Chapter 43
Road
I was never into chickens, or farm animals overall, but since I found out about Clyde’s attitude toward them, I’ve been more open. So when Rooster offered to show me a video he took close to the hen houses earlier that day, I agreed to watch it instead of rolling my eyes. Worth it.
“They’re dumber than they look,” I say, shaking with laughter as we watch two chickens attempt to peck on one of the cats living in the settlement. All three end up in the most comical battle I’ve seen. I laugh, slapping Rooster’s back so hard it moves him forward. “Clyde needs to see this. He really fucking likes those red-capped poop machines,” I tell him and spin around, seeking the familiar mane of dirty blond hair.
I was reluctant to leave him to his own devices, but I understand a man’s need to stand his ground. He was at the grill last time I looked, but now Yeti is back there, while Clyde is nowhere to be seen.
“Luna told me you might want to keep one of the chickens?” Rooster asks, and I’m yet again impressed by how quick gossip flies at Vulture Hollow.
“Err… we might get a little henhouse of our own, but I think we should start with adult birds, because, you know, cats,” I say and shake my head when I still fail to find Clyde. “I’ll get him and then find you. Keep that video ready,” I say and follow the scent of grilling meat, past the group of people dancing close to the bonfire.
“You know where Clyde is?” I ask Yeti .
“I think Prophet said he got sick or something and rushed away. Up the hill, so I’m guessing to your home? Hope he’s not setting explosives and trip wires,” he adds with a groan, but doesn’t seem worried.
I frown and turn on my heel without a word.
Sick? I was right there. He could have told me. Not to mention that Brigid has remedies for every ailment in the damn world, including imagined ones, like curses.
I speed up, rushing uphill, and as I get farther from the fire and the world around darkens, I switch on a pocket flashlight I always have on me, so that I don’t end up falling on my face.
Sure enough, the light inside my cabin is on, which relaxes me a little bit, despite the annoyance of having to follow Clyde all the way here to find out what’s up. I stroke Nutter’s head in passing and go straight inside.
“It’s me!”
I know something’s not right when I walk into the bedroom to find Clyde stuffing a sweatshirt into a travel bag. He looks up at me with distracted eyes. “I… I need to go,” he chokes out, and the hairs at the back of my neck bristle.
“What are you doing?” I ask, taking two steps closer to the bed where we spent most of the afternoon imagining a future in this place. My chest fills up with something dense and heavy, until it bothers me so much I need to hold my hand against my breastbone. “Did something happen?”
In the warm glow of the bedside lamp, Clyde’s hair is like liquid gold, and I find myself itching to touch his locks, and then hold him, so he can’t leave.
He takes a deep breath, clenching and unclenching his fists. “This was a mistake. I can’t be here.” Clyde shakes his head and glances at the bag, as if assessing what else to pack, but he doesn’t have much right now.
I wish I could inhale his thoughts and not struggle like this, because he’s not like himself, and I need to know what’s up right the fuck now.
“‘A mistake’?” I repeat and join him by the bed in just two more steps. The smoke from the fire still clings to his hair, but under it is the scent of the shampoo he used, and the aroma of warm skin, which at this point feels so painfully familiar.
Something happened while I wasn’t around, and fuck, I should have never left him on his own so early.
“Where can’t you be? In my house? Or with me?” I ask as my blood slows, freezing over like the nearby stream in winter. “Am I the mistake?”
His lips tremble, and he looks so much younger right now. His blue eyes are wide open, and even the scar can’t make him seem any rougher. What could anyone have possibly said to him that affected him this much? He’s Clyde fucking Turner.
“No! No, no, no.” He strokes my cheek, but his breathing is unnaturally fast. Is he… on drugs? “You’re not the mistake. Never you. Listen, you just pack the essentials, and let’s go. Leave it all behind.”
I blink. “What? No. This is my home. I can’t just leave—” I mumble, making a broad gesture toward the porch, in hope that a bit of humor might make him more comfortable and share what caused this fit in the first place. “Who’ll feed all the cats?”
I was expecting him to tease me about them not being ‘my’ cats, but he peeks out of the window so distressed I need to hug him. “I… I don’t know. If you don’t want to go…”
Then… what? Is this about his house? His club?
