37. Clara
Chapter 37
Clara
P iles of brioche French toast are sizzling on the stove by noon. Last night was wonderful, magical, and exactly what we needed, and the encore this morning was pure decadence. I’m surprised I’m upright at all.
Only my weird clinginess hasn’t dissipated. I can’t stop touching Walker, needing verification that he’s still here, beside me. He’d disappeared for so long that some part of me is terrified he’s going to vanish again.
And with each easy grin, each touch, some of the tension in me unspools. Unfortunately, I have months’ worth of the stuff wound up, so one amazing night and leisurely morning won’t fix it.
Only, he promised me forever. And I think he meant it.
I know I did .
Cutting orange slices and spiraling them in the bowl, I’m startled when strong arms wrap around me from behind, RJ’s citrus and sage scent merging with the oranges. “Hey, sugar.”
I twist in his arms, my heart practically buoyant with his open display of affection. I stretch onto my tippy toes to press a chaste kiss to his lips, and he holds me tighter. Not letting go, he glances at Walker. “Need a hand?”
Turning to Walker, I’m terrified of what I’m going to see. Does he think I’m showing favoritism? But he’s wearing his genuine smile, no mask, and another thread around my heart unwinds.
Walker plops a few more pieces of bread into the batter, a twinkle in his eyes. “Clara’s been relegated to fruit duty. I don’t think she can mess that up much. Want to take on the sausages?”
“Hey! I’m not that bad.”
Walker and RJ both look at me, and a flush creeps up my face. “Okay, so I’m not good, but I could learn.”
RJ pulls out a pan, reaching around me to pull out a spatula, his other hand warm on my waist. “You should just stick to the fruit for now, sugar. We don’t want to waste the expensive stuff.”
I huff, and Walker plants a kiss on my cheek. “Your oranges are lovely.”
“Thanks. I guess.”
We’re just finishing plating everything up when Trips stomps in, black circles under his eyes. “Hey.” He slides onto one of the island stools, plucking the center of my orange spiral and chomping into the fruit .
I slide onto the stool next to him, giving him a little shove. “That was supposed to be for when brunch starts.”
“Brunch started two minutes ago.” He holds up his phone, a message sent to the other guys telling them to be here at one. It’s 1:02. Damn him.
I hand him a plate, glaring. He just smirks, setting the rind down. After a glance between me and Walker, his smirk slides into a grin. “Aren’t you two looking freshly fucked?”
I push him for real, and he lets me, snickering as he slides off the stool, moving to dish himself up some French toast. He seems weirdly buoyant today. Walker sets the last batch onto the center of the island. “About last night. Clara’s here permanently.”
RJ and Trips look from Walker to me. I shrug. “Family stuff.” I rub my arm, my mom’s scratches already scabbed over.
The motion doesn’t go unnoticed, and Trips snags my arm, pushing up the sleeve of my sweatshirt. He curses under his breath, his big fingers tracing the edges of the red welts, gentle, soothing. I wait for the questions, but he doesn’t say anything. Instead, he swallows, pulls my sleeve back down, and laces his fingers with mine, dragging me around the island, handing me a plate before going back to his.
“What about Jansen?” I ask.
All three guys laugh. “I said we’d meet at one, so when he rolls in at three, we aren’t too late getting out of here,” Trips says.
“Any reason I wasn’t on the summons?” I ask.
All eyes drift to me as we spread around the island, for once having the right number of chairs for people. I slide in between Trips and RJ, Walker on the other side of Trips .
Trips runs his hand through his hair. “It’s the start of the heist, Clara, not just breakfast.”
“And I’m not invited.”
He half-frowns. “You know the terms. Probation, then the possibility of being voted in.”
I peek at Walker, and he’s looking from me to Trips, his face curious instead of morose. “I believe the contract term you offered was forever, right?” A grin spreads across my face as I look between the two of them.
“You make it sound weirder than it is,” Trips answers, Walker’s eyes bright with laughter, our own forever already agreed to.
I have a bite of French toast, and my God—Walker can cook for me whenever he damn well pleases. I swear, he could make me pickled pig’s feet, and I’d be drooling on my plate in anticipation.
