Chapter 22
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
“ S orry,” I apologize when my thoughtlessness has me crashing into a gentleman exiting the foyer of my apartment building in a hurry.
A fit-looking man in his mid-thirties with a military-style haircut dips his chin—accepting my apology—before increasing his pace. His brisk speed from the awning of my apartment building to a steel gray Audi parked at the curb a few spots up from the underground garage exposes he’s carrying a semi-automatic weapon. My brows scrunch when I notice the burly man sitting behind the steering wheel of the Audi also has the same style haircut and is wearing an identical suit.
I thought Ryan was holding off on putting an undercover unit on Clara?
Shrugging off my confusion, I adjust the bag of groceries I collected from the corner store and amble into the foyer. My mind has been working overtime since I left Caramine Care two hours ago. It could be a coincidence, but deep down in my soul, I know Sophia is somehow connected with Clara’s necklace. It isn’t only my intuition telling me this is the case, it is the fact Daniel advised me Sophia is Clara’s age, and before she was transferred to Caramine Care, she lived in Hopeton, the town where Clara grew up.
Just remembering the bleak look in Clara’s eyes when she asked about the possibility of her necklace being returned had me spending the last two hours scouring every pawn shop within a twenty-mile radius of Ravenshoe. Unfortunately, Clara’s necklace hasn’t been seen. Since the mugging was less than forty-eight hours ago, the local brokers believe it will be a few more weeks before it surfaces. I don’t care if it takes me weeks, months, or years, I won’t stop searching until I find it.
When I walk into my apartment, I’m confronted with silence.
I don’t fucking like it.
I place the bag of groceries on the kitchen counter and climb the stairs to my loft. Although my room still smells like Clara, it is empty.
I don’t fucking like it.
I check the laundry room, the bathroom, and the patio attached to my living area. Clara is nowhere to be seen.
I don’t fucking like it.
I hated leaving her alone, but she assured me she could take care of herself and didn’t need a babysitter. When I failed to see any untruth in her eyes, I left, expecting her to still be here when I returned.
Obviously, I can’t read Clara as well as I thought I could.
I hate that more than anything.
The seething rage bubbling my blood simmers to a slow boil when I catch the quickest giggle. I stop frozen in my tracks and crank my neck. It is only faint, but there’s no doubting who the laugh belongs to. Clara.
My eyes rocket to my bedroom when the soft babbling of a conversation sounds above me. Once my eyes travel from the living room to the loft, I notice the door to my rooftop garden has been cranked open.
The quiet hum of dialogue between two female voices grows louder as I climb the staircase. From the high tone and limited vocabulary of the second voice, I can easily tell it belongs to a child.
I hit the stoop of the stairs when a female child’s voice asks, “Are you staying here long?”
I round the corner to discover my eleven-year-old neighbor, Clementine, sitting next to Clara on the frayed double couch. They have two half-full wine glasses of soda and a bowl of plain chips sitting on a makeshift pallet coffee table.
Clara finishes twisting a piece of Clementine’s thick wavy hair into a fancy braided design before she answers Clementine’s question, “I don’t know. Brax said it could be days or even weeks before I can go home.” A grin curls on my lips when a mask of worry slips over Clara’s face during the last half of her sentence.
Clementine huffs and crosses her arms over her chest. After placing a tie in Clementine’s hair, Clara adjusts her position so she’s facing the girl. “Don’t you want me to stay? I thought we were having fun today?”
Clementine’s shoulders hunch forward. “It isn’t that. It’s just… just… you shouldn’t get comfortable. You won’t be here for long.”
“Oh,” Clara breathes out heavily at the same time I mutter, “Are you trying to scare off my girl, Clementine?”
Clara and Clementine’s heads snap to mine in sync. Clementine smiles a cheeky grin I’ve seen numerous times over the past six months. It’s usually worn when she’s creating mischief for Ms. Hartler who lives in apartment 2B.
After shaking her head, denying my claim, Clementine turns her eyes back to Clara. Clara slants her head to the side and stares at me like she’s shocked to see me standing on my rooftop garden. Her pupils are wide, and her plump nude lips are parted.
I need those lips on me. Anywhere .
“Clementine, I think I hear your momma calling you.”
Clementine springs up from the sofa. “Really?” She angles her head to the side and hoists her ear into the air. “I don’t hear anything.”
Like the stars aligning in the sky, the faint holler of Mrs. Daphne bellows up the stairwell. If I were a religious man, I’d send thanks to God. Since I’m not, I simply thank my lucky stars.
Clementine’s eyes bug before she rushes to the door. Her brisk pace slows when I say, “Clementine.”
