Page 139 of Brazen Mistakes

Or should I just take one step? One small step toward fierce, badass, poised. Toward the woman I want to become.

Be brave, Clara. Excise the wound. Let it heal. Then see where you’re at.

With a shuddering breath, I wash my face in the tub, finally looking up from my mock solitude.

Three sets of eyes meet mine as I look across the room.

Walker, close enough to touch me, his hand on the side of the tub, knuckles white from gripping the porcelain.

RJ, on the floor, his back against the vanity, his gaze as piercing as it was the first time we met, hands laced around his knees, mirroring my position. Like if he could model the calmer version, I might pick up on it, and absorb some of his peace.

And Trips, neither in the room nor out of it, leaning against the doorframe, nothing but barely banked flames in his eyes.

“Sorry,” I croak. “I think I’m done for now.”

“Don’t go back to apologizing for every damn thing, Crash. It doesn’t suit you.”

“I don’t plan on it, Trips.”

“Good.” He spins, disappearing from the room, leaving RJ and Walker silent on the floor.

“I, I think I need a towel. And maybe some food. Walker?”

“What food?”

“Doesn’t matter. I’m going to have to force myself to eat. I can’t keep doing what I’ve been doing.”

“No, you can’t,” he says, dark eyes saying more than his words can. He leans over, pressing a long kiss to my forehead. “I love you, Clara.”

“I love you too, Walker. I’m going to try harder. Try to be better.”

His lips twist, like he’s not sure that’s what he wanted to hear, but I don’t know what else to say. Drowning, literally or figuratively, isn’t working. Starving myself isn’t making food taste any better, only making me more of a wreck. And the nightmares, well, I guess I’ll deal with those as best as I can. No real solutions there.

He stands, shaking out his legs before he leaves, cluing me in on how long I’ve been lost in my own thoughts.

That leaves me and RJ. He’d left while I spoke to Walker, but he’s back with a towel, waiting to wrap me up in the cotton. “I don’t know why I’m the one falling apart. By all rights, you should be the one weeping in the bathtub while I get you Mountain Dews and cookies.”

He doesn’t answer, but he pulls me close, his chin on the top of my head.

We go to my room, and I dig through the dirty laundry, hoping to find my favorite bralette. Another task to add to my never-ending list. Eventually I find it, stripping off my sopping sports bra and panties. Then, with a glare at my ever-growing pile of dirty comfy clothes, I pull on a gray t-shirt dress and yellow sweater, grabbing a random pair of pink knee-high socks from the chaos on my bed. I probably look like a toddler, but I’m covered. Not wanting to deal with the mess I’ve made of my hair, I tie it up, then, exhausted, melt onto my mattress.

RJ sits beside me, our hands linked. I lean against his shoulder, needing his quiet, but worried about it at the same time.

I don’t look at him, but I have to know. “Doyou need to cry?”

He rests his cheek against my head. “Maybe. But not today.”

Bringing up a thought that’s been percolating, but which I don’t know will help the situation, I force the words out. “He targeted Jansen’s car. I don’t think he meant for you to be the one he called the cops on.”

“I saw pictures of you and Jansen sneaking out in the middle of the night on his phone.”

“So he probably was hoping to get me or Jansen, then.”

“The cops said there was another call about a similar vehicle from the night before.”

That news has me collapsing into his lap. “Shit. Why do I let Jansen talk me into doing dangerous shit?”

“Because doing dangerous shit with Jansen is fun.”

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