6. Kieran
Chapter 6
Kieran
For someone who hadn’t left the house in weeks, Clayton didn’t seem all that thrilled to be doing so today. To save Shane from having to deal with him, I’d volunteered to handle all things related to Clayton, and that meant taking him to the doctor to see how he was healing.
“I can hobble to the truck myself.” Clayton frowned at me and hopped down the front steps. “I’ve had a lot of practice now.”
My mom assured me that Clayton was a sweet boy. He was well-mannered and polite. He kept to himself, maybe a bit too much, she’d said to me. That wasn’t the Clayton that I got. She got the sweet, well-behaved house cat and I got the angry, hissing stray. It was better for everyone that way. I didn’t mind Clayton directing his moody attitude at me. I would, however, mind very much if he was anything but pleasant to my mom.
I watched Clayton hop across the driveway to my truck and pull the door open. He stared at the seat as though he could conjure up an easy way to get into the vehicle.
“You couldn’t get a lower vehicle?” Clayton looked back at me and scowled.
“Sorry I didn’t take your broken leg into consideration when I bought my truck eight years ago. How thoughtless of me. ”
Clayton was never going to ask for my help, regardless of whether or not he needed it. Taking matters into my own hands, I marched over to him. His shoulders dropped like he was actively losing pride by needing me to help him into the truck.
After that first day, I’d been careful to avoid touching Clayton as much as possible. I didn’t want to like touching him, but I couldn’t deny the way my body responded when I put my hands on him and lifted him into the truck. Fuck, I needed to get laid.
That was the problem. It had to be. I’d been so preoccupied lately with overseeing Shane’s money on top of handling my other clients, and then there was the fact that every free minute I was over at Mom’s making sure Clayton was behaving. Suddenly, I couldn’t remember the last time I’d gotten laid.
My body didn’t get the memo that Clayton wasn’t suitable material to get excited over. He might look like my type, but someone who stole from their friends was definitely not my type. Clearly my brain and my body had to get on the same page. I collected his wheelchair from the porch, folded it, and tucked it into the back of the truck.
In the passenger seat, Clayton’s good leg bounced up and down as I drove toward the hospital for his appointment.
“Nervous?”
Clayton scoffed. “No, of course not.”
If he lied any harder, his pants would catch fire.
Mom would be the first one to offer comfort in this situation and it wasn’t that I didn’t think he deserved it. I was just bad at it. What was I supposed to say? There, there. It’ll be okay. Empty platitudes were seldom comforting.
Clayton wasn’t my friend, but a small part of me almost felt bad because I knew he didn’t have anyone to talk to besides the therapist my brother was paying for or my Mom. But then I remembered why he didn’t have anyone. I hated that I felt bad for him while knowing why he was in his current situation.
Clayton’s mood only grew more dour the closer we got to the hospital. By the time I paid for a parking space and wheeled Clayton through the beige hallways to the x-ray department, he was downright miserable.
It was times like this when I wished I was better at talking to people. I was sure Shane or Brodie would know what to say.
They called Clayton back for x-rays and the nurse wheeled him back, and then out again when they were done. His mood hadn’t improved any in the short time he was gone.
“That wasn’t so painful, now was it?” I stood to take the wheelchair from the nurse, who offered me a sympathetic smile. So maybe it wasn’t just me who noticed Clayton’s bad mood.
He had nothing to say to me. Not even a snarky remark. His doctor would get the x-ray results after the radiologist had a look and then Clayton would find out how much longer he’d be stuck in the casts. I supposed the worry might make anyone grumpy.
Instead of heading back to Mom’s, I pulled into the parking lot outside Bennett’s diner and killed the engine.
“Eat in or take out?” I asked Clayton.
He blinked at me like he was trying to figure out what I’d said, so I repeated myself. “Eat in or take out?”
“Uh, take out?” Clayton answered like it was a trick.
“I’ll be back; don’t go anywhere.”
“Ha, fucking, ha.” Clayton rolled his eyes and I climbed out of the truck. I took my keys with me out of habit, leaving Clayton in the silence of the truck .
Bennett’s was one of my favorite places to eat. I was okay with not taking Clayton inside and sharing a booth with him. I didn’t feel like subjecting innocent wait staff to Clayton’s current mood.
Ethan buzzed around behind the counter, filling coffees and the waitress, a woman who’d once stayed with Mom, came darting out of the kitchen, her arms stacked with plates.
Ethan Bennett was in a relationship with a man his son’s age. Mickey was a bartender at The Anchor, another one of Shane’s rescue projects. It had worked in everyone’s favor, though. Shane got a good bartender—once Mickey caught on, Mickey got a job, and Ethan looked happier than I’d seen him in years.
“What can I get you?” Ethan asked.
“Can I get an order of chicken strips and fries, gravy on the side? And a cheeseburger with onion rings? And that’s to go, please.”
Ethan put my order in and told me it would be about ten minutes. I had a feeling that Ethan bumped me to the head of the line.
“Coffee while you wait?”
“Not today, thanks.”
“What brings you by, and who do you have hiding in your truck?” Ethan asked. As a diner owner, I sometimes swore he had a degree in gossip and casual observation. He’d make a hell of an interrogator should he ever choose to change career paths.