When she cranks her neck back to peer at me, I hold out the packet of Mars bars I’m clutching in my hand for her. She smiles a broad grin before she crosses the space between us. Her steps are so fast, she reaches me in less than a heartbeat. I learned early on in life that candy is my best ally in keeping any female in my life happy.
If only Clara were a fan of sugar.
Still grinning, Clementine snatches the chocolates out of my hand and presses a quick kiss to my cheek. My brow cocks over her audacity. She’s always been a little showy around her friends from school, but she’s never taken it this far before.
She must be trying to impress Clara.
Clementine’s girly giggle is only just heard over the stomping of her feet as she gallops down the stairwell. When the front door slams shut not even two seconds later, I drift my eyes back to Clara. Her expression is even more shocked than it was earlier.
In a nanosecond, she switches the appearance of her face, changing it from stunned to forthright. “How’s your grandma?”
I smile. “She’s good. A hurricane couldn’t slow her down.”
Clara releases a deep breath before a rare and genuine smile etches onto her mouth. I’m in trouble with this woman. I’ve only been away from her a little over three hours, and she hasn’t left my mind. I knew the day she walked back into Inked she’d be trouble. I just had no clue the type of trouble she would cause.
Clara curls her feet under her bottom when I take the empty seat next to her. “Tread carefully with Clementine, Brax,” she mumbles while brushing her hand over the sticky lip gloss stain Clementine left on my cheek. “She’s too young to understand the repercussions of chasing an unattainable man.” Her voice comes in barely a whisper. “I wish someone had given me the same warning.”
“Isaac?” I ask, even knowing I could be throwing the first grenade in World War III.
Like I could be any more shocked the past twenty-four hours, Clara surprises me again by simply nodding. “Despite what everyone thinks, I did care for Isaac… a lot.”
I nod. The fact she was going to get his name inked on her hip is a pretty compelling point.
“But I didn’t care about him because of his money or power. I just thought if two people with half a heart joined, they could have one whole heart again.” Her voice is so weak my ears strain to hear what she’s saying. “I just never considered his heart would heal on its own.”
Seizing her wrists, I pull her to sit side-saddle on my lap. I fight the desire to bang my chest like King Kong when she doesn’t cite a single protest.
Now is not the time for cockiness.
Clara’s pained eyes lift to mine when I say, “A broken heart never mends, but it can swell to accommodate more people in it. You don’t have to live your life unloved because your heart was once broken. You just have to be willing to increase its size to include the new people in your life. The people who care for you. Guys like me.”
Diesel and Ryan are right. I’m gone for this woman. Completely and utterly fucking done.
The hurt in Clara’s eyes softens as she quietly mumbles, “Do you really think that’s true?”
I nod without pause for consideration. My heart swells when she cups the edge of my jaw and smiles a knockout grin. Her eyes bounce between mine. She looks like she wants to say something but not a word spills from her lips.
After twisting a lock of hair behind her ear, I say, “I saw Sophia today.”
Clara stiffens, and her eyes widen, but she tries to keep the expression on her face neutral. She fails. “How is she? Is she okay?”
“She’s good. Daniel said they have had a couple of recent developments the past month he looks forward to discussing with you at your next visit.”
Clara’s pupils dilate more. “Recent developments?”
I smile before nodding. “She moved her toes last week.”
She sucks in a deep breath as her eyes brim with tears.
“She has also been recorded taking unaided breaths.”
Tears stream down Clara’s cheeks as her hand clamps over her mouth.
“These are good signs, Princess.”
“I know,” she replies, her tone weak. “These are happy tears.”
She takes a few moments to settle her composure before locking her red-rimmed eyes with mine. My heart rate kicks into overdrive, but I remain quiet, praying she will open up to me.
“Sophia is Remy’s little sister. Remy was my first serious boyfriend. His real name was Victor Remy the Second, but everyone called him Remy. Although I was only a teen, I loved him. Truly I did.”
Her eyes flare as a range of emotions flash through them.
“But my father hated Remy. Remy thought it was because his parents were divorced, but that wasn’t the real reason my dad hated him. It was because he didn’t have any money, and he lived on the wrong side of town. Remy begged me for months to leave my family and go live with him, but I couldn’t. He could barely afford to live as it was, let alone take care of me, and since I was under eighteen, I had no way of supporting myself.”
Her eyes gloss over. “Remy gave me my pendant the night of my eighteenth birthday party. The night was going surprisingly well. Although Remy looked slightly out of place in a pair of ripped jeans when all the other male attendees were wearing dress pants, but I didn’t care. I loved him for who he was, not what he wore.”
She takes a breath before continuing, “I don’t know exactly how it started, but Remy got into a disagreement with my father. After they flung a string of hateful words at each other, Remy dragged me out of the party. I pleaded for him to wait until my guests had left, but nothing I said made a difference. He was furious I didn’t stand up for him. I wanted to… truly, I did… I just couldn’t get my mouth to cooperate. I was still six days away from officially turning eighteen, so I feared the repercussion of going against the wishes of my father. Remy broke up with me because I refused to leave with him. I was devastated.”
