Page 47 of Wrecked for Love
That door…the one leading to the second bedroom. It stood there, seemingly innocent—just a regular door. As far as I remember, it used to be dark brown, an ominous color thatmatched the grimness it carried in my mind. Now, Claire had painted it a soft, pale sage, blending it with the cream-colored walls around it.
But no shade, no brushstroke could ever erase the darkness behind that door. The memory of Tessa was still vivid—her body lying on the bed, her mouth slack, suffocated on her own vomit. Her arm hung limply off the edge, needle marks dotting her elbow, with drug paraphernalia strewn across the floor. That image was burned into my mind. I could never make peace with it.
Claire must’ve noticed me staring at the door longer than I should’ve. She grinned, breaking the tension. “Now, no peeking inside that room. You’ll just find all my silly pages.”
Her lightheartedness was a saving grace. Thank God I didn’t have to step inside the room. “What? Did you base your hero on me or something?”
A flush of red rushed to her cheeks, and she gave me a swat. “No! Don’t push it, mister.”
We moved to the couch by the fire, my shoulder still throbbing from earlier. Claire, ever attentive, disappeared for a moment before returning with a hot compress.
“Take off your shirt,” she instructed, sitting beside me.
I noticed a bruise just on the round of my shoulder. Diesel had got me good, but I was lucky he hadn’t had a chance to unleash everything in him, or I would’ve been a dead matador.
She then carefully applied the compress to my aching shoulder. I couldn’t help but let out a groan of relief as the warmth began to soothe the pain. Ah…perhaps Diesel had planned this all for me. I involuntarily chuckled.
“What?” Claire said.
“No, nothing.”
Her hands worked magic as she held the compress in place. Then she leaned in closer, her presence comforting, and despite the earlier chaos, I felt a sense of peace.
“Better?” she asked, her voice soft.
“Much,” I murmured.
After a few quiet moments, she stood up, holding out her hand. “Come on, let’s get to bed. It’s been a long day.”
I followed her into the bedroom, and Claire changed into sunflower pajamas, looking utterly adorable. The bright, cheerful print popped but never outshone her.
“You really like sunflowers, huh?” I remarked, eyeing the bold pattern.
“Yeah. I like bright flowers,” she said with a casual shrug.
“Noted,” I acknowledged.
She dropped herself onto the mattress, letting her body bounce with the impact. “I’ve been planting all sorts of flowers in the backyard. Roses, daisies, even some lavender. I figured, why not fill the place with things that make me happy?”
I paused, trying to swallow the unexpected lump in my throat. She wasn’t just planting flowers—she was weaving love into every corner of the cottage, inside and out. My sister hadn’t been much of a flower person, but still…she would’ve adored what Claire had done here.
“And guess what?” she added.
“What?”
“I’m setting myself a challenge—a winter project. How about my own indoor nursery right here?”
I could see it. I could imagine her becoming the best customer at the garden center down the road.
I slid out of my pants, making her purr. Her eyes landed on my underwear, vibes too cheeky compared to her sunflower PJs.
She commented, “So, you’re neither a boxers nor briefs guy.”
“Huh? Then what would you call these?” I glanced down, realizing I had always referred to them simply as underwear, unaware of any fancier names.
“They’re called trunks,” she informed me, rolling onto her belly and resting her chin on her hand as she continued her observation.
I joined her in bed, hiding myself under the covers. “So, I guess I’m a ‘trunks’ kind of guy. Does that bother you?” I tried to decipher her smile.
