Chapter 26
Levi
“This wasn’t what I had in mind.” Claire’s bottom lip jutted out in a pout as she sat cross-legged on my sofa, a blanket draped over her shoulders and cradling a steaming cup of tea.
“But it’s what you need,” I said.
I stood a few feet away, crouched to pet Ripley but mostly keeping a safe distance from Claire. I was being honest when I said I didn’t want to be her distraction from whatever happened, at least not at this point in the process. I could practically hear my mother shouting, You better not take advantage of that sweet woman in crisis.
As if I would. Still. Best to keep the space. Claire was determined and had grabby little fingers.
Wrapped in that blanket, looking like a petulant child, Claire eventually let out a long sigh. “I don’t know what you want me to say,” she said.
“Start from the beginning.” I stood and brushed my hands on my knees when Ripley burrowed herself deeper in her blankets, done with scratches.
“It was a sunny day in May at Our Lady of Assumption Hospital in Chicago, Illinois, when my first cries broke through the air. My mother bravely labored for seventeen hours?—”
I sat back in the short chair across from her with a loud sigh. “Come on, Claire.”
“What? You didn’t specify.”
I guessed moving on from blind lust to anger and annoyance was a sort of progress. “You weren’t kidding when you said you were bad at this.”
“My mom died suddenly from cancer when I was nineteen. For all his wonderful qualities, my father is still a Boomer firefighter from Chicago and a byproduct of his generation. We didn’t have a lot of big emotional talks.” She studied her tea. “Not everybody can just identify what they’re feeling in the moment and label it.”
“Thankfully, I was raised by a woman who bordered on being a hippie, so I know exactly how to do those things.” I scooted forward in the chair until I could reach her knees and rub them through the blanket. “Take your time. You aren’t alone, and I want to help.”
She set her tea on the side table before rounding her shoulders and stretching her neck. “Ugh. This is itchy. ”
“What is?” I ran a hand over the blanket.
“Talking about all this. I feel itchy.”
I huffed a laugh. “You seemed plenty able to talk about things at the general store when you first arrived in town, if you recall.”
“And if you recall, that was a week after the breakup, and the creamer was pushing me to the edge with its emotional demands.” Her arms wrapped tight around her middle, and a loud gurgling sound filled the air between us. “Ugh. You brought this upon yourself; just remember that.”
“I’ll take the risk.”
“Well. After I left hanging out this morning?—”
She met my gaze with a flash of heat, and both of us recalled the fun times of getting each other off earlier.
“I went to hang out with Madi and Gigi, and I got a call from my editor. They pulled my story set to publish next week, and also, I’m fired.”
“The story you came here to finish?”
She nodded. “The very one. The one I spent months of my life working on.”
“I don’t understand. Did they give a reason?”
She continued to nod, but it led to her upper body rocking in a sort of self-soothing motion. “Budget cuts.”
I frowned at her. This article was important to her, but she also mentioned earning income from smaller pieces and miscellaneous help with researching and fact-checking. This meant she’d more than lost the article. She lost her sole source of income. More important, she’d lost what was driving her .
“That’s the official reason.” Her features clouded, and she stiffened. “But I got a cryptic text from my ex right before I got fired. I don’t even know how he knew.”
My thoughts snagged on that detail, wondering how often she talked to the douche canoe ex-boyfriend.
“That’s a pretty heavy coincidence,” I said instead.
“I thought that as well.” She stopped rocking to run her hands by her temples and tug. “He was set to quit his job. It was only supposed to be temporary. That was the plan, but then he got the promotion and told me I had to choose between the story and our relationship. And now it was pointless. The story isn’t going to happen.” She shook her head. “None of this makes sense. Every single fact in that article is bulletproof. I had everything triple-checked and verified, and this is utter bullshit.”
Her growing anger felt like a relief. It burned its way through her state of shock. Slowly, one layer at a time, I would help her through this.
“Unbelievable,” I said.
“That’s not even the worst bit. Melanie told me she thinks it’s because Slimeball McGee had major stock investments in this company, which, as it happens, has a subsidiary. A subsidiary that is one of the few remaining major advertisers for the paper. I always thought the integrity of the paper was more important than anything. But once again, I had completely misjudged what I thought to be cut-and-dry ethics.”
“Fuck.” I ran a hand down my face.
“Yep. If I had to guess, there was a ‘nudge, nudge get rid of your problem child or lose your paper’ situation. Actually, hearing that option feels slightly less awful than the excuse they gave me. Better corrupt office politics than just being seen as useless?”
“I’m so sorry, Claire.”
She made a sound of hmm before staring into the fire for a long time. She still hadn’t cried or shown as much anger or devastation as I would probably be displaying at this moment, but as she said, identifying feelings in the heat of the moment was a skill that required training like anything else.
“I feel like it’s a bad dream,” she said eventually. Softly. “That I’ll wake up and realize that it was a horrible stress dream all along.”
Her desolation destroyed me. I couldn’t bear seeing her like this; I hated that I couldn’t fix it for her. I scooped her into my lap, let her nestle against me, and find comfort in my nearness, if nothing else.
