Chapter 20
I Certainly Do Not
Leni
I am not ashamed to admit that I went straight back up to bed once Clay left for work.
No more schools have reached out about jobs, and while I could have been surfing the job boards, I’m sure the listings will keep coming.
At least for a few hours. I wish I could say I went back to sleep, but that has eluded me ever since this morning.
I thought a bath might clear my head, water being cleansing and all that.
But no, I’m stuck here thinking about the way Clay’s hands felt on my body.
The way he looked with his head between my thighs.
The way it felt to come crying his name.
Wondering, for the first time in a decade, what it would be like if I stayed.
Which is fucking crazy, because I can’t stay here. This is a bump in the road, a little stopover as I figure my shit out. Kane Ridge Ranch hasn’t been my home in a long time. Until now, I truly believed it never would be again. One weak moment with Clay, and now I’m questioning everything.
Best Bitches Group Chat
I fear I might be losing my mind…
Pepper
Please tell me this has to do with a certain hot cowboy
…
Maybe…?
Pepper
OMG. You boned. Didn’t you?
Miya
*snort* Who the fuck says boned anymore?
Pepper
Me. Obvi
Soooo how was it?
We didn’t bone…exactly
Miya
how does one not bone exactly…?
It didn’t go that far.
That’s not the interesting part anyway
Pepper
I beg to fucking differ
Miya
I’m with Peps on this one
How is your hooking up with CLAYTON TRAEGER not interesting?
Oh ye of little faith.
Miya
Fine. I’ll bite….
What has our dearest Leni losing her mind?
I’m sitting here
In my soaker tub
Pepper
Just rub it in for the rest of us poor folks
And I’m wondering…what it might be like if I stayed.
Pepper
*Gasp* WHAT?!
Miya
Noooo. Shut your face right now. You can’t leave me!
Like I said…losing my mind!
Miya
I’ll say!
Pepper
Wait. I still don’t fully understand why that would be so weird? I mean…other than you’ve lived here for so long…Why don’t you want to move back?
Because my family is insufferable.
Pepper
Even the hot brothers?
Especially the brothers
Pepper
I don’t get families.
Miya
Are you for real Leni?
Yes?
No.
Definitely no. Could you imagine?
Ugh. The things he can do with his tongue…
Pepper
Hell yea! Now we’re talking!
Miya
I stg Leni. When I said you needed to figure out what happened with him I didn’t mean you should move in with him.
I know. I know. The sooner I can get a job in Benson the sooner things can go back to normal.
Pepper
Fuck normal.
Save a horse and ride off into the sunset on your cowboy.
Miya
You mean with her cowboy?
Pepper
I certainly do not
I hate you both
Normal is good. Normal is what I need, not this confusing pull to Clay and his incredibly skilled tongue.
Nope, what I need is to get my head on straight and get back on track.
I don’t need my family. I don’t need any help, and I certainly don’t need Clay.
Maybe, though, it wouldn’t hurt to explore things while I’m here?
That might satiate this sick and twisted part of me that keeps insisting that getting tangled up with him is a good idea.
Work him out of my system and out of my head. It’s possible, right?
Apparently, I have learned nothing in ten years, because the longer the day goes on, the more I start to miss Clay.
He’s still not home by supper time, and when I check my phone to see if I have any messages from him, I don’t see anything.
So I set the table and wait. The smell of the chicken dish I threw together makes my mouth water.
When seven o’clock hits, I can’t wait to eat anymore.
I forgot about lunch, too wrapped up in my own thoughts that I haven’t eaten since breakfast. I scarf down a plateful, waiting to hear something from Clay.
Even if it’s just a hey, I’ll be home late.
I know calls can go long, that you don’t always get a say in when you’re done for the day as a deputy, but I really thought he would let me know if he was going to be coming home late.
By eight fifteen, I’m starting to get nervous. There’s nothing in the group chat about him being hurt on the job, but if he wrecked on his way home, would anyone know? When I dial his number, it goes straight to voicemail.
Fuck. I’m pacing the entryway, trying to decide if I should go out and look for him when I hear gravel crunching down the lane.