Reaching for my other contribution, a pot of coffee, I ask a question I probably should have thought of last week. “How long is this probationary period?”
Trips chokes on his coffee. “Really? You think you want to be a fucking criminal, Clara?”
I throw my hands up, annoyed. “You’re the one who asked me, you lunatic!”
RJ chuckles, his hand sliding to the small of my back, yet another reminder that this is turning into what will—hopefully—be something more beautiful than mess.
Trips coughs into a napkin, Walker slapping his back significantly harder than necessary for some coffee down the wrong pipe. I giggle, and Walker bursts out laughing too, the lightness like floating after weeks mired in anxiety and dread. Jansen was right, I just had to get Walker talking.
Trips recovers, the hint of a smile at the corner of his mouth. If you weren’t looking for it, you’d miss it, but I was, and it was definitely there.
“So?” I prompt, taking another amazing bite of French toast.
He shakes his head. “I guess it would have to be a certain number of jobs. I don’t know, how many, guys? Five? Seven?”
Walker stabs a sausage. “I’d say this weekend and New Year’s, max. She’s already proven herself with getting you out of jail, blackmailing her ex, being my cover, and acting as our liaison with NightAntiques, er, Jasmine.”
RJ snags an orange slice. “I say probation until she’s ready to decide. All of us had years running up to this. No need to rush into forever.”
Walker cuts in. “I change my vote to RJ’s idea.”
I laugh. “That’s a really long leash there, guys.”
RJ shrugs. “I’m not worried.”
Trips finishes chewing. “I have a feeling Jansen will go with that plan too. Fuck.” He picks up his coffee, staring into its bitter depths. “I guess, then, if that’s what you all want, I won’t stop it. But you’ll need to sign an NDA, Clara.”
“Which is totally inadmissible in court as we’re conspiring to break the law.”
Trips raises an eyebrow, his eyes a brighter blue than usual. “It’s the principle of the thing, Clara. There is honor among thieves. We don’t have a whole lot else to back us up.”
“Besides piles of money in dozens of hidden offshore accounts,” RJ teases, bumping my shoulder .
Am I really going to do this?
What makes my heart sing and my brain buzz? Where do I feel safe to grow and change? When else do I feel as alive as I do with these guys, diving headfirst into their brand of trouble?
Yeah. I think I really might do this.
We finish eating, the conversation light and teasing, a vibe I’ve never experienced with this assortment of men. Usually Jansen’s a beacon of joy, and the others drift toward his levity, but don’t always join in.
Maybe it’s the excitement for the trip to Chicago, anticipation for the heist, or just good food made by a cook in a great fucking mood, but the whole experience gives me hope that even if I’m messing this thing up, at least I haven’t totally fucked it up. Not yet, at least.
I excuse myself after helping with the dishes, slipping into my room, a stupid grin on my face as I look at the rumpled bed. Remembered touches trail over my skin, and I physically shake off the memory.
I need my best friend. This choice? It’s big. Even if I’m just moving onto probation, I’m going to Chicago to break the law. I’ll probably just be gophering coffee like some sort of criminal intern, but still. This is serious. Curling into one of my pink chairs, I call Emma .
She picks up on the third ring, Christmas music blaring in the background. “Clara! What’s up, girl? Are you still half comatose from turkey?”
I pull my knees to my chest, holding myself as tightly as I can. “No, sadly, no turkey for me this year.”
“Did you try to help cook it? If so, I’d say you deserve what you got. You know your weaknesses.”
I laugh, but it’s not up to snuff. “No, I got into a fight with my mom. I moved out. Permanently.”
The Christmas music gets quieter, disappearing as Emma moves to a quieter corner of her house. “Oh…that’s…oh my. How are you doing?”
Shrugging, I force the mess inside me into words. “I’m okay. I’m more angry than anything else right now. But it was time. I don’t even know if she ever loved me, Emma, or if she just loved the idea of perfect little me on the shelf, taking me out to show her friends, then locking me back up again.”
Emma’s sigh encompasses all the emotion that analogy deserves, and I can hear the hint of tears in her voice. “Clara, I can be back in three hours. I’ll be there.”
