5. Chapter Five
Chapter Five
MADDOX
I opened the fridge and winced. It was full of either old takeout boxes it looked like she’d barely touched, or random food choices that didn’t seem to mesh. The bag of lettuce was unopened but needed to be thrown away. There were some limp, curled-up carrots, milk two days past its expiration, half a dozen eggs that were okay, and some condiments. There was some fish that was almost a biohazard.
This would never do. I grabbed my phone and put in a grocery order to be delivered immediately, which took me a while because having investigated her small freezer and pantry, I realized she had a box of pasta and a couple of jars of sauce and that was it. The apartment was—I knew—expensive, but it barely looked as if anyone lived here.
“I don’t do a lot of cooking,” she whispered, and I looked up at her standing hesitantly at the breakfast bar, sending her a smile.
“Good thing I do,” I teased. I hadn’t had much choice. Feed myself or starve.
Clare twisted her hands. "You really don't have to do all this," she said softly.
I paused in my grocery ordering to look at her. "I want to," I assured her. "Besides, you need some real food in this place."
She ducked her head, looking embarrassed. "I just...haven't had much of an appetite lately."
My heart ached at the sadness in her voice. I wanted so badly to go to her, to wrap her in my arms and promise that everything would be okay. But I knew I had to be patient, to let her set the pace.
"Well, hopefully we can change that," I said lightly. "Any requests for dinner?"
Clare shrugged, looking uncertain. "I'm not picky. Whatever you want is fine."
I studied her for a moment. "How about chicken parmesan? It's pretty simple but comforting."
A tiny smile flickered across her face. "That...that sounds nice actually."
"Chicken parm it is then," I said, adding the ingredients to my order.
As I finished up, I noticed Clare fidgeting with the hem of her sweater, looking nervous.
"We don't have to do this if you're not comfortable," I told her gently. "I can leave the groceries and go."
She looked up quickly. "No! I mean...it's okay. I want you to stay. I'm just...I haven’t really spoken to anyone lately. Apart from going to the club that one time.”
“Not your brother?”
She gazed at me. “He thinks I’m all better.”
My heart ached for her. I wanted nothing more than to gather her in my arms and soothe away all her fears and doubts.
"There's no right or wrong way to act," I assured her gently. "We're just two people, spending some time together."
Clare nodded, but I could see the tension in her shoulders, the way she kept her arms wrapped protectively around herself.
I was struggling not to go to her and simply pull her onto my lap and tell her everything was going to be okay. The Daddy part of me warred with the worry I would frighten her off if I came on too strong.
"Why don't you tell me a bit about yourself?" I suggested gently, hoping to put her more at ease. "What do you like to do for fun?"
She looked startled by the question, as if she hadn't thought about it in a long time. "I...I used to love reading," she said hesitantly. "And painting. But lately..." She trailed off, looking down at her hands.
"It's been hard to enjoy things?" I finished softly. She nodded, not meeting my eyes.
"That's understandable, Clare. You've been through a lot. But maybe we can try to rediscover some of those things you used to love. No pressure, just...exploring a bit."
Clare looked up at me, a mix of hope and uncertainty in her eyes. "Maybe," she said softly. "I'm not sure I even remember how to enjoy things anymore. I was doing a Bachelor’s in Fine Art."
My heart ached at her words. "So, you’re an artist?” I could work with that. “We'll take it slow," I assured her. "Maybe we could start with something simple. Do you have any books here that you used to love?"
She hesitated, then nodded. "There's...there's a shelf in my bedroom. I haven't looked at them in months, though."
"Would it be okay if I take a look?" I asked gently. "We could pick one out together, if you'd like."
Clare bit her lip, considering. Then she nodded. "Okay," she whispered.
I followed her to the bedroom, noting how bare and impersonal it felt. No photos, no decorations. Just a bed and a small bookshelf. But as I looked, I saw marks on the wall where there had been pictures. It was almost like she was trying to erase her life.
As Clare stood back, I scanned the titles. Most were classics—Jane Austen, the Bront? sisters, Dickens. But tucked in the corner, I spotted a well-worn copy of The Little Prince .
"This one looks like it's been read a lot," I said softly, pulling it out.
Clare's eyes widened slightly as if she didn’t expect to see it. "That was...that was my favorite when I was younger," she admitted. "My mom used to read it to me."
I held the book out to her. "Would you like to read it together?”
Clare hesitated, her fingers hovering over the book. I could see the conflict in her eyes—the longing to reconnect with something she once loved battling against the fear of letting her guard down.
Maybe that explained the emptiness of the apartment. If she’d decorated to suit her personality, when she came back, she’d gotten rid of any reminders. "We don't have to if you're not comfortable," I said gently. "We could just look at it together, or I could read a bit out loud. Whatever feels okay for you."
She took a shaky breath, then carefully took the book from my hands. "Maybe...maybe you could read a little?" she asked softly, her voice barely above a whisper.
