Page 140 of Brazen Mistakes

“Not if it puts you in danger.”

“Clara, I don’t know how to say this to you and have you actually hear me, but none of us are doing what we’re doing because we’re looking for a safe existence.”

“You’re not looking to die, either.”

“No. But it’s a risk we’ve chosen to accept.”

“I don’t want you guys to take that risk. You’re worth more than that.” I roll face up in his lap, needing him to see how serious I am. “This wasn’t because of the work you guys do. It’s because of my scary ex. And it’s bullshit. I don’t understand why you aren’t furious right now.”

His hand cups my cheek. “Clara, I am furious. But not at you. Not even at your bullshit ex, not totally. I’m furious that this is the world we live in. It’s a world I’m not safe in. And that was true long before you came into my life. So that fury, it’s been with me almost as long as I can remember. Why yell, why cry, when it’s just more of the same, but bigger. Better people than me are trying to make this shit livable. And I hope to God I get to be there to see it. Until then, though, I’ll just live my life, legalities be damned. The laws were never there to protect me to begin with. They were there to protect people that look like you from people who look like me. And I will fuck that shit all the way to hell.”

I don’t know what to say. Searching for a clue to how to respond, I get caught in his gaze.

There’s more hurt there, more hope, more anger than he should carry alone. He stays in the van for many reasons. This might be another one of them.

His arms wrap around me, the net of our silent communion unbreakable. Eventually, he tucks me tight against his chest, nesting my face half under his chin, a few of his braids tickling my temple.

We hold each other, both broken, but willing to stand back up again. Because the day you stay down is the day you give up.

I’m not giving up.

I won’t.

It’s time to share what keeps pushing me down.

Chapter 49

Clara

Ilet RJ drag me to the kitchen eventually, our silence overcome by the grumble of my always empty stomach.

There, a literal smorgasbord waits for us.

Walker’s reheated waffles, roast chicken, bowls of veggies, fruits, rice, bacon, cookies, everything he’s been making over the last week while trying to tempt me to eat more than a few bites, it’s all out in our collection of mismatched bowls and plates. The coffee pot sputters out a sigh, and Walker pours me a cup. “What flavor syrup, princess?”

“Rose,” I say, without really thinking. But when I take a sip, mixed with some milk, a few more of the broken pieces inside of me clatter to a halt, no longer caught in the tornado of painful avoidance and self-recriminations.

Small steps. Baby steps. Necessary steps.

Eating is another one of those steps.

Taking a plate, I add slivers of almost everything, carrying my plate and mug out to the living room. The green haze is still weird, but I appreciate Jansen covering all the windows. At least we have a safe haven again. Mostly.

Although, that means that Bryce has shifted from hovering in the bushes to actively working to hurt us. To hurt me by hurting the guys.

RJ sits on one side of the couch beside me, Walker the other, both subtly touching me with a thigh or a knee. Grounding me.

I need the reminder that I’m a person, on a couch, between two men who care about me. And for all that other people might see me as either a broken girl or a badass bitch, I’m not. Not either, not entirely. The only way to find myself is tobemyself. And these four men create space for me to figure out exactly who that is.

Forcing myself to try a bite of everything on the plate, I make it through the slivers, the spicy vegetable relish winning an extra nibble as it actually tastes like something. My plate half-empty, I set it down, stupidly proud of the amount I ate.

Was it enough? No.

Was it more than I have been eating? Yes.

Did anyone have to nag me to do it? No.

A baby step.

---