Page 62 of Claimed by Him

Thirty

I was standingin front of the door, my hand still in the air after knocking, when I realized that I probably should have called to let him know that I was coming. The only reason I even knew his address was that he’d put it into my phone when he first came to Fort Collins to see me. He’d told me that it meant I wouldn’t have any excuse to not see him at some point.

I had a feeling he hadn’t meant showing up on his doorstep on a Saturday morning, but the moment Clay opened the door, I knew I’d made the right choice by coming here.

“Rona? What’s wrong?”

“Can I come in?” My voice was even, but I knew I was on borrowed time for that.

“Yes, of course.” He stepped aside, and I walked past.

I didn’t go far though because he grabbed me with one arm and pushed the door closed with the other. He crushed me against his chest, and I could finally breathe. I pressed my face against his chest, the soft material of his sweatshirt as familiar as his scent.

“Give me a minute,” I mumbled, “and I’ll fill you in.”

He smoothed his hand over my hair. “Take your time. I’m in no rush.”

I stayed where I was until my body finally relaxed. Every inch of me ached from the tension I’d been carrying over the past few hours, but I felt better just being with Clay. Even if I wasn’t attracted to him anymore, he was the closest thing to family I had left.

“Let’s sit,” he said when I stepped back. “You can tell me why you’re here, and I can tell you why I’d been planning on driving down to see you later today.”

I looked up at him as I made my way over to the sofa. The apartment was nice, but definitely a bachelor pad. I wasn’t about to start critiquing his décor or housekeeping. I wasn’t his girlfriend.

“You go first,” I said as he disappeared into what I assumed was the kitchen.

He came back with two beers and handed me one.

“A little early for that, isn’t it?”

His expression was grim as he sat next to me. “My news alone is worth at least one beer. Judging by the way you came here, I’m guessing yours is the same.”

“Shit, that’s ominous.”

He raised an eyebrow as he took a long swallow, and I followed suit. I’d been crazy to think that I could ever actually have a nice, boring life.

“Everything for your dad’s new trial got rolling this weekend,” he said. “I ran interference with the DA’s office, let them know what was going on, and they did what they could without you, but you need to be back in Indiana Monday morning.”

Fuck. Yeah, that was worth alcohol. I took a long drink, but even the buzz I was getting from drinking on an empty stomach wasn’t helping.

“I can take care of travel plans,” he continued, “and you’ll have police protection waiting for you when you get there.”

I nodded, still trying to wrap my head around what he was saying. I hadn’t forgotten about the trial, not really, but things with Adare had pushed it out of my mind. In a way, it hadn’t actually felt real before, more like it was part of one of my nightmares. Now, though, hearing Clay talk about travel and police protection, it all became a hell of a lot more real.

“Are you going?” I asked. “To the trial?”

He looked at me for a moment. “Do you want me to be there?”

I could’ve told him no, that I could do it on my own. I’d done so much on my own already. I could stay with him for a bit now, get my head back together, then take care of things myself. I didn’t need him to be there with me.

But I wanted him there.

The first time I testified, I’d been a teenager – a young one at that – and I’d had my uncle there for support. I was an adult now, but it would be nice to have a friendly face in the courtroom when I took the stand. Especially since my gut was telling me that my father’s new defense attorney wasn’t going to be as…polite as the last one.

It was one thing to come after a woman in her twenties with no visible injuries – and no way in hell would I wear something revealing enough to show my scar – and something else altogether to come after a teenage girl, still bandaged and hurting. There had been no way to downplay what my father had done to me, and no way to question what I’d seen without risking upsetting me and making the jury sympathize with me. This time, my memories could be called into question without risking much in the way of pity. Not only were they the memories of an adolescence, they were from nearly a decade ago.

I hadn’t seen my father since the day he’d been sentenced, and the thought of it had my stomach in knots. That, plus testifying again, made me want to have someone I could look to, someone I could lean on.

“I would,” I said quietly. “But only if it won’t be a problem for work. I don’t want to inconvenience you.”

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