I raise my hands, clutching at air. “Oh, come on Clyde! Will you tell me what the fuck happened? Did someone tell you something? Is that it?”
It’s like watching glass shatter under pressure. He bites his bottom lip, but his face twists, tears form, then streak down his cheeks, and he lets out a heart-wrenching sob.
I feel like each shake in his voice is a stab, and feel instant regret about raising my voice. I have no fucking idea what’s going on, but it doesn’t matter. I just want him safe. I want him to trust me.
“Fuck, I’m sorry,” I say, dragging both my hands down my face as my heartbeat speeds up, getting ever faster, until it’s like a powerful knocking inside my chest. “I just… don’t know what could have—” caused this.
What the hell could have turned Clyde Turner, my Clyde, into such a mess?
“It’s fine,” Clyde says between one sob and another. It’s definitely not fine, and him covering his face can’t hide that.
I wanted to give him space, but I can’t fucking deal with seeing him so sorrowful and pull him close, tucking his head under my chin and tightening my arms around him. It eases some of the tension inside my chest, and I exhale, knowing that he can’t leave for as long as I hold him. “Don’t lie to me.”
“It’s… too awful. I don’t want you to know,” Clyde whispers, awakening new layers of worry inside me. The way he’s clutching at the back of my vest and melting into me for co mfort is both a relief and terrifying. He reminds me of a kitten I found trembling in the rain during a storm, and that isn’t like him. He’s Clyde Turner, who set off a bomb in our warehouse and wanted to murder me in a hospital bed. He’s been through so fucking much, and I never imagined anything could put him in this frantic state.
I try to steady my breathing, because me losing my shit too is the last thing he needs. I can be his rock, the deserted island that offers him shelter in the middle of a stormy ocean. “You can tell me anything. Whatever happened, we can deal with it. We don’t have to go back to the bonfire tonight, and tomorrow, we can go for a ride, after you pick your new bike—”
He pulls away, and if I didn’t grab his arm, I swear he would have tripped over the bed. His red, tear-streaked face turns into a mask of fury. “I’m not going to see that fucker! I don’t care if he’s your buddy! I’m not spending another night here!”
It’s like a puzzle, and I’ve just found the corners, but I’m missing so many pieces I don’t know how to continue putting it together. My gaze zeroes in on his, and I put my hands on his shoulders, determined to find the solution. “What did he do, Clyde?”
A silent battle goes on behind the blue eyes and I can only hope that his trust for me wins. Whatever it is, I can handle it for the both of us.
Clyde takes a deep breath. “I recognized the tattoos on his hands. It’s been years, but I swear to you, it’s him. I would not mistake them. But he’s everyone’s friend, your favorite mechanic, Prophet was so happy to introduce him. Who’s gonna believe me?”
He’s turning the puzzle pieces face up, but I still can’t see the full picture.
Or maybe I’m unwilling to do it yet, clinging to the illusion that what’s coming will not shake up everything I know. But I’ve been through so much shit I don’t need comforting lies. What I do need is to know what’s going on with my man.
“Clyde, please,” I say in the softest voice I can manage and stroke his cheeks with my fingers. He’s shaking like a leaf during a heavy storm, but I won’t let him fall. “I will believe you.”
He looks down, as if there were iron cuffs pulling his neck and arms to the floor. “I was just seventeen, trying to work out if I was gay, if I should leave the town behind, start a life somewhere else with a clean slate. I was curious, too horny for my own good.” His voice is quiet, but as he speaks, the thudding of blood in my ears intensifies, because this takes me back to the conversation I had with Isaac today. My stomach clenches hard, fighting the sinking feeling. I think I know where this is going, and I already hate Isaac more than anyone alive. “I just wanted an anonymous fuck. To know . I found out about a cruising spot and when I went there one night, I met a guy. No names, faces pretty much covered. I was cocky, wanted to get right to it, but as soon as he went for it, started touching me, I freaked out. I bit off more than I could chew, and it pissed him off. It’s all a blur, but when I told him to back off, he punched me out of nowhere, and then I was on the ground, and he… he was inside me, and I told him to stop, I fought back, but he ended up holding my hands down, and that’s… that’s all I saw. The spiderweb tattoos on his hands,” Clyde finishes in a monotone voice, as if trying to convince me he recognized the ink was somehow more important than what he’s told me.
