifted those too. Out of everything, I hated that the most. More than used jeans and faded hoodies, I despised wearing other people’s shoes .
In some ways, my very existence felt like I was wearing someone else’s shoes. The tattoo shop had been Archer’s dream. The house I was staying in was someone else’s. My life seemed cobbled together with bits and pieces of other people’s. So I supposed my therapist was right. The gambling was a symptom of a different problem.
“You’re going to freeze out here.” Patricia appeared with a cup of hot coffee and a blanket. The weather was still warm later in the day, but the nights were getting longer and the early mornings colder.
“It’s not that bad. I like the fresh air.”
Patricia thrust the coffee into my good hand and draped the blanket over my legs before dropping down next to me in the other chair. Her gray hair was braided today and I could almost see the way she must have looked when she was younger. The calm she radiated made me want to tell her everything. I wondered if she had that effect on anyone else or if it was just me.
My fingers itched with the urge to draw her. While Archer dabbled in all kinds of different styles and subjects, I liked doing portraits. Unlike Archer, who had been drawing since he could hold a pencil, I’d gotten a lot later start, not finding the joy in art until I was a teenager.
“Archer and I met at an art class at a community college when we were both teenagers,” I found myself saying. “I think we were fifteen or sixteen. I can’t remember exactly, but it was during the summer. A few years before, there’d been some trouble in town with some teenagers who had too much time on their hands and not enough supervision or direction. The college partnered with the city and they developed programs for teenagers to fill their summers. The classes were cheap, just a couple bucks a head, and I think that was to discourage the kids who just wanted to be a pain in the ass.”
I took a sip of my coffee. Using my left hand for everything was still a pain in the ass in a lot of ways, but at least drinking coffee was something I could manage. I didn’t like the helplessness that clung to me every minute of the day now. It wasn’t so bad at the moment. It was hard to feel helpless when you were sitting and drinking coffee.
“I didn’t like art at first, but I liked Archer so I went back. And then I found out he was taking all the classes, so I took them too. And by the end of the summer, I had a new best friend and a new hobby.”
“You liked him.” Patricia’s lips curled into a knowing smile. I didn’t bother arguing with her assumption.
“He was my great awakening. I was obsessed with him. And then suddenly I wasn’t. Not because I no longer felt that attraction to him, but because the friendship was more important than something I knew would go absolutely nowhere.”
“You sound sure about that.”
“Well, I did kiss him once, just to see.”
“And?” Patricia seemed excited to hear the answer, like my old, dusty memories were the greatest source of entertainment.
“And I imagine that if I’d had a brother and I’d kissed him, it would have been a lot like kissing Archer.”
“You miss him.” Not a question, but her statement was delivered with so much compassion that it made my chest ache.
Those words sounded inadequate to describe the void he’d left. The void I’d created. It wasn’t fair of me to think of it as him leaving a hole in my life when I’d been the one to carve him out. Sometimes my stupidity still left me breathless. And now the one outlet I’d had was temporarily unavailable to me.
The back door slid open and Kieran stepped out onto the deck. Biting back my groan, I sipped my coffee and did my best to ignore his presence.
“Oh good, you’re right on time,” Patricia said, getting to her feet. “I have some boxes I need you to take to the storage unit for me. I’d do it myself, but I’m about to leave to take one of the girls to an appointment.”
I’d quickly learned that Patricia spoke vaguely a lot of the time, giving out only the information required and nothing extra. Why did she need the space? What space? Which girl was going where? They were all questions that circled through my brain, but Patricia never offered up anyone’s secrets. That’s probably why spilling my guts to her was so easy.
“I’d offer to help, but…” I raised my cast and wiggled my fingers. The stormy look on Kieran’s face was the first thing I’d smiled at in I wasn’t sure how long. His eyes were a captivating shade of dark blue, almost gray. Not unlike thunderclouds on the horizon. I’d have to be dead to not notice that Kieran was my type. Tall and handsome, a sharp jaw, broad shoulders, broad everything probably.
I concentrated on sipping my coffee so I wouldn’t check him out in front of his mother.
Besides, he might be hot, but he hated me. He didn’t hate everyone. He was all smiles and softness for his mom and the women who lived in the house. One of the women, Clarissa, wasn’t a big talker. I wasn’t sure if that was because she was still going through a lot, or if she was naturally quiet. But the other resident, Laura, could talk the ears off an elephant. They both seemed equally comfortable with Kieran.