“It’s understandable. You put your heart into your work. It’s admirable.”
“And I just keep thinking about the people I was trying to help. They’re just gonna get screwed over as an already obscenely rich person gets richer. I don’t know what to do. It just seems so unfair. It’s the injustice of it all that is so infuriating. Kevin made me seem so naive for believing I could make a difference, and it kills me that he’s right.”
“You aren’t naive. He wasn’t right.” I bit out the words, my fists clenched tight.
“All I ever wanted was to make some sort of difference in the world, and now it all feels so pointless.”
“It’s not pointless. It matters. People need to care,” I said, but it felt flat. “But I understand feeling powerless.”
“I know,” she said sadly. She turned to hold my hand. “ I’ll be okay. I’ll go back to Chicago, homeless. Jobless. And start all over, and I’ll be okay. I just feel so tired. Defeated.”
The announcement of her new plan made my palms sweaty. “You don’t have to decide anything right now.” I clenched my fists, hoping she couldn’t see the nerves I tried to hide. I wanted her to stay here. I wanted her to know that she could stay here as long as she needed.
Forever.
If there had ever been doubt before about my growing feelings for her, they vanished as I tried to soothe her. If loving someone meant feeling desperate to stop them from ever hurting, then there was no doubt I loved Claire. There hadn’t been doubt for a while. I wanted to protect her. Keep her safe and satisfied.
But her restless gaze and jumping leg told me that this wouldn’t be the right time to make that offer. “You have a little under a week until Thanksgiving. Just rest and process for now.”
She made a soft sound before she retreated back into herself, the fire dancing in her glassy eyes.
“Thank you for all this. I’m not great at feeling things. Blah.”
“It’s a lot to process. There is time,” I said.
“Can I admit something shallow?” she asked.
“This is a circle of trust.” I gestured around us .
“I’m so mad about Kevin too. That text was so damn smug.” She ground her jaw, nostrils flaring. “This story was everything to me. It’s everything I amounted to.”
“That’s not true. It’s an article. It doesn’t define you,” I said.
She shook her head, and I wasn’t entirely sure she was listening. “Publishing this story made everything worth it. I was saving lives or at least helping them not be financially ruined. All the rest wouldn’t be so bad if I could just make a difference, but it was all for nothing. Evil will win. Money will always mean power. And in the end, Kevin was right. It really sucks.”
“He wasn’t right. He might have money, but Kevin lost the best thing, so I can’t imagine he’s feeling smug right now. He’s probably realizing he messed up. Especially if he’s still trying to contact you.”
She looked confused.
I rolled my eyes. “You, Claire. He lost you.”
“And for what?”
“Would you have wanted to be with him still?” I asked, containing a shaking fear that made me feel sick.
“God. No.” Her answer was instant and solid, and with it was a wave of relief. “I lost all respect for him the moment he took that promotion. No. We were long over. Honestly, I don’t even miss him. Sadly, I rarely ever think about him.”
I brushed my lips along the top of her head. Another few moments of silence passed as I continued to hold her.
“I’m devastated,” she said. Something came over her features as if she recognized a scent she couldn’t previously place. “That’s what I feel. Utter devastation. I feel like my whole life I’ve been working to make a difference, and I’m just like that one mortal suffering for sins of the gods, pushing up the rock, and these big rich people are laughing from their perches above us all as it rolls back down.”
Her hands shook as I collected them to kiss her knuckles. “Darling,” I said sadly. I hated her pain, but I hated her self-doubt more than anything. The pain would end, but would her self-esteem recover? Her larger-than-life morals were part of what made her so passionate and wonderful.
“I don’t even know who I am without that purpose anymore.”
“You are so many things. Don’t make judgments about your character when you’ve been dealt a blow. Treat yourself how you would treat a friend in this situation.”
Her brow furrowed. “I can’t pick apart every choice I ever made to make a case about how awful a person I am?”
“I’m afraid that won’t help you from feeling like shit.”
She dropped her head into her hands. “What am I even going to do?”
“Nothing needs to be decided right now.”
She tilted her head back and met my gaze. “How can you understand that about me so clearly?” she asked with a sense of awe. Despite myself, my gaze moved to her mouth, where she licked her lips.
“I think the issue is that …” She took a breath and went on. “It used to feel so important to change the world. Now, I fear I was just avoiding something else, but I can’t even consider it be cause I’ve invested so much into this version of myself. It feels so impossible to change now.”
I let out a long, slow breath. “Now that’s something I know a little bit about.”
She grabbed my fingers back and squeezed.
“I think we just try small steps. A little bit, each day that scares us.” My throat was so tight, the words so close to coming out. “And with time, we can be whoever we want.”
“I like that, Levi Carmichael.” She leaned forward and kissed my temple. “Thank you. For all of it.”
I couldn’t share my desire to keep her here, not now. Not when she was just starting to relax.
I was a hypocrite and a liar. So much for having the courage to change.