Page 39 of Finding Home

Clayton’s fingers threaded in hers, anchoring them together.

“It was the last week of break… Mom was working late. Jamie was there, drinking, waiting for her. We were in the living room watching TV. He was in the chair, and I was on the couch. Then he was beside me. He asked me if someone had popped my cherry yet…fucking crude. Jamie said big girls shouldn’t be choosey as he started touching my leg. Then he kissed me. I tried to get away… I tried to fight…”

It’s strange what details of that night she remembered. The scratch of grandma’s afghan beneath her bare behind. She’d tossed it in the garbage bin after. The mug of hot chocolate that had spilled on the coffee table after he’d pushed her down. She’d wiped the mess up with her torn pajama pants after. The taste of bourbon from his forced kisses. She wouldn’t know what that taste was until her first year of grad school, when Viet dated a guy from Kentucky who brought some from back home. After she tried it, she spit it in the sink.

“After, he rolled off, he told me I should be grateful that someone like him took my virginity. Then he walked out of the room.”

Heavy silence reigned in the pickup. Elle focused on the white trim and large window of the Little Red Barn. A safe corner in Perry. Along with the man sitting beside her. Clayton is the first person in eighteen years she’d told what had happened that cold January night.

“Did you report it?” Clayton whispered.

“No. It doesn’t matter now. Jamie died in a drunk driving accident two years later. I guess Karma got him.”

“What happened when your mom came home from work?”

“I don’t know. I wasn’t there. I left and stayed with my friend Viet for the remainder of the break. I never told Pete what happened. It wasn’t until I got back to school that I told someone.” Her voice quaked.

“Your mom?”

“She didn’t believe me. Kept saying he wouldn’t do that. She chose him over me. It would never be me. I was not enough,” she croaked.

Crack. Crack.The sound of her heart breaking filled her senses.

“When I saw her tonight, I thought she’d say something. I was wrong. She didn’t say a damn thing, just shrugged and walked into the stall.”

Crack. Crack. Crack.

“I will never be enough!”The dam holding back her emotions broke. Her body heaved with deep wracking sobs.

Clamping his hands on her face, he guided her gaze to his. Desperation glistened and tears dripped from his stormy eyes. “You are enough. You are everything. You hear me Elle?You are enn…enn…enn…enough.” He gulped in air as he stuttered. “You are ev…ev…ev…everything.” Soothing lips brushed against her forehead before pulling her weeping and quivering body into his strong arms, telling her it was safe to fall because he was there to catch her.

FIFTEEN

“If I loved you less, I might be able to talk about it more.”

~Jane Austen,Emma

Elle woke with a vague recollection of Clayton’s strong arms carrying her up the stairs to the sleeping loft. He’d tucked her in and sat beside her, stroking her hair as she fell asleep.Had he really pressed his lips to her forehead and whispered,“I’m here, you rest?” Or was that a dream?

Still in her dress from the wedding, Elle sat up. Tiny cracks of light slipped through gaps in the closed blinds. She wasn’t sure what time it was or how long she had slept. What she knew was that she had slept. No nightmares, haunting memories, or racing thoughts interrupting her slumber.

Grabbing her phone from the bed stand, she checked the time. “8:05 a.m.?” she murmured in disbelief. It had been years since she’d slept this late or this soundly.

When I need to talk, I talk.Clayton’s words answered her questioning thoughts. Finally, she had chosen to talk instead of run.

The dread that had coursed her veins was gone. All that was left was a tiny ache in her chest.

She noticed several missed messages.

Carmen had messaged at ten p.m., asking Elle where she was and if Elle wanted her to snag a piece of cake. She responded with an apology and a made-up excuse for leaving early. On the group thread with Viet and Willa there were more texts, asking for updates on hot farmer, if mommy not-so-dearest made an appearance, and how Elle was doing. It was just after five a.m., in California, but she messaged that she was okay and would reach out later. The last message, sent just before midnight, was from Clayton.

Fitz’s Human: I didn’t want to leave you. I’m on the couch downstairs.

Elle had spilled all her ugly truths last night, but he held her tight and whispered that she was enough, she was everything.

Pushing the blankets off, she found her slippers and shoved her feet into them.

Where the sleeping loft was dark with only slivers of light, downstairs was bathed in sunshine. Clayton curled on the too-small-for him couch, a green checkered pillow on his face.

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