15. Clint
FIFTEEN
CLINT
Austen’s hasty footsteps echoed through the apartment as I stood in her bedroom, gripping the towel at my waist as water continued to drip down my back. The door opened and shut again. Then I was alone, my lips still burning with the ghost of her last kiss. From before the shower. Before I rolled out of bed and everything apparently went all to hell. Such a contrast to the way she’d just bolted without even looking at me.
He doesn’t need to know, anyway.
The words hit me like a punch to the gut. After everything—the letters while I was deployed, our “practice dates,” that kiss at the wedding that had felt real as hell, and everything that had happened after that had been for no one but us—she’d dismissed what happened between us like it was nothing. Like I was nothing. Just her brother’s buddy doing her a favor.
Maybe that’s all it had been to her. A favor that got out of hand.
But the way she’d touched me last night… that hadn’t felt like just a favor.
Unless I’d read it all wrong. Seen only what I wanted to see and let myself believe that the girl I’d been half in love with since high school might actually want me back.
My clothes made a trail from her bedroom door to the bed—evidence of how we hadn’t been able to keep our hands off each other. I snatched up my boxers from where they’d landed on her dresser.
My suit pants had somehow ended up under her bed. As I fished them out, I found the panties I’d peeled off her. The memory of her on the bed, spread out for me to feast on, slammed into my brain like a freight train. I could still remember the taste of her, the sounds she’d made…
I grabbed my shirt from where she’d dropped it in the closet and shrugged it on, not bothering with more than a couple of buttons, needing to get out of here before I went crazy analyzing every moment, every touch, every whispered word. Before I had to admit that maybe I’d built this whole thing up in my head. That maybe she’d just gotten caught up in the moment, in the romance of the wedding, in the satisfaction of showing her ex what he’d lost.
And I’d been nothing but a convenient prop.
I gave the apartment one last sweep, making sure I hadn’t left anything behind. No evidence that I’d ever been here. That’s what she wanted, right?
The coffee maker was still running, filling the kitchen with the scent of a breakfast that would never happen. I switched it off, unable to stomach the thought of her coming home to the stench of burned coffee. Coming home from running away from me.
Cliffhanger watched me from the top of his cat tree, his golden eyes unblinking, tail bobbing and weaving like some kind of charmed snake.
“Well, I guess you got what you wanted. Her all to yourself again.”
The cat just licked his paw as if to say, “I knew this was going to happen.”
That made one of us.
I set the door to lock. I didn’t have a key, so I couldn’t lock the deadbolt, but this was Huckleberry Creek and she was the daughter of the police chief. She’d be fine. It closed with a definitive snick that felt like a period at the end of a sentence I hadn’t finished reading.
This wasn’t me. I didn’t sneak out of women’s apartments like I had something to be ashamed of. But here I was, checking the alley before I moved down the stairs and stepped out onto the sidewalk, praying no one would see me as I hustled to my truck where it was parked in front of the bookstore. All because she couldn’t face telling her brother about us.
Was there even an “ us” to tell anything about?
The stairs had never seemed so long, each step down taking me further from the best night of my life and closer to the reality that maybe that’s all it would ever be. Just one night.
Maybe I’d just leave the truck and take the long way to my own apartment a few blocks down. I could cut down to the wooded area past city hall and cross over behind the building there, then double back to my own place. I’d be less likely to see anybody that way.
I rounded the corner at the mouth of the alley behind Austen’s building, head down and hands shoved in my pockets, and slammed straight into what felt like a brick wall. A sweaty brick wall.
“Whoa, man!” Kellan grabbed my shoulders to steady us both, his usual affable grin fading as he got a good look at my face. “You look like hell.”
I stepped back, scrubbing a hand over my jaw. Should’ve dressed properly before I left. Should’ve done a lot of things differently this morning. “Thanks. You’re looking pretty special yourself.”
He was in his running gear, sweat darkening his shirt despite the relatively early hour. Some things didn’t change—Fox had always been one of those crazy bastards who thought sunrise PT was fun, and he’d clearly been at it for a while.
“Yeah, but I’ve got an excuse.” He jerked his chin toward my wrinkled dress shirt. “You’re still wearing last night’s clothes, and that’s not your happy walk of shame face.”
“I don’t have a happy walk of shame face.”
“My point exactly.” He checked his watch, then glanced up at Austen’s building. Something clicked behind his eyes, but he didn’t say it. Instead, he clapped me on the shoulder. “Come on. You look like you could use coffee, and your place is closer than mine.”
I shouldn’t have been grateful for the out, but I was. “Yeah. Coffee sounds good.” At least at my place, I wouldn’t have to worry about running into Rhett. Or Austen. Or anyone else who might want explanations I didn’t have.
I appreciated that he took the long way without being asked, helping us avoid prying eyes. Once we were inside, I went straight to the coffeepot, putting some on to brew. Kellan ducked into my fridge and stole a bottle of water, draining it down.
“I’m gonna change, right quick.” I wanted to ditch the suit. It still smelled like her.
He just jerked his head in a go-ahead motion.
By the time I came back in jeans and a henley, the coffee was ready, and Kellan had poured us both a cup.
“So… you want to talk about it?” he asked.
I considered bringing him in on the whole thing, but it felt too demoralizing. I didn’t want his perspective if it ended up being that I’d been an idiot, setting myself up for heartbreak. “Not especially.”
“I’m guessing the keeping of the pact isn’t going as smoothly for you as you’d hoped?”
“Something like that.”
He nodded. “Same.”
“Trouble in paradise with you and Tate?”
“Something like that,” he echoed. “Add to the fact that civilian life is more complicated than I remembered and… yeah.”
We stood in silence, sipping our coffee and mutually brooding before I finally admitted, “Rhett’s back.”
“What? Seriously? When?”
“This morning, apparently. I didn’t see him myself.” I let that hang there, along with the certain knowledge of where I’d been when Kellan found me.
“Any word on how he is?”
“Not a one. Mobile apparently. He’s having breakfast with Austen.”
“Ah.” A wealth of understanding underlay that single syllable. “I wish you luck with that, man.”
At the sound of a text notification, he fished out his phone. One glance at the screen had him frowning. “I gotta go. But seriously, if there’s anything I can do, you let me know.”
“Appreciate that, man. And good luck with whatever’s going on with Tate.”
The grin he flashed was humorless. “I’m gonna need it.”
Once he was gone, I dumped the rest of the coffee down the drain. I didn’t need anything to hype me up further. It only took about five minutes to realize if I stayed here, I’d start crawling the walls, so I grabbed my truck keys and headed out.