Page 137 of Brazen Mistakes

“I brought this into your life. I’ll get it out.”

“Not like this, Clara. I need you here.”

“You need to be safe to leave the fucking house.”

The anger that thrums under his fingers spikes out in words, unexpected, but maybe not. “Damn it, don’t be a bloody damn mule. It’s not that simple, and you know it. Clara, if you weren’t here, I’d be stuck. Glued to doing the same shit I’ve always done for no other reason than because I can. You unstuck me. I found purpose, laughter, someone I trust, truly trust, and that’s you. I found this, Clara.” His lips press against mine, our noses still icy from outside. “I found you, Clara. And I’m not letting you run away. We want to keep you safe. Let us.”

“But who’s keeping you safe?”

“I ignored the don’t go solo rule. That’s on me.”

“There shouldn’t be a ‘don’t go solo’ rule,” I yell.

“You’re right. But it’s not there because of you, Clara. It’s because Bryce is fucked up. And escalating. We always knew this was a possibility.”

“You almost getting shot by the cops on New Year’s Eve was always a possibility? Bullshit, RJ.”

His nostrils flare, but he doesn’t let go. “Don’t push me away. Don’t try to make me mad, Clara. That’s not going to help. He’s decided we’re all targets now. You leaving won’t change that. And we’d all be fucked up without you. I’d be fucked up without you.”

I close my eyes, shaking my head, both grateful and angry when he doesn’t let go. “You don’t know that. Maybe if I disappeared, he’d give up.”

“Because he seems so prone to walking away,” Trips’ grumble comes from behind me, cold air trailing him as the back door clicks shut behind him. “What happened?”

RJ keeps staring at me, like he can make me agree with him if he forces me to gaze into his eyes long enough. And it might be working. “Front hallway. Is Walker with you?”

“Yeah, grabbing the last of the groceries.”

Trips passes us, his chest brushing my arm as he goes, bags of food bumping my legs in the narrow space.

“RJ,” I whisper, feeling my chance to run vanishing as the door creaks open behind me yet again.

“I’m not letting go, sugar. I’m just not.”

The tears double down, but now they’re not just fear and guilt, but coupled with whatever it is that makes it feel like my heart is about to be crushed under a pile of textbooks. It’s big, bigger than I want, and when Walker stops beside us, dropping his groceries but not coming closer, like he doesn’t want to break whatever moment RJ and I are having, I crumble.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper, my legs giving out. “I’m so sorry, RJ. I’m so, so s-s-sorry.”

Walker half-catches me, RJ joining us on the floor, the two of them pressing me between them as I continue to sob and apologize, gasping for breath.

Gasping like the badass bitch I’ve been working to become is nothing but wet tissue paper covering the weak, terrified girl I’ll always be. Like a balloon screaming as all the air escapes, leaving nothing but a limp, stretched out bit of rubber. Like I’ve been drowning for months. Years.

When I’m scooped up from the floor and into the steamy bathroom, I don’t know how long I’ve been crying. When comforting voices ask if they can help me undress and get into the tub, I nod numbly, tears still streaking down my cheeks, my breath erratic, dizzy from the change in position, from still not feeding myself the way I should.

When the hot water inches up my body, my bra and underwear left untouched, I cry harder, but sink into the tub, seeking something outside of the overwhelming emotion to focus on, even if the water burns my icy fingers and toes.

I duck under the surface, needing to separate from the sound of my breakdown, the sloshing of water against my ears a welcome change. It’s quiet under the water. I can’t feel my tears against my cheeks, the sound of my whimpers muted, like they belong to someone else, someone far away and not at all me.

I must hide from myself for too long, though, because delicate artist’s fingers drag me back to the surface.

Whimpering, I rest my forehead against the edge of the tub.

“Damn it, Clara, don’t scare us like that,” Walker murmurs, his grip tight on my forearm, like the only way he knows I’m okay is if he can feel I’m still here.

I shake my head, not able to say that I didn’t mean to scare him. That I wasn’t trying to do anything scary at all. I just wanted to hide for a moment—it’s just too much.

The hold I had on all the memories I’d been choosing to forget, all the things I didn’t want to remember, let alone speak about, it shatters like thin ice on the surface of a lake. Out flood all the jagged memories that make me a pathetic idiot who should have seen what was happening sooner. Sharp memories I’d needed to forget, ignore, push away.

They stab me, vivid and aching, and I’m shaking in the tub, my stomach twisted and clenched. “Why is he like this? Why me?” I squeak out, my voice sounding nothing like me.

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