Chapter 2
It Matters a Lot
Leni
Well, shit. That did not go the way I thought it would.
Not even close.
I chase after him up the stairs, not sure what I’m going to say.
Please stay in this tiny house with me so my family doesn’t know I’m a royal screw-up?
Most guys would be happy to stay in a one-bed cabin with me.
Hell, most would jump at the chance. Not Clayton Traeger.
No, he’s practically sprinting to get away from me. The self-righteous prick.
He ghosted me for ten years, then tried to kiss the living daylights out of me. I mean, I know, I kissed him first, but he tried to kiss me back! The least he can do is hear me out.
I follow him into the bathroom, reaching for his shaving kit, trying to pull it out of his hands as he shoves things into it. “Wait, please just listen.”
“Uh-uh,” he shakes his head, scooping me up and setting me out of the way so he can pull a duffel bag off the shelves that double as a closet.
My muscles stiffen involuntarily; I forgot how strong he is.
A shaky breath escapes me. This is a bad idea, but I’m out of options.
If I don’t want to tell my family everything, things need to stay exactly as they are.
I need him to stay, and I need him to keep it a secret.
“You won’t even try to hear what I have to say?”
“I’m not staying here.”
He doesn’t say it, but the with you part of that statement is loud and clear. Of course, he wouldn’t want to stay with me. The guy practically ran away from me when we were younger. How did I somehow forget that he ghosted me first? Obviously, I make him uncomfortable.
“Shit, Clayton,” I whisper his name, forcing myself to hold back the tears that are threatening to break through.
Seeing him, being this close, is bringing back all the feelings I refused to acknowledge.
“I’m sorry. Don’t leave. I’ll go to the inn.
Or…or I’ll drive back to Benson and stay with Miya for a while. ”
He turns to me and chucks his bag on the floor with a thud, and the memory of a chair splintering against the wall makes my breath catch.
His broad, muscular arms cross over his chest, pulling his t-shirt taut.
He’s bigger than I remember him. So much more of a man than he was when I last saw him.
He’s filled out with muscles, exactly like Mom said he would.
“Why are you apologizing? And what the fuck is happening that you can’t just go to the main house, or let me stay somewhere else?” His eyes narrow, as if he’s trying to read the answer in my body language.
“I—clearly, you don’t want to be around me. I’m sorry I kissed you downstairs. I wasn’t trying to make you uncomfortable.”
“I shouldn’t have kissed you back. You were just trying to help.
You don’t make me uncomfortable, Len,” he scrubs his hands down his face again, drawing my attention to the stubble I’d traced with my fingers only a few minutes ago.
I wish I didn’t, but I want to touch him again. I wish he wanted me to.
“I don’t know how you could be any clearer.
I know you don’t want to be around me. I’m not trying to make your life harder, I just—” The exhaustion and emotional toll of this past week catch up to me, and I can’t help the tear that slips free as I move around him, back into the bedroom.
I’m too fucking tired for this conversation.
My emotions are too raw, too frayed. It’s better to lick my wounds in actual solitude.
Before I can reach the stairs, his strong fingers grip my wrist, the warmth of his skin heating through my plush hoodie.
I try to pull away, embarrassment prickles under my skin.
What a fucking joke. This is supposed to be my one safe haven, the one thing that was mine.
Now it’s another spot on this ranch that will serve as a reminder that I’ve managed to turn my life into a total train wreck.
Tears stream down my face. I never let myself cry over him before. Back then, I shook it off and pretended like I wasn’t breaking apart when I left.
Pissed at myself and this entire situation, I try to yank my sleeve out of his grasp. But he pulls me in, wrapping his arms around me, tight enough that I can’t escape. I fight my body’s reaction to being held by him. Every muscle is tight. Every nerve ending is on high alert.
His eyes sweep over me, shoulders tightening before his hands fall away. He grips the back of his neck, those stormy grey eyes filling with grief as he takes a step back, putting space between us again. “Whatever you need, I’ll do it. I’m just not sure—I don’t love having to lie to our family.”