Patricia excused herself, as did Kieran, and I was suddenly alone again. It was something I should be used to, but sometimes the silence around me was too loud. Too big. Too eternal. It reminded me of the time between screwing over Archer and ending up on the floor of my apartment and how I’d go for days without talking to anyone. This was the kind of thing I should mention to my therapist. Probably. Maybe. If I managed to remember.
Without a phone to keep notes in, and without the use of my right hand, it wasn’t as though I could jot anything down.
“I was instructed to check in on you before I left to see if you needed anything.” Kieran stepped outside some time later.
“What? Sorry? No, I’m fine.”
“You don’t look fine,” he said in a way that had me wondering if he was being critical or offering an olive branch. The thought struck me as absurd either way.
“Gee, you sure know how to make a guy feel good about himself.” The humor that tinged my voice surprised me.
“I wasn’t trying to make you feel anything. I was just sharing an observation.”
“Well, you checked on me. You did your duty to your mom. I’ll tell her you were a good boy so you can go now.” Pushing myself upright, I knocked my coffee mug off the table. I watched it fall and even tried to catch it, but the whole flamingo impression I was doing by standing on one leg all the time had me off-balance and my one-handed attempt went awry when I lost my balance and crashed into Kieran.
In the process of flailing around like a wounded seal, I managed to put my broken leg down and I’d stepped on it. Putting weight on it did not feel good at all, but I had bigger problems. Like being pressed up against Kieran Taggart, professional grump.
“That was not my most graceful moment.” I grimaced and tried to right myself.
“Are you okay?” He didn’t sound particularly concerned, but his mother had raised him to be polite.
“I’m better than the cup. I hope it wasn’t sentimental.” I stared down at the shards of ceramic strewn about the deck.
Kieran snorted, his strong hand still wrapped around my bicep. “It had a gas station logo on it. I think you’re good. ”
“I’ll just clean it—” I tried to kneel down to get the pieces, but Kieran’s grip on my arm stopped me.
“You’ll sit your ass down and I’ll clean up your mess,” he bit. The accusation wasn’t voiced, but I heard it regardless. He’d clean up my mess the way Shane cleaned up my mess. He’d clean up my mess because I wasn’t capable of doing it.
When I tried to yank my arm away this time, he let me go. If I didn’t have a busted leg, now would have been the perfect opportunity to flounce away, but it was hard to look dignified and righteously indignant when I was hopping and windmilling or grabbing onto objects and walls for support.
“What are you doing?” Kieran asked when I made my first hop toward the door.
“Going to lie down. My leg fucking hurts.”
Kieran huffed out a deep, gravelly, annoyed sound. “Do you need help or can you get there on your own?”
“I manage just fine any other time.” I snarled without meaning to. I was tired of hopping around and doing everything one-handed. Tired of sponge baths and feeling absolutely incapable of doing anything.
“Mmhm.” Kieran picked up the broken cup and walked the pieces over to the trash cans. “Are you sure you don’t want help inside?”
My shoulders dropped and I let out a sigh. “Just through the door will be fine. I’ll be okay once I’m inside.”
Kieran walked over and put my good hand on his shoulder. “We’ll go your speed.”
Was it awkward to hang off Kieran and hop toward the back door? Absolutely. Did I hate it? Every second of it. Did I tear away from him like he was on fire the minute we got inside? You bet I did .
I dropped into my chair and scooted myself toward my room, tossing a quick thank you over my shoulder to Kieran, who grunted in response. I disappeared into my room and closed the door.
I wanted to throw myself down in a dramatic way, but my body was still far too battered for that. After easing myself onto the bed like a car crash victim, I stretched out and wondered when someone’s disdain for me had become such a fucking turn-on.
Kieran clearly barely tolerated me. But when I’d crashed into him, he’d caught me. It was probably half instinct, half good manners, and even though he’d done it begrudgingly, he’d still done it. Kieran was solid and sturdy. He smelled like the forest after a rainstorm, rich and earthy in a way that made me want to breathe deep and fill my lungs with him.
And for the first time in weeks, my dick twitched to life. A stronger man might have had opinions or principles about jerking off to someone who clearly hated him. I was not a stronger man. I was, however, right-handed. Jerking off would have to wait.