Chapter 9 - Claire #2
Nash's shirt is ruined but I put it back on anyway because it smells like him. My dress is wrinkled and my hair is a disaster and I definitely look like I just got thoroughly fucked. I don't care. His arms are around me. My head is on his chest. His heartbeat is steady under my ear.
"What time is it?" I ask sleepily.
He checks his phone. "Little past midnight."
"Seven more hours until we can call Casey."
"Yeah."
"Want to go again?"
He laughs, and the sound rumbles through his chest. "Give me twenty minutes."
"Deal."
But before twenty minutes is up, I'm asleep. Warm and safe and satisfied in a way I've never been before. The last thing I'm aware of is Nash pressing a kiss to my forehead.
And the quiet whisper: "Mine."
I smile in my sleep.
*His.*
Next Day
I wake up to the sound of knocking. Loud, insistent knocking on the car window. My brain is foggy, my body sore in the best way, and for a second I can't remember where I am.
Then it all comes rushing back.
The car breaking down. The confession. The sex—oh god, the sex—in the back seat of my tiny sedan.
Nash's arms are wrapped around me, his body warm beneath me. We're both still half-dressed, covered by his shirt that we'd pulled over us like a blanket, tangled together in the cramped back seat.
And someone is knocking on the window.
Panic floods through me.
"Nash," I whisper urgently, shaking his shoulder. "Nash, someone's out there."
He's awake instantly, his whole body going tense, one arm coming up protectively around me while the other reaches for, I don't know what. A weapon that isn't there.
The knocking comes again.
"Hello? Anyone in there?"
Nash relaxes slightly. "It's Casey."
"Who?"
"The mechanic." He sits up, keeping me covered. "It's okay. It's just Casey."
He rolls down the window a crack, and I bury my face in his chest because I absolutely cannot look at whoever is out there right now.
"Casey," Nash says, his voice rough with sleep.
"Nash? Jesus, man, I got your voicemail from last night. Figured I'd come out early and—" There's a pause. A long pause. "Oh. Oh shit. I'm sorry, I didn't realize you two were… I mean, I can give you some time to get, uh, properly dressed."
I want to die.
I want the earth to open up and swallow me whole.
"Appreciate it," Nash says calmly, like he's not sitting half-naked in a car with his cum still dried on my thighs.
"Yeah, no problem. I'll just, uh, go check out the engine. Take your time."
The footsteps retreat and I hear the hood of the car pop open.
I finally lift my face from Nash's chest. "Oh my god."
"It's fine."
"It's not fine. He knows. He knows exactly what we were doing."
"So?"
"So, it's mortifying!"
Nash cups my face in his hands, and despite my embarrassment, I meet his eyes.
"Casey's seen worse," he says. "And I don't give a fuck what anyone thinks. You're mine now. Let them know."
*You're mine now.*
The words send a thrill through me that has nothing to do with embarrassment.
"Yours," I repeat softly.
"Yeah." He kisses me gently. "Mine."
We find the rest of our clothes. My underwear is indeed under the front seat, and get dressed as best we can in the cramped back seat. I smooth down my wrinkled dress and try to do something with my sex-hair. It's hopeless.
Nash looks annoyingly put-together despite the circumstances. His shirt is wrinkled and he's got marks on his neck from where I was kissing him, but otherwise he looks like he always does.
Calm. Steady. Perfect.
"Ready?" he asks.
"No. But let's do this anyway."
We get out of the car, and the morning air is cool and fresh after the rain. Everything smells like wet earth and growing things. The sun is just starting to rise, painting the sky in shades of pink and gold.
It's beautiful.
Casey is bent over the engine, a toolbox open beside him. He straightens when he hears us approach and I brace myself for judgment or smirking or something.
But he just gives us a friendly nod. "Morning."
"Morning," Nash says.
"Coffee?" Casey holds up a thermos. "Brought extra."
"God yes," I say before I can stop myself.
He pours coffee into two travel mugs and hands them over. I take a grateful sip and it's hot and strong and exactly what I need.
"So," Casey says, turning back to the engine. "Alternator's shot. I can tow it back to the shop and have it fixed by this afternoon."