I nodded, trying to hide my excitement at this small step. "Of course. Why don't we go sit on the couch? It'll be more comfortable."
Clare followed me back to the living room, curling up on one end of the couch while I sat at the other, giving her plenty of space. She handed me the book, and I opened it carefully, noting the well-worn pages and faded illustrations. I started reading, showing her the illustrations as I continued, and eventually she was leaning more my way to follow along as I read. I pretended I didn’t see the yawn she tried to hide or her drooping eyelids, but by the time I’d finished the next chapter, she was fast asleep. Much as I wanted to put her to bed, tuck her in, and simply guard her while she slept, I decided pulling a warm throw over her would be a good idea knowing the groceries would be delivered soon.
By the time I heard her stirring, the chicken parm was just about ready and I was finishing a small salad to go with it. At home, or with the guys, I would have made triple this amount per person, but I was being careful not to overwhelm her. She sat up looking fuzzy from sleep and cute as all hell. I was struggling to keep my Daddy hands off her, so it was with great force of will I dished up the food while she went to the bathroom alone.
When she came back, I had two bowls on the small table next to the couch. I didn’t want to go to the table, trying to keep it low-key. She sat down and glanced at the dish but before she had chance to pick up her fork or napkin, I scooped up a small mouthful with my own fork and held it to her lips. “Here, try this.”
Clare froze, her eyes widening as she stared at the fork hovering in front of her lips. For a moment, I worried I'd pushed too far too fast. But then, hesitantly, she leaned forward and accepted the bite.
As she chewed, her eyes closed, and a soft hum of pleasure escaped her. "That's...really good," she admitted quietly.
I smiled, warmth blooming in my chest. "I'm glad you like it. Do you want to try another bite?"
Clare hesitated, conflict clear on her face. But after a moment, she nodded slightly.
I fed her another small bite, watching as some of the tension seemed to leave her shoulders. We continued like this for a few more bites, until Clare reached for her own fork.
"I can...I can feed myself," she said, though her voice held a hint of uncertainty.
"Of course," I said gently. "Whatever you're comfortable with."
We ate in companionable silence for a while. I noticed Clare only managed about half her portion, but it was more than I suspected she'd been eating lately, so I counted it as a win.
As we finished, Clare set her fork down and looked at me hesitantly. "Thank you," she said softly. "For...for all of this. The food, and the reading earlier. It was nice."
My heart swelled at her words. "I'm glad," I said sincerely. "Thank you for giving me a chance, Clare."
She looked at me. “You’re easy to give a chance to.”
It was such an honest thing to say, I was lost for a reply and just settled on, “Glad to help,” which was completely lame but all I dared admit to. I put on a movie I knew Abby liked, something about a ton of bridesmaid dresses and a reporter, and spent the next hour watching more of Clare than the film. But when her eyelids drooped again, I knew it was time for her to go to bed.
“Princess,” I called her without thinking. “I think it’s time for me to go so you can get some rest. How about you go to the bathroom, and I’ll make sure everything is shut off in here?” Her eyes widened a little at the dichotomy between me taking responsibility for closing up her home and making it clear I was leaving. It was the last thing I wanted to do, but it was more important she learned to trust me. I heard her go to the bathroom, then the creak of her bed as she got in while I rinsed the few dishes and made sure everything was put away.
I walked into her bedroom and caught another yawn. How many sleepless nights had she had, frightened Blakeny would come for her again?
I swallowed the grunt that tried to come from my throat and stepped closer to the bed, bending down and kissing her cheek before she had the chance to be alarmed. “I’ll drop the latch. Sleep well. Text me if you wake up at all, or in the morning.”
I didn’t give her another chance to fret and walked out, going to the apartment door and letting myself out. I’d feel better if I had a key, but baby steps.
I glanced at my phone as I got into my car. It was barely nine-thirty. I could head to Kingdom and make sure everything was okay.
When I arrived at Kingdom, the club was in full swing. The bass pulsed through the air as I made my way inside, nodding to the security staff.
Walker spotted me from behind the bar and raised an eyebrow. "Didn't expect to see you here tonight," he called over the music.
I shrugged, sliding onto a barstool. "Just checking in."
He studied me for a moment, then poured me a whiskey without asking. "How'd it go with Clare?"
I took a sip, savoring the burn. "Better than I expected, honestly. We talked, and I made her dinner. She even let me read to her a bit."
Walker's eyes widened slightly. "Wow. That's...progress."
I nodded, a small smile tugging at my lips. "Yeah. Baby steps, but it's something."
"And how are you holding up?" Walker asked, his voice lowering. "I know this can't be easy for you.”
I honestly didn’t know. I’d made a ton of progress with her tonight but was that only because I was hiding who I really was? Sure, protection was a huge part of who I was, but when everything was said and done, I was a Daddy. I absolutely knew Clare was a Little, I just didn’t know if she would ever trust herself to become that with me.