“You don’t have to lie. They’re not gonna bring it up.”
“All Mercer can talk about is figuring out a way to get you home for the summer.”
“Fine, but they’re not going to assume that I’m hiding in the cabin with you. Why would I?”
Clay rubs his forehead. “Leni…”
“It’s no different than you pretending I didn’t find you ten years ago.” I cross my arms over my chest, one hip jutting out to the side.
“I—what?” He looks confused. “You didn’t tell them you found me?”
“No. Did they ever ask about it?”
“No.” His brow furrows, eyes narrowing. “I thought…I guess I thought that they knew you saw me, but you obviously didn’t tell them all the details. I thought I was getting off easy by them not giving me shit about it.”
I snort. “In what world would they not have interrogated you about me showing up to see you? You had to know, had to at least suspect that they didn’t know.”
He taps his fingers on his thigh, brows drawn close in concentration as he works it out in his head. “You lied. But why? Mercer said you got hurt on your way back home. I assumed he knew—”
“Right,” I cut him off. My throat tightens, chest constricting like a boulder pressing down on me.
Sometimes, I forget what really happened on that trip.
I’ve told the lie so many times, I’ve started to believe it.
The panic always takes me by surprise when the memory tries to break through, looking for purchase.
Do not go there, Leni. It’s in the past. “Listen, I told Merc on Monday I wouldn’t be back this summer.
I don’t see why he’d even bring me up. It’s not like you, and I have talked recently, and you barely see the others during the week anyway, right? ”
Clayton hesitates, like he’s not quite sure that will be the case, then sighs. “Yeah, okay. How long are we talking, though? Because lying by omission to Merc is one thing, but Ma…”
I chuckle, letting myself relax and take in the space. It’s the same cozy cabin I left behind, minus the unmistakably hot guy scent that is clearly coming from him. Like one of the spicy, earthy candles you’d purchase at the store.
“A week? So, only one family dinner. You could pretend to be sick?”
He backs up across the loft, dropping that big body onto my bed, the only bed in the cabin.
His upper body bends forward, elbows resting on his knees as he rests his head in his hands.
“You know damn well if I play sick, she’s coming straight over here to spoon-feed me soup and clean the cabin.
” His voice comes out muffled from behind his palms. He sounds exhausted.
“True. You’ll have to figure it out, I guess. Or maybe you’ll get called out for work?”
“Not a chance. Mercer gets calls twenty-four-seven, but for those three hours on Sunday evening, his phone never rings. I think Ma put the fear of God into Patsy, and she literally calls anyone else but him, and by extension, me, during family dinners.”
I laugh at the idea of my five-foot-nothing mother marching into the Sheriff’s office to threaten Patsy within an inch of her life.
Clay’s head snaps up, his gaze locked on my face.
When the smile fades from my lips, his shoulders slump, and his hands come up to cover his face.
The heels of his palms resting in his eyes.
“Fine, second option, how often do you duck out early cause you’re not sleeping well?”
He slowly brings his gaze up to me, eyes wide like I caught him with his hands in the proverbial cookie jar.
“Don’t look so surprised. I can see the bags under your eyes. You’re clearly exhausted.”
He sighs, veins bulging in his forearms as he runs his fingers through his black curls. He can’t deny that he isn’t sleeping well. Clearly, that hasn’t changed since I last saw him.
“Yeah, that’s what I thought. Just tell them you need to go get more sleep. Ma won’t be offended by that, and it should keep the boys off your back.”
“So how does this work then?” Clay eyes the one bed in the loft, an eyebrow raising so high it disappears behind a curl on his forehead.
“I...uh...I’ll sleep on the couch.”
“Not gonna happen. I’m not making you sleep on the world’s most uncomfortable couch after you drove five hours to get here.”
“Fine.” I shrug. If he wants to sleep on the couch, who am I to stop him? I’m too tired to argue. I don’t care if he sleeps on the floor, as long as he doesn’t tell my family I’m here.