His headlights flash across the front of the cabin, momentarily blinding me.
I blink away the stars and put my hands on my hips, blowing air through my nose as I try to collect my temper.
He doesn’t look harmed, doesn’t even look like he had a hard day.
“You didn’t call or text. I was starting to worry.”
“Stopped at the Rail to have a beer with one of the guys.” He shrugs, like it’s no big deal. Like I wasn’t sitting here about to blow up my life by calling Mercer to see if he was alive.
“Oh.” I feel an unreasonable amount of something ugly twist in my gut. “Since when do you go out and drink?”
“I drink when I want to. Didn’t I just have a beer with you?” His arms cross over his chest. The look on his face lets me know he’s unimpressed by this conversation. “Why is this a big deal?”
“You didn’t even call. Didn’t text, either.” I tap my foot on the ground. Impatient, annoyed for no reason other than the fact that I made him dinner. I expected him to come home to me. To spend his evening with me. So now I’m…what? Jealous? Jesus, what is happening to me?
“Was I supposed to?” He cocks his head, one eyebrow lifting into his hairline. This motherfucker. Now I’m jealous and pissed.
“You’re kidding, right?”
He shrugs, leaning back against the door of his pickup, ankles crossed over one another, like he doesn’t have a damn care in the world.
“What the fuck, Clay?”
“You’re not my girlfriend. I don’t know what we’re doing, but does it even matter? You’re just going to leave again. What’s the point?”
“The point, Clay...is that I’m not your fucking mom. I’m not abandoning you.”
His eyes snap to meet mine, a challenge in them.
“I was barely older than a kid. I wanted you, and you pushed me away. You kept me at arm’s length. You did that.”
“Jesus Christ.” He glances toward the night sky, one hand squeezing the back of his neck. “It’s always me. Isn’t it? I already told you...I’m not good enough for you. I wasn’t good enough for her either. How many times do I have to tell you I’m not fucking worth it?”
Oh. I’m stunned. Silence weighs between us. I rewind my words through my head, wishing I could take them all back. Wishing there was a way to unsay them, rephrase them, anything other than reaffirm the belief that he isn’t worthy. That he’s the cause of all his heartache.
“Clay.” I close the gap between us, wrapping my arms around him.
He doesn’t say anything, and it takes me a minute to realize that he’s standing there.
His arms hang stiff by my sides. His eyes glassy, that faraway haunted look taking them over.
“Clayton,” I whisper his name. “Clay.” I touch his cheek, his chest suddenly inflating, eyes flicking down to meet mine.
“Leni.” He barely gets my name out before he’s crushing me to his chest. His arms wrap around me so tight it almost hurts. “I’m sorry, baby. I’m not mad at you. I don’t even know why I’m trying to pick a fight. I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay.” I run my hands up and down his ribs. It’s the only motion I can really manage with the anaconda hold he has on me. “I started it, I’m sorry. I don’t want to fight either.” He sighs into me, heavy and wounded, like the weight of the world is on his shoulders. “Are you okay?”
“No.” His voice is muffled, face buried in the crook of my neck.
“Talk to me. What’s going on?”
“I saw my dad today.”
“What? Why?”
“Got sent to a domestic,” he exhales, leaning back against his truck again. Long fingers spear into his curls, tugging at the roots. “The guy I arrested knows my dad,” he scoffs. “Guess everyone in Cross Point knows him. He said he thought my old man killed me, like he killed my mom.”
I rear back, my heart skipping a beat. “But you said that she left.”
“She did. Guess old Caleb Traeger couldn’t handle that, though. He told everyone he took care of her.” Clay’s hands ball up into fists on his thighs, squeezing so tight his knuckles turn white. “I went over there to kill him. I wanted to, Leni.”
“What happened?”
“Nothing, one of the guys followed me. He pulled me out of there; made sure I didn’t do anything stupid.”
“Okay,” I breathe out a sigh of relief. If nothing happened, then there’s nothing to worry about. “That’s good.”
“None of this is good.” He looks at me, his eyes burning with rage.