“Fuck,” I utter in a choked voice, because my whole body feels rigid, as if ice has grown around it, preventing me from breathing freely. This is bad, so much worse than I expected when I first saw Clyde packing, and I pull him close again, to confirm he is here, and that nothing happened to him tonight . A part of me is angry at myself, because maybe I should have seen the signs. Clyde was weirdly careful about sex at times, and he did tell me about that time in his teens, when he got beat up and decided to join the Butchers, so he can learn to keep himself safe.
“That story you told me… when someone beat you up,” I mumble, holding him tightly, because the tension in his limbs means he might shove me away any second now, not wanting my touch either. “Is that what really happened?”
He takes a shivery breath through his nose and nods. “What was I gonna do? Tell my dad about it? I know better, but… back then… I kinda thought I deserved it. For what I wanted.” I sense his voice against my neck, and it’s like he’s speaking right into me, burrowing his soul inside me.
I want to keep it safe.
I want to keep him safe. For him to know that nothing bad can touch him here.
My hands twist in the clothes on his back, but no matter how much it makes me ache inside, there’s nothing I can offer him but my presence. There is no changing the past. I can’t keep him from going cruising at seventeen, nor keep that perverted creep Isaac away from him. It makes my blood boil, and all my insides stew with helpless fury.
It eventually becomes too much, but I can’t cry, or shout, so I squeeze him tighter, rocking us by the bed. Of course Clyde didn’t deserve this bullshit. For what? For being curious? For wanting to find out the truth about himself? For wanting to live his life the way he wanted to ?
Grief dulls, but its power feeds the anger at the pit of my stomach. The bastard who did this has lived here for years, beloved, hiding his real self behind smiles and great mechanic skills. It makes me feel dirty that I let him work on my bike, that the same hands that forced Clyde down touched my ride and kept me safe.
Isaac is like the fuckers who saw a fourteen-year-old on the run and demanded sexual favors for rides, sandwiches, a blanket to sleep under. Actually, no, he is way fucking worse.
I try not to think what could have happened to me had I not fought off the guy who tried to force himself on me, and who then left me at the side of the road, knocked out, because this hits unsettlingly close to home.
“I can’t believe you ever thought you deserved what happened.” I swallow as the smoke from the fire raging inside me makes my eyes itch. “Clyde, I love you, okay? That’s what you deserve. For someone to fucking follow you into the line of fire and keep you safe.”
I let out a deep sigh when Clyde’s hands move over my back in tender strokes. “I don’t want to tell anyone else. But I can’t stay around him. I’d kill him, and ruin your whole life here.”
A low chuckle escapes my lips.
As if I’d let that vermin stay here, now that I know what happened.
We won’t be the ones fleeing from home while this bastard enjoys the privilege of a good life at Vulture Hollow. I’m craving blood.
“I’ll handle this,” I say, leaning back to meet Clyde’s damp gaze as I brush his tears away with my fingers. “Do you want to come with me or stay here?”
He watches me with new lucidity, and I’m so glad to hear his breath evening out. “I’ll go with you. What about your club?”
I pull my fingers through a strand of his hair, and then twist it. “They’ll complain, maybe tell me to oust him. But that’s not enough.”
I don’t think any punishment would ever be enough for what that bastard has done. My family home was hardly an example of good values, but despite growing up there, I would never ever imagine attacking someone like that. Hell, Clyde started out as an enemy, and I would still never fucking hurt him in bed. He was still a person , something Isaac did not see in him. Just thinking about it has me in a state of unstoppable rage .
Clyde leans in for a gentle kiss. A peck on the lips. He’s lived with this secret for ten years, not daring to approach another man, sure he’d never find the fucker who hurt him. No wonder he was such a ticking time bomb.
“I’ll follow your lead.”
I cup his face, and my heart flutters when he leans into the touch. Like a feral cat finally trusting I will never hurt it.
But now’s the time to deal with the fucker who broke him, so I pull him with me. “I know talk is cheap, but I’m on your side. I will always fight for you.”
Clyde takes my hand to his lips and kisses my knuckles, but then we go.
I don’t need a gun. I’ll rip the fucker apart with my bare hands.