“Nothing gets by you.”
“Not a thing.”
“That’s Clayton,” I told him.
Ethan nodded, obviously he’d heard enough from Shane by now that I didn’t have to fill him in on the backstory. Ethan was just as soft-hearted as Shane. Though with how content both men were now, it was hard to hold it against them. Ethan was more Shane’s friend than mine, but I’d been around long enough to know that Ethan was happier now than anyone had ever seen him.
“How’s he doing?” His interest seemed genuine enough.
“He’s angry. We’ll find out soon how he’s healing up. When the casts come off, he starts physical therapy.”
Ethan leaned on the counter. “Sure is nice of you to do all this for him.”
“I’m not doing shit for him. It’s for Shane because he and his boyfriend have bleeding hearts.”
“Shane can’t help it. He sees a problem and he wants to solve it. He sees someone in trouble and he wants to help them.”
I knew that better than anyone else. Shane had always been the first one up to help someone else. Animal, human, plant—it didn’t matter to Shane. As a kid, he’d trap the spiders and set them free outside instead of squishing them. Before the elderly couple next to us moved to be closer to their grandchildren, he’d shovel their driveway and mow their lawn. Only accepting payment in cookies, cake, and lemonade when it was hot out.
Ethan disappeared into the back and when he returned, he had a brown paper bag. I pulled out my card and paid for the food then returned to the truck where Clayton waited.
“I got chicken strips and fries, and a burger and onion rings. Pick what you want and I’ll eat the other order.” I unbagged the food and Clayton took the chicken strips. He carefully balanced the order on his lap before opening the cardboard container. Our city had recently pushed to eliminate styrofoam take-out containers and replaced them with compostable ones.
“What’s this?” Clayton asked.
“It’s gravy. For your fries.”
“Gravy? ”
“It’s a potato. You’ve had gravy on potatoes before, haven’t you?” I grabbed my burger, unwrapped the foil covering it, and took a bite. I watched Clayton from the corner of my eye as he tentatively picked up a fry and dunked one end in the gravy. He eyed it dubiously. “I’ve never seen anyone so suspicious of a potato before.”
He burned me with a dirty look and popped the fry into his mouth. “Happy?”
“Deliriously.” Part of me wasn’t sure what I was doing or what possessed me to continue to be pleasant to him. Even I was shocked at the next words that came out of my mouth. “Did you have anywhere else you wanted to go while you’re of the house?”
Clayton turned and stared at me like I’d sprouted a second head. “You’re offering to take me somewhere? Like, deep in the woods maybe to bury my body? Was this my last meal or something?” He glanced out the window, then looked back at me. “Pretty sure Hell didn’t freeze over.”
“This wasn’t your last meal.”
Clayton stabbed a few fries into the gravy. “There’s nowhere I need to be, so back to your mom’s is fine.”
I noticed that Clayton avoided calling it home and I wasn’t sure how to feel about that. The last thing I wanted was to start feeling bad for him. I’d caught myself sympathizing with him a couple times already. He was basically a criminal. He’d just never been charged with anything, but at the end of the day, he’d still stolen a lot of money from Archer. It wasn’t my place to be angry about that, but I couldn’t help it. I didn’t like to see people take advantage of Shane. That’s why I took it upon myself to keep Clayton away from Shane as much as possible.
If he had no contact with Shane, he couldn’t make him feel bad and squeeze yet more money out of him. Shane was an easy target and though he had good reason to dislike Clayton, he also had Archer and his feelings to consider. Archer and Shane were cut from the same cloth regarding Clayton because, in spite of everything he’d put Archer through, neither one of them wanted anything awful to happen to Clayton.
“I think I’d just like to go back, if that’s okay.”
“Sure.” I finished my burger and started the truck. I picked at my onion rings on the drive back and when we got there, Clayton slid out of the truck without waiting for me. I hurried around the other side to find him leaning heavily on the door, gripping it tight.
“I don’t think I’m up to hopping today.”
Leaving the house had clearly taken a lot out of him, whether he wanted to admit it or not. He’d been in the same place for weeks now. Couple that with the emotional mess he was obviously in, and it wasn’t a wonder that he was already exhausted.
“Wait here.” I grabbed the wheelchair and set it up on the top step. Clayton didn’t argue with me when I hefted him into my arms and carried him to the chair. I pushed him into the house and took him to his room. I hadn’t been in there since the day I’d brought him over, but the room was basically unchanged. The bed was rumpled and a small stack of books had appeared on the nightstand.
Clayton got up from his chair and sat on the bed. “Thanks for lunch. And for not taking me out to the woods to bury me.”
It was probably his attempt at a joke, but I didn’t think I came across as a murderous bastard. I was just easily annoyed and not as trusting as everyone else.
“Not today, at any rate.” Without asking if he needed anything else, I left the room, shutting the door behind me. Mom was out when I’d returned, so I was able to leave without getting held up.
I couldn’t help that I was softening toward Clayton. It was increasingly difficult to remain angry at someone who nine times out of ten looked like a kicked dog. Even if he’d been the one to put himself in the position to be kicked. But empathy didn’t make me stupid. I’d still keep my eye on him.