“Every time I see him, every time I think about him, I realize that that is where I’m heading.
Don’t you get it? It’s in my fucking DNA.
Why do you think I never looked for something serious?
Why do you think I worked so hard to keep you away from me?
I came from that asshole. I was raised by him. Look what I did to you that night.”
Clay’s eyes widen, his breath growing more and more rapid with each passing second. I know he’s heading for another panic attack, so I pull his face into my hands and look him in the eye.
“Breathe, Clayton. Breathe with me.” I take a slow, deep breath, then push it out through my lips, loud enough that I know he can follow it. Once his breathing is slow and even, I tuck myself into him again, wrapping my arms around his waist. “You are not your dad.”
“Give it ten more years,” he sighs, his arms still hanging awkwardly down at his side.
“You are nothing like him.” I tighten my hold around his waist, willing him to hear me. To really hear me. “And you never will be. You know how I know?”
“How?” He finally pulls me closer, leaning his head down to rest on mine.
“Because you care. You’re worried about becoming him. He wouldn’t be worried about that; he’d relish it, because he likes to hurt people. But you—you’re scared, you don’t want to hurt people. You are not him.”
“I might not have hit you, but I’m the reason you got hurt. I’m the reason your relationship with your family is broken. I hurt you, and I will never forgive myself for that.”
“None of that was your fault.”
“It is, though. This is what I’m trying to tell you. All I do is hurt the people I’m close to. You deserve someone better, someone who isn’t broken. Someone who can give you the world.”
“I don’t want the world.” I want to scream. My voice shakes with rage. “I never wanted more. I wanted you. You’re all I’ve ever wanted. I never cared about your past. I never saw you as something that needed to be fixed. I just wanted you.”
“I’m not the boy you fell in love with back then.”
“Good, because I don’t think he could handle me anyway.”
Clay’s lips tip up into a smirk, and his hand caresses my face. “No, probably not.” He presses a gentle kiss on my lips, resting his free hand on mine. We stand there, breathing each other in for a few more minutes.
“Come on, let’s get you cleaned up.” I slip my hand into his and interlock our fingers, not surprised when his tightens around mine.
Clayton is on the verge of floating away, of letting himself sink back into that dark place where he doesn’t have to feel his feelings or think about the bad things he’s seen.
I don’t want to lose him to that place, so I squeeze back, hoping it’s enough to keep him here with me.
When we get to the bathroom, I twist the handle to get the water heating.
Clay brings his hands up to the buttons on his shirt.
His fingers fumbling, unable to remove them with how bad they’re shaking.
I cover his hands with mine, holding them until they stop trembling.
Steam starts to billow out of the shower.
I finish unbuttoning his shirt, but I pause because the buttons are fake.
“Zipper,” he whispers, his voice barely audible over the stream of the shower. I narrow my eyes, not trusting the false buttons on his shirt before I find a zipper under the collar. The tricky bastards hid a zipper under the button placket. It’s kind of genius, actually.
I slide the uniform shirt from his shoulders, and it drops to the floor before I move onto his belt. He sucks in a breath after I pull his undershirt out of his pants and slip my fingers beneath the hem so I can pull it off him. He bends forward to help get it over his head.
When he straightens, I can’t help but look at the tattoo that covers his chest. It’s a mountain scene.
The sun is peeking over the top of the mountains, trees, and a river sitting at the base of them, and to the left of it, a separate tattoo sits.
They didn’t cover it or incorporate it into the chest piece, but worked around it.
“A rose,” I whisper, letting my fingers trace the older tattoo on his left pectoral, right above his heart. This is the tattoo I caught a glimpse of when he was home that summer. Clay flattens my hand out on his chest, his thumb stroking along the tops of my fingers.
“Look closer.” His voice is so soft and tired that I wonder if I’m hearing things, but when I shift my hand, I can see the whole rose. I realize that there, in the center, one line of the smallest petal isn’t actually a line, but…my name.
A tear finds its way down my cheek as I reach to kiss the spot where I’m forever etched into his skin. His Eleanor Rose.