Page 63 of Saving Little Clark

My blood ran cold. There was no way they knew abouthim, did they? About Sterling, about the nightmares that still plagued me. The panic attacks, the crushing self-doubt. All the dirty, desperate things I'd worked so hard to overcome, to leave in the past where they belonged.

It was possible that they knew, and they were threatening to spread it around like cheap gossip. To anyone and everyone who would listen, gleefully tearing me to shreds in the process. I'd be the charity case all over again, the broken toy everyone pitied but no one wanted to play with.

That was the moment Elijah chose to make his grand entrance. All rumpled jammies and sleep-mussed curls, rubbing at his eyes with tiny fists.

"Alex?" He called, words slurred and muzzy with lingering dreams. "Clarkie? Where'd everybody-"

He broke off with a gasp, finally registering the scene before him.

"Oh no," Elijah breathed, hands flying to his mouth. "Oh no, oh Clarkie. It's okay, don't be sad! Lemme go get Daddy, he'll make it all better."

He was already scrambling away, socked feet tangling in his haste. But before he could get more than a few steps, Becca's hand shot out. Clamped around his upper arm, yanking him to a stop hard enough to draw a yelp.

"I don't think so, pipsqueak." Her voice was poisoned honey. "The grown-ups are talking right now, and it's rude to interrupt. You can just wait your turn like a good little boy."

Elijah just blinked up at her, visibly baffled. Then his gaze tracked downward, to where her clawed fingers dug into his soft flesh.

"You're hurting me," he whispered, the words wavering treacherously. A single fat tear rolled down his cheek, quickly followed by another. "Why are you being so mean? We didn't do anything to you."

Kristen barked a harsh laugh, rolling her eyes skyward. "Crybaby," she sneered, leaning in close to Becca's ear. "Surprised he can see anything through all the blubbering. Probably wouldn't know his ass from his elbow on a good day."

And that was the last fucking straw. Rage exploded behind my ribs, white hot and blinding. It erupted from my throat in a wordless snarl, vision whiting out at the edges as I lunged for the hateful little wretch.

How fuckingdareshe, putting her hands on my sweet friend. Mocking his pain, his gentle heart, like it was something shameful. Likehewas something shameful, instead of the brightest spark of goodness in a world gone dark and cold.

But before I could reach her, a large hand clamped down on my shoulder.

"What is going on here?" Uncle Will growled. "Anyone care to explain why the boys look about ready to fall to pieces, while you two stand there smirking like a pair of playground bullies?"

To my vicious satisfaction, Kristen quailed. Took an involuntary step back, face draining of color beneath Uncle Will's blistering glare.

Becca, however, seemed determined to brazen it out.

"It's not our fault they're a bunch of crybabies who can't take a joke," she said, utterly unapologetic. "We were just trying to make conversation, and they completely overreacted. So dramatic, honestly."

Will's eyes narrowed to slits, a muscle ticking in his clenched jaw.

"Is that so?" He inquired, dangerously soft. "Because from where I'm standing, it looks an awful lot like you twodecided to pick on the boys for giggles. Thought you could waltz in here and throw your weight around, make them feel small just because you could."

He took a step forward, looming like an oncoming storm. Becca tried to match him, tilting her chin up in defiance, but I could see the way her hands shook. The telltale bob of her throat as she swallowed.

"Well I've got news for you, princess," Will continued, implacable. "That stuff doesn't fly in this house. I don't care who your Daddy is or how much money he has - when you're under a Daddy’s roof, you play by their rules. And rule number one? We don't tolerate bullies."

After a long, tense beat, she subsided with a jerky nod. "Fine," she bit out, curt. "We'll play nice with the boys, since it clearly means so much to you."

Uncle Will's lip curled. "One more nasty word, and you're out on your asses. I don't care if I have to call your Daddy myself to come collect you."

A throat cleared pointedly, shattering the moment. I glanced up to see Uncle Lance standing in the doorway, a tray of cookies balanced on one broad palm.

"So," he drawled, eyes twinkling with barely suppressed mirth. "I miss anything interesting while I was slaving away over a hot oven?"

Alex scrubbed at his eyes with the back of one hand, even as a grin tugged at the corners of his mouth.

"Oh, you know. Just the usual teatime drama. Friendship bracelets were offered, feelings were hurt. Milk was spilled, tears were shed. The whole shebang."

"I see," he said mildly. "Sounds like we could all use a little something sweet to chase the sour away, hmm? Elijah, baby boy, why don't you come help Daddy serve up these treats. Gotta put those tiny hands to good use."

Elijah lit up like a Christmas tree. Scampered over to Lance with an excited little wriggle, already making grabby hands for the platter.

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