"That fast?" I ask.
"It's just the alternator. Not a big job." He wipes his hands on a rag. "Though you'll need to leave it with me for a few hours."
"We'll need a ride back to town," Nash says.
"I can do that. Let me just get the tow set up."
Casey hooks up my car to his tow truck while Nash and I stand there drinking coffee and trying not to look like we spent the night having the best sex of our lives in the back seat.
I'm pretty sure we're failing.
The three of us squeeze into the front of the tow truck—me in the middle, Nash on one side, Casey on the other—and we start the drive back to Blackwater Falls.
Casey makes small talk about the weather, his new girlfriend and his daughter, and how business has been picking up. Nothing invasive, nothing that makes me want to crawl under the seat. Just normal, friendly conversation.
I'm grateful for it.
We drive through the quiet early morning, and I watch Blackwater Falls wake up around us. Lights coming on in windows. A few early risers out walking dogs. The coffee shop on Main Street opening its doors.
This is my town now. My home.
And Nash is... what? My boyfriend? That word seems too small for what we are after last night.
"What are you thinking?" Nash murmurs.
"That I need to call my parents," I say. "Tell them I’m staying here no matter what."
"You sure?"
"So sure."
He takes my hand and squeezes.
Casey drops us off at Nash's house. My car will be ready by late afternoon and drives away with a wave. We stand in Nash's driveway in the early morning light, both of us rumpled and exhausted and probably smelling like sex.
"Come inside," Nash says. "You can shower, change. I'll make breakfast."
"You cook?"
"I make scrambled eggs and toast. That's about it."
"Sounds perfect."
We go inside and his house is exactly what I expected. Clean, sparse, everything in its place. No clutter, no decoration except a few photographs on the mantle—him in his firefighter gear, younger and less scarred. A group photo with his crew.
"Shower's upstairs," he says. "Second door on the right. I'll find you something to wear."
The shower is amazing. Hot water pounding down on my sore muscles, washing away the night. I stay under the spray until I start to prune, then reluctantly turn it off.
There's a T-shirt and sweatpants waiting for me on the bathroom counter. Both are huge on me but they're soft and they smell like his detergent. I pad downstairs to find him still in his rumpled clothes from last night, cracking eggs into a bowl.
I sit at the small kitchen table, watching him cook. He plates the eggs and toast and brings them to the table, sitting across from me.
We eat in silence for a few minutes.
"I should call my parents," I say eventually.
"Want me to leave?"
"No. Stay."
He nods and I pull out my phone.
My mother answers on the second ring. "Claire? Did you decide to come to breakfast?"
"No, Mom. I'm not coming."
"What? Why not?"
"Because we have plans, and I don't want to."
Silence. Then: "Excuse me?"
"I don't want to come to breakfast. I'm staying with Nash today. You knew that."
"You're—" I can hear her taking a breath, controlling herself. "Claire, we drove all the way out here to see you."
"I know. And you did see me. At dinner last night."
"That's not the same and you know it. We wanted to talk to you. Just the three of us."
"You mean you wanted to convince me to move back to the city."
More silence.
"That's what I thought," I say. "Mom, I'm not changing my mind. About any of it. I'm staying in Blackwater Falls. I'm staying with Nash. And I need you to accept that."
"Claire—" my father's voice now, he must have picked up the phone. "We're just concerned. You barely know this man."
"I know him well enough."
"Do you? Because from where we're sitting, this all seems very sudden."
"Maybe it is sudden. But it's my choice to make."
"We're not trying to control you," my mother says, though her voice suggests otherwise. "We're trying to protect you."
"I don't need protecting. I need you to trust that I can make my own decisions."
Nash reaches across the table and takes my hand. I squeeze it.
"Put him on the phone," my father says.
"Dad—"
"Put him on the phone, Claire."
I look at Nash. He holds out his hand for the phone.
"You don't have to—" I start.
"I know."
I hand him the phone.
"Mr. Taylor," Nash says calmly. He listens for a moment. "Yes sir." Another pause. "I understand your concerns, sir, but Claire is an adult. She makes her own choices."
