I want to care more about him…
Guilt bleeds through my clearing confusion.
Guilt that I’m not grieving him.
Guilt that I want to.
Guilt that I defied Clay.
And guilt that I’d do it again.
As Clay navigates the streets of Connolly, his icy mien has not wavered or relented. Is he rolling the wordbetrayalover in his mind? From me. From Max. Even from Xander.
“Sir?” I think I say aloud.
But maybe I didn’t, as silence is his answer. Loud breath shudders from me.
We drive between the white gates to the estate, and the vision of a pregnant blonde girl standing at the intercom only months earlier comes to me unbidden. She worries her bottom lip. Twists her hair around her finger. And imagines what that man might look like… Now she knows.
I wish I cared more…
I gaze down at the black ash and soot stains covering my jeans, experiencing my body normally. My limbs and heart move at the same time as the outside world. I’m grounded in the present, but it’s bleak.
Frowning, I poke the tip of my finger through a small hole in the fabric. The rocks and twigs must have made it when I was dragged beneath Clay. Sadness is circling relief, and exhaustion is just so overwhelming they both seem muted.
But for the guilt…
The mansion comes into view, lit up by rows of external wall lights. I blink at the figure at the top of the steps. Aurora waits for us with an entourage of soldiers and maids.
When I step from the car, she sighs her relief so hard that even from the foot of the steps I can see her chest fall. "Madonna Mia." She rushes to me.
Her long arms pull me in, and I wrap mine around her. I think she is my family. For reasons I can't explain, tears that are not for Dustin or me, not for anyone, fall softly against her shoulder. Tears of leaking exhaustion, of the word betrayal, of guilt, of thestillthat I am not ready to join.
She strokes my hair down my head. "It is over now."
Clay's presence behind me sends heat through my spine, and I lift my head to gaze at the lovely dark liquor-coloured eyes of his wife. "I met my father," I say to her and to myself, reaching for thatgrief,a moment of mourning him.
Like I should.
Shouldn’t I?
"I know." She nods at something in the distance. "Look at the size of your moon, sweet Fawn. It's so close tonight."
My lip twitches with a smile, but one doesn’t quite form. She told me that she never looks at the moon.
Gazing at the large glowing orb, I inhale the air. Inhale the grass. The scent of flowers. Inhale thestill.
I exhale the fire.
Rushes of light play along the plane of the moon tonight when my back meets Clay's torso.
I press further into the hard, formidable wall of his body; the lingering smell of smoke and charred wood doesn't mask the masculine scent that is all his own. He still smells like him. Even if his armour is blocking out his heart tonight. It’s still him.
Sadness and exhaustion deflate me as I realise it is over, the night is over, the fight, the revenge, and I fall further into him as my legs lose a little strength.
He stoops to scoop me up, and I sigh against him, feeling that fatigue hood my eyes. My arms flop around his neck, my lashes slowly batting in front of the moon.
Aurora touches Clay's cheek. "Is everyone safe? Xander? Bronson?" She pauses. "Max? Cassidy called a few minutes ago. They arrived home safely, but he’s hurt. Your father left to check on him. Was he burnt and shot? Is it serious?"