She stops talking for a moment and stares out into space. “That devastation was nothing compared to being informed he was involved in a motorbike accident three weeks later. He was killed on impact. Sophia has been on life support ever since.”
Fuck! No wonder she was so scared when I threw her on my bike .
“I’m sorry, Princess. If I had known, I wouldn’t have forced you onto my bike?—”
My words stop when Clara places her index finger on my lips. “It’s okay. I know you’d never hurt me, Brax.”
I strengthen my grip around her waist but remain quiet. Just like there were no words I could say to ease Hank’s pain when Derrick was killed, I have no words to offer Clara to lessen the hurt brewing in her eyes.
After removing a tear tracking down her face, Clara lifts her tear-drenched eyes to me. “Sophia’s parents couldn’t afford Remy’s funeral, let alone Sophia’s extensive medical bills, so I made a deal with the devil to ensure she was taken care of. By becoming the daughter my father wanted… an upstanding member of society who never spoke unless spoken to and did exactly as demanded… Sophia’s medical expenses were paid. As the years went on, I became more and more like my father, a vindictive and callous human being with an ice heart.” A painful whizz of air parts her mouth. “I thought once my father died, his hold over me would vanish. It didn’t. I was too far gone by then. My heart was beyond repair.”
“I don’t believe that,” I reply, speaking for the first time in ten minutes. “If you didn’t have a heart, you wouldn’t have visited Sophia every month for the past eight years. You wouldn’t have used seventy percent of your salary at Inked to put toward her care expenses, and you wouldn’t have tears in your eyes right now. You have a heart, Princess. A very big one. Don’t let a man with wrong values ever let you think any different.”
I run the back of my hand down her cheeks, removing her tears before saying, “Besides, you can always hold onto the piece of my heart you’ve already stolen until yours fully thaws.” I aim to keep my tone cheeky, but my words come out with more sentiment than I anticipated .
When the pain in Clara’s eyes eases from my statement, I’m happy for her to take the meaning any way she sees fit.
“I have a piece of your heart?”
When I nod, a true and genuine smile etches onto her mouth.
“I like the sound of that,” she murmurs before resting her cheek on my chest.
A stretch of silence passes between us. It isn’t awkward. It is comforting and necessary, and I could stay like this for hours. I don’t know why, but I’ve had an overwhelming desire to protect Clara since the day I met her. Finding out she has suffered a loss has strengthened my desire to protect her, but it isn’t the only reason I’d happily sit here for hours with her in my arms. In some ways, this type of affection is more intimate than the moment we shared in the shower this morning.
Don’t construe my statement the wrong way. Our time together this morning was out of this fucking world—better than I could have ever predicted—but it’s during the quiet times like this that I get to see other sides of Clara, the ones not governed by her libido.
Her outward appearance gives the illusion that she’s a woman with a frozen heart, but I realize now that isn’t the case. She’s protecting her heart so fiercely because she’s afraid one more knock may shatter it completely, permanently disfiguring it. And although she puts on a brave front, even a woman as headstrong as Clara doesn’t want to live her life unloved, no matter how much she pretends she does.
E nough time rolls by in complete silence that the sky changes from a vibrant blue coloring to midnight black. My eyes shift away from the stars scattering in the sky to Clara when she lifts her head off my chest.
The crazy beat of her heart pounds the nape of my neck when she curls her arms around my shoulders. “Kiss me, Brax,” she mutters, fluttering my lips with her warm breath. “I’ve missed your lips on mine.”
My lips tug high, loving that she’s becoming so forthright with her desires.
“You wish is my command, Princess.”
Her mouth tastes sweet and spicy. Sweet from the soda she was sharing with Clementine and spicy from the flavor of the potato chips they were consuming. Unlike our previous kisses, this time, I control the pace. I don’t mind handing over the reins on an odd occasion, but I want to prove to Clara what I said was true. Loss, heartache, and betrayal are not something you simply get over. You just have no choice but to move on and live the best life you can. Although I hate the idea of another man holding a portion of Clara’s heart, she isn’t sitting in his lap, nibbling on his lips. She’s here with me. And if I have it my way, that isn’t going to change anytime soon.
After I’m happy I’ve sampled every portion of her mouth, I pull my lips away from Clara. I run my thumb over the curve of her top lip before locking my eyes with hers. My chest swells, beyond smug, her gaze is hazy and brimmed with lust. I tilt my head to the side and stare deeper when sparks of the unidentifiable glint she was wearing this morning resurfaces.
It brightens before she mutters, “Make love to me, Brax.”