“Great.” Clay sighs, one hand scrubbing down his face. His shoulders stoop more, like they’re too heavy to hold up. When was the last time he slept well? Was it ten years ago? Shouldn’t he have figured out a way to sleep by now?
“You could—” My voice catches, the weight of what I’m offering makes me pause.
He could sleep in the bed with me. It’s a queen-size mattress, not huge but big enough for the two of us to sleep without being on top of each other.
I bring a finger to my mouth, gnawing at the nail bed as I think it through.
“It’s alright, Leni.” Clay gives me a tired smile, walking toward me. Or probably, the stairs behind me. “I’ll be fine on the couch.”
“Are you going to actually sleep?”
He shrugs. The look on his face tells me he won’t be getting any sleep.
“Stay,” I whisper. Even though I’m practically cringing internally. “You can sleep in the bed, Clay. It’s fine. We’re grown-ups.”
“I’m not sure that it is fine.”
It’s not. Not really, but I lie to myself when I say I don’t care.
Clay is the one person I will never be able to bring myself to not care about.
He’s a freaking Sheriff’s Deputy; he needs sleep.
He can’t be driving around in a patrol truck, barely conscious because he didn’t get enough rest. That’s not safe for anyone.
So, while the idea of climbing into bed with him again makes my skin feel itchy, it’s kind of the only acceptable option.
“It’s fine. You need sleep. Maybe having me here will help.” I glance at him through my lashes, fighting to push back my anxiety. “Like it used to.”
“It might.” He shrugs. “But I don’t want to make you uncomfortable in your own home.”
“You’d rather sleep on the couch?” I’m about to rescind the offer. If the idea of sleeping next to me is that abhorrent, he can have the couch. Ugh...no, I’d take the couch. He needs sleep.
“Of course I’d rather sleep next to you.” Clay massages his temple like I’m giving him a headache.
“Great.” I roll my eyes, making my way to the bathroom.
I keep it stocked with the basics because, aside from summer trips, I’m not usually prepared to come back here.
I take my time with my nightly routine, pushing back memories of the last time we saw each other.
That was ten years ago; neither one of us is the same person now.
I don’t need to be afraid of Clay. I need to get through this week and figure my life out.
Slipping into a fresh pair of dusty pink boy shorts, I scan my top options.
None are remotely appealing for sleep, so I grab a charcoal grey t-shirt from the side of the closet he’s claimed.
Soft, comfy...and a quick sniff confirms the hot guy smell comes from him.
A second inhale has me taking in a hint of vanilla, cinnamon, and something woodsy.
Like Christmas, only better. The shirt doesn’t cover everything, but he’s seen me in less clothes, so what does it really matter?
Apparently, it matters a lot. When I step into the bedroom portion of the loft, Clayton takes me in, wearing his t-shirt. His eyes darken, his throat bobs ever so slightly. Maybe the issue isn’t that he doesn’t want me. Maybe it’s something else, because right now, it looks a lot like he does.
He mumbles something unintelligible before tossing his phone onto the nightstand and flopping onto the bed. I’m stuck standing by the bathroom door, painfully aware he’s in my bed, and I’m going to have to sleep next to him for the foreseeable future.
This feels like a really bad idea.
“You comin’, Leni girl?”
I shiver at the way he says Leni girl. As if no time has passed. Like we’re still the same, Leni and Clay. “Mhm,” I manage, before slipping into my side of the bed.
“Is this a terrible idea?” he whispers, before he flicks off the light on the nightstand.
“Probably.” There’s a reason we’ve avoided each other for the past decade. “Just get some sleep. We can reassess in the morning if we need to.”
“Sure,” his voice is already growing deeper, thick with sleep. “Whatever you want.”
My hand flies to my mouth as I choke back a tiny sob that’s threatening to escape.
He said that to me that night, too. One minute, it was, “whatever you want,” and the next, my whole world flipped upside down.
My heart races, and I know, despite Clay already finding sleep, I won’t be doing much of that lying next to him.
Maybe I should have picked the couch.