Chapter Thirty-Eight. Clara
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
CLARA
REID KISSES ME LIKE he has no intention of stopping.
All my senses flood with him. The slight scratch of stubble on his chin and the strong weight of his legs around mine and the soft, grumbly sound he makes against my lips when I wrench him closer. Urge him on.
I surrender completely. Somehow, we found our way back to each other. Somehow, we both showed the worst of ourselves and still believed in this enough to try again. I can’t bring myself to rush.
I thread my fingers through his hair and tug.
He rumbles a hungry sound across my sternum in response and in one swift motion he flips me, so we’re lying on the couch, him hovering over me.
I draw my fingertips across his face—his cheekbones and jaw and lips.
The bruises and cuts. Our eyes meet, and we pause, absorbing each other.
“I never stopped loving you, Clara.” His voice is rough, barely above a whisper, and the words feel as igniting as a caress.
My heart is a hurricane, heat burning my cheeks as I stare up at him, amazed that we’re here—that he still loves me, too. That he’s as much mine as I’m his. It took us awhile, but it’s clear to me why now.
A love this big needed time to grow and settle into.
He captures my shaking hands, his unwavering gaze darkening as he draws his lips across my fingertips with a kind of reverence.
The slow savoring between us picks up to a clutching, furious need.
His hands are everywhere. Mine are, too.
We never stop kissing—even as we shed our clothes, even as we laugh and fumble through the awkward bits.
He’s adoring and consumed. I follow his every move, melting against him, biting my lip hard to keep quiet. Reveling in the feeling of his strong hands squeezing my thighs, the short breaks he takes from my lips to whisper things across my throat and the shell of my ear.
“I love you,” I gasp over and over. An apology. A devotion. I’ll never be able to say it enough.
Afterward, we collapse in a heap, his head resting on my chest, both our bodies slick with sweat. I’ve never felt so happy. So right.
There’s a loud bang outside the solarium that forces me to remember that despite the privacy of this space, we are at the lake and probably shouldn’t linger.
“What was that?” I murmur.
“I don’t care,” he answers sleepily.
But there’s another crash outside and two low voices laughing. We exchange a confused look, and he reluctantly climbs off of me. Once we’re dressed, Reid looks deliciously disheveled, and I do my best to help him get himself together as he tucks his shirt back in.
My fingers linger in the tangles of his hair when he turns and kisses my wrist.
“Did I tell you enough how beautiful you are?” he asks softly.
Heat blooms across my skin. “Yes. That’s one of the many things you do very well.”
“Good,” he says, pleased.
We hover, looking at each other a long moment.
“Are you really okay with leaving Stanford?” I ask.
I want so badly to tell him that I think taking time off is exactly what he needs, but I don’t because I’m not sure the feeling is entirely selfless. The thought of him coming home makes me giddy. For him, yes.
But also for us.
“It’s … uncomfortable. But I know it’s the right move for me,” he says with unwavering conviction.
It makes me smile. I love seeing his confidence returning.
When we get outside to investigate the noise, the culprits are wrapped in a kiss so intense I immediately spin on my heels to look away.
Reid’s eyes fly wide. “Oh god.”
They separate long enough to notice us, which seems to be a feat in and of itself.
“Heeeeey,” Kenji says through a lopsided grin. He puts an awkward hand on his hip. “We were, uh, looking for you.”
Mitchell’s eyes are half-lidded, a dark flush covering his entire face.
“Quite the effective search party,” Reid deadpans through a smirk.
“We found you, didn’t we?” Mitchell says, his voice having taken on a dreamlike quality.
He looks between me and Reid, while I look between him and Kenji, then our gazes collide again as we both smile wide with understanding.
“Except we found you,” Reid points out. “Though I really wish we hadn’t.” He scrubs at his eyes.
“We were literally doing the same thing,” I remind him in a low voice.
He slings an arm around my shoulders and presses a kiss to my temple. “Yeah, well, I liked that.”
I elbow him as I flush all over again.
“Now you know what it was like to go literally anywhere in Woodhurst last year,” Kenji says.
“Seriously,” Mitchell agrees. “Need we remind you two of the hot springs?”
My cheeks flame hotter, and I throw both my hands up. “Okay, let’s just drop it.”
Though instead of being embarrassed or bothered, Reid shrugs, smug as hell. Crunching footsteps have us all turn to find Delaney bounding over to us, her expression thrilled with what has to be fresh gossip.
“Having a party without me?” she asks.
“It’s never a party without you, DL,” Kenji says.
She grins beatifically. “That’s true. Okay, two things. One, Amaya and Nicole actually used their bullying powers for good and got Logan to delete Legacy Lore. It’s gone.”
All of our eyes widen. “No.”
She nods, jumping up and down unable to contain herself and shows us on her phone to prove it.
“Wow…” I say, looking at the empty profile.
It worked.
“Oh my god, are we all basically spies?” Mitchell asks.
Kenji puts a hand over his mouth. “I think we are. Should we plan a heist?” Mitchell laughs, but it falters when Kenji threads their fingers together. He stares at this public declaration and a slow-rising smile takes over his whole face.
“What was the second thing?” Reid asks Delaney, before they completely divert us.
She brightens. “Oh, right! One of the donors left this for Clara.” She reaches into the pocket of her skirt and hands me a business card.
“She said to give you this and to have you message her. She’s on the board for the California Young Filmmakers’ Contest,” Delaney says, bouncing on her toes.
I stare at the small, thick card in my hand. It shakes a little. Overhead the sky is alight with stars, and inhaling the fragrant mountain air brings everything into focus.
Despite having spent so many years desperate to get out of Woodhurst, I hadn’t quite considered what it would be like to actually leave the mountain. My family. Everything I’ve known.
“You can always come back,” Reid says, reading my mind. Knowing I’ve jumped ahead about a thousand steps already.
I nod.
“But”—his voice turns as gentle and serious as he is—“you have other lives to live first.”
I look up at him, and the crushing sadness that’s been weighing me down all year melts away.
The five of us fall into step toward the parking lot. Reid is beaming the entire slow walk, his arm wrapped around my shoulders in a way that radiates pride. His fingertips skimming the part of my ribs with his poem.
If everything had gone to my perfect plan last year, none of this would have happened.
I couldn’t have made this documentary. I couldn’t have helped my friends see just how broken the program has become.
I would have lived in constant fear of maintaining a path that closed off the possibility of other ones.
It’s like my mom said, there is no one right way.
It always bothered me that people in my family and around town talk about Mom’s brilliance and potential like it’s a thing of the past. Like her life ended when she was nineteen just because it took an unexpected turn. Because it didn’t.
And I realize now that mine hasn’t, either. I’d rather do something worth talking about, than be the one doing the talking.
Even if my doc doesn’t do much for Woodhurst or the Legacy Program—even if it doesn’t get me into a film festival or CAFA—it was absolutely worth it.
Because it brought each of us back to ourselves.
It brought Reid back to me.