I can hear my father's raised voice through the phone but can't make out the words.
Nash's expression doesn't change. "With respect, sir, I'm not going anywhere. And neither is she."
More shouting.
"You're welcome to try," Nash says evenly. "But I think you'll find she's more stubborn than you give her credit for." He looks at me and his eyes are warm. "Wonder where she got that from."
Despite everything, I smile.
Nash hands the phone back to me. "He wants to talk to you."
"Claire—" my father starts.
"Dad, I love you. I love both of you. But I'm not leaving Blackwater Falls. I'm not leaving Nash. And if you can't accept that, then we're going to have a problem."
"Sweetheart—"
"I'm done being managed. Done being told what's best for me. I'm living my life now. My way. And I'd really like it if you could support that."
I hear him sigh. "Your mother and I just want you to be happy."
"I am happy. Happier than I've been in years."
"Because of him?"
I look at Nash. At the way he's watching me with those beautiful eyes. At the way he's sitting there, calm and solid and completely unshakeable.
"Yeah," I say softly. "Because of him."
Another sigh. Then: "We'll give him a chance. But if he hurts you—"
"He won't."
"How can you be so sure?"
"Because I just am, Dad. You're going to have to trust me on this. I love you both," I say. "But I need you to respect my choices. Even when you don't agree with them."
"We do trust you," my mother says. "We just worry."
"I know. But you can stop worrying. I'm okay. Better than okay."
We talk for a few more minutes. They're not happy, but they're accepting it. It's more than I hoped for. When I hang up, Nash is still watching me.
"You didn't have to do that," he says.
"Yes I did." I reach across the table and take his hand again. "You're mine, remember? I'm not letting anyone, not even my parents, make you feel like you're not good enough."
"I'm not good enough."
"Shut up. Yes you are."
He pulls me out of my chair and into his lap, and I go willingly.
"You're crazy," he murmurs against my hair.
"Crazy about you."
"That was terrible."
"I know."
We sit there in his kitchen, wrapped around each other, while the morning sun streams through the windows.
"So, we're really doing this," I say. "For real."
"For real."
"My parents are going to be difficult."
"I can handle it."
"The town's going to talk. Age gap, the reclusive firefighter finally dating someone, all of it."
"Don't care."
"I'm probably going to drive you crazy with my anxiety and my overthinking."
"Already crazy about you, remember?" He tilts my chin up. "You're stuck with me now, Claire."
"Good," I whisper. "Because I'm not going anywhere."
He kisses me, slow and deep and perfect, and I think about how I came to Blackwater Falls looking for myself.
I found so much more.
I found home. I found peace. I found Nash.
"I love you," I say against his lips.
He goes very still.
"Too soon?" I ask, suddenly nervous. "I know it's only been a few days of actually being together, but I've felt this way for a while and—"
"I love you too," he says quietly. "Have since the day you moved in."
"Really?"
"Really."
I wrap my arms around his neck and hold on tight. "We're kind of a disaster, aren't we?"
"Yeah. But we're our disaster."
"I like the sound of that."
"Me too."
We stay like that for a long time. Just holding each other. Eventually we'll have to face the world. My parents. The town gossip. All the complications that come with loving someone.
But for now, in this moment, in Nash's kitchen with the morning sun warming us, everything is perfect.
"Hey Nash?"
"Yeah?"
"Thank you."
"For what?"
"For saying yes when I asked you to be my fake boyfriend."
He laughs, and the sound fills the kitchen and my heart. "Best decision I ever made."
"Even though we ended up stranded on the side of the road?"
"Especially because we ended up stranded on the side of the road."
I smile against his chest. "Take me to bed?"
"I haven't showered yet."
"I don't care."
"You should care. I smell like—"
"Like us," I interrupt. "And I like it."
He groans. "You're going to be the death of me."
"But what a way to go."
He stands, lifting me with him like I weigh nothing, and carries me up the stairs to his bedroom.
We have all day. We have all the time in the world. And this time, when he lays me down on his bed and covers my body with his, it's not fake.
It's not pretend. It's real. It's us.
It's perfect.