Page 64 of Brazen Criminals

The flowery smell of her hair is overwhelming, and I slowly brush my chin against it, hoping some of the smell will rub off on me so I can carry her with me for the rest of the day.

She clears her throat again. “We should go before a park cop gets curious about a half-open fire door,” she says, not moving away from me, both of us still twined together.

“For sure.”

We stay like that for a good long while.

Eventually, we head down the stairs, hand in hand, going home.

Chapter 34

Clara

Fridayisablessingwhen it arrives. All week people have been asking me about my arm. They’re worried and all that, but I feel like I’m the car accident and everyone else is a gawker slowing down to see if I died. To add to the aggravation, by Tuesday, I could hardly sit still. I hadn’t realized how much of my focus was predicated on running. No running apparently translates to crazy Clara.

I’ve taken to doing wall sits and marching up and down the stairs every morning. Trips is ready to kill me, but RJ has joined me for the wall sits. He hasn’t said a ton, but it’s more than he’d been saying when we’d go running, so I feel like we’re building something together.

Jansen and I have been avoiding each other. I figure he’s just trying to give me time, but I’m not sure time is going to fix anything. Every day, I seem to care a little more about all of them. There must be something horrifyingly wrong with me. This is not normal. I mean, little crushes, those I might have a couple of at a time, but full-on, this guy is amazing and I want to spend all my time with him? Yeah, splitting that three, almost four ways? I must be nuts.

To top off the week from hell, working with one arm is a bitch. I can do most things well enough one-handed, but when it’s busy, I can’t keep up. My manager cut me from the next few busy shifts, so now I won’t have enough money for rent or day-old bakery treats to subsidize my food budget. Where at the beginning of the week, I felt kind of bad getting a restraining order against Bryce, today, I’m just pissed that he’s messed up yet another thing for me.

I finish up my last class around noon, and with no work, I take the long way home. Walking doesn’t jostle much in my shoulder, thank God. This morning I pushed my mobility a bit and I can already lift my arm high enough to get my shirt on without too much pain, so that’s the main win for the week.

Because I’m broke, I watch for change on the sidewalk as I walk, just in case. Not that thirty-five cents is going to help me with rent, but I like to think that every bit counts.

My phone buzzes—my mom.

Should I tell her about my shoulder?

Eh—I’m almost better anyway, and she’s easily flustered. The last thing she needs is something else to worry about. I mean, she’d worry about it if she decides it’s worth worrying about. Confusing, but that’s my mom in a nutshell.

“Hey, Mom.”

“Clara, sweetie, how are you?”

“Just going for a walk. It’s beautiful today,” I dodge.

“How lovely! Say, your father and I were just trying to remember, you’re racing soon, right?”

Of course she forgot. “Yup. I have a half marathon three Saturdays from now.”

“Oh gosh! So soon! And where is it at? And what time will you be done?”

I take a few deep breaths, then fill in the details for my mom. This isn’t the first time I’ve given her this information, or even the second time, but considering she only listens to a tenth of what I tell her, I’m pretty sure this won’t be the last time either.

“Perfect, perfect, sweetheart. And do you think you and Bryce would like to go out for brunch with us afterward?”

“Mom, Bryce and I broke up, remember?” I force out, trying not to yell on the phone. If I yell, she’ll hang up on me, and then I’ll have to call back three or four times until she deigns to pick up and allow me to apologize.

“Sweetie, I thought you two were just taking a break. He’s such a nice young man, and he’s going to be a doctor. I can’t think of a better guy for you.” I look down at my phone clenched in my fist, some part of my brain worried I’m going to crush it.

My mom, oblivious to my anger, continues, her voice tinny from a foot away from my ear. “You really should consider an apology. I’m sure if you’re sincere, he’ll take you back in an instant. I’ve seen how he looks at you—he is absolutely obsessed.”

I take more fucking deep breaths, trying to sound like I’m not planning matricide. “Mom, he’s the one who needs to apologize. But either way, we’re done.”

“Men are terrible at apologies. The woman always waves the white flag. You should know this by now, sweetie.”

I’ve stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, staring at my phone like it’s a portal to the 1950s. “My God, Mom. That’s absurd. And not at all how you and dad operate. But that’s not the point. Bryce and I are done. I don’t want to talk about it.”

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