I choke back my own tears. “I’m good. I’m actually going to Chicago with the guys. At least, I think I am. But I don’t know. It’s kind of a big deal, and I don’t know if I’m ready for it.”
“Ready for a five-way? I mean, I’d typically say no, Clara, but the way you’ve been heading, I think it’s just a matter of time.”
I burst out laughing. “No, you gutter snipe! God. Could you imagine?” As soon as the words leave my mouth, I realize I can imagine, and oh. my. God. So fucking hot .
I swallow, forcing away the sudden intense arousal from the mere idea. “No, it’s, I guess, a business thing. They have this company, and I can go with them to close a huge deal, but the role is, well, it’s pretty permanent. And risky.”
Emma sighs. “Those guys make you so damn cryptic. It’s risky, it could be permanent, and, let me guess, it might end up involving the police, like with the freaking listening device scare of September—and no, I did not forget that. I was just waiting until you came clean. Are you coming clean?”
Tears fill my eyes, and all I want to do is tell my best friend. How can she let me know if I’m crazy to consider this if she doesn’t know what “this” is? Only these aren’t my secrets to share. “I can’t. But let’s say, hypothetically, that what you said is exactly what’s at stake. Police and everything.”
“Shit, Clara. Is it dangerous? Are you going to get shot at or something?”
Weird that I haven’t seen a single firearm in the house. I need to ask about that. “No, not that I know of. I probably won’t even leave the van.”
“Will someone else get shot at?”
“Hopefully not.”
Her sigh is heavy. “So you’re really considering this?”
“Yeah. I think I am.”
She clicks her tongue, and I can see her braiding and unbraiding her hair in my mind as she thinks about how to navigate this mess I made for her. “Okay, if you’re serious, I have a hypothetical for you: if I were to flip a coin right now, heads you go, tails you stay, and it’s up in the air and spinning, which way would you want it to land?”
Of course Emma is letting chance decide .
But when I think about it, it’s not chance. It’s forcing the moment before chance to clarify what you really want. “I’d want it to land heads.”
“Then I guess that’s your answer, Clara.”
The silence is long. “You know I want to tell you, right? So badly. I want to share every damn detail. But I don’t know where the lines are yet, Emma.”
She’s quiet for so long, I think the call’s dropped, but then she clears her throat. “I need you to promise me something, Clara.”
I can’t even say “of course” without risking the guys. God, I hate this. “What?”
“Fuck. Okay, I want you to promise me that if this all goes to shit, you save yourself. Don’t be a martyr. These guys are great and all, but they aren’t worth your future, Clara. And they’re for sure not worth your life.”
Walker’s “forever” echoes in my mind. A promise of us, together. And I want that. What would I give for the promise? What have I already given?
“I don’t think my life is even on the line here, Emma,” I say, buying time.
“Clara, I just want you safe. I need my best friend. I was here first and I’m claiming eminent domain. You’re mine, and if everything goes ass up, I need to know you’re coming back to me.”
I smile, imagining Emma ready to fight death itself for my friendship. At least I’ve built one good thing for myself over the last few years. This friendship? It’s for the long haul. She’s got that right. “You know, you always said you’d be with me in jail,” I tease .
“And that’s still the deal. I am not your bail call. I’m your partner in crime.”
I laugh. “You’ll always be my partner in crime, no matter what, Emma.”
“Good. I guess that’s all I can really force from you, isn’t it?”
I stretch my legs out. “If you came up with some intense torture techniques, you might get more. Maybe ice cream torture? I’m sure that’s a thing, right?”
She laughs. “I would totally take your ass down in ice cream torture. That ass is mine.”
“I don’t know about that,” I tease.
Her cackle is exactly what I’d hoped to hear. “God, you sound happier. I take it you fixed things up with Walker? You’re what, up to two official boyfriends?”
“Um, yeah, I guess I am. And I decided I don’t care what the world thinks. This is my life. And I’m not choosing. I’m a greedy bitch and I’m owning it.”
Her squeal has me pulling the phone from my ear. “Yes! Oh my God! This is the girl I met freshman year! Fuck the haters! Own it!”
I’m laughing so hard I snort. Emma’s laughter doubles, and it’s just me and my bestie, laughing at the world for having a stick up its ass.