Page 35 of Drifting Hearts
When Shane bought the house for Mom, the first thing he did was have a deck built for her. The house we’d grown up in was small, with a back yard the size of a postage stamp and a patch of lawn where the grass wouldn’t grow that we’d called our patio.
Archer also hugged Mom, but his eyes darted around like he was waiting for the boogeyman to jump out from behind a tree.
“Clay’s inside,” I told him, taking a sip of my iced tea. Archer nodded and Shane tucked him in close to his side.
“Kieran, how about you be a dear and go check on him?” Mom asked, though it wasn’t really a question.
I nodded and pushed away from the railing where I’d been leaning. I stepped around Shane and headed in the back door, ignoring the quiet whispers between mother and son. Probably a warning for him to play nice.
The other day when I’d come over, Clay was out like a light in the recliner and Mom had confided in me that he hadn’t been sleeping well since our trip. Since long before actually, but it had become worse since then. I’d spotted him in the living room and at first I thought he was watching TV, but Mom quickly called me into the kitchen so I wouldn’t wake him up.
She never asked if anything had happened, but it felt like she knew. Maybe because I was her son and she’d raised me, and knew all my tells by now. Or maybe Clay had told her. Either way, she hadn’t warned me not to care for him or be with him. There had been no lecture about what Shane and Archer might think. Instead she made Clay’s favorite cookies and told me she was worried about him.
And now I stood outside his bedroom door, poised to knock, my heart hammering in my chest like it was trying to escape my ribcage and leap through the door and go to Clay.
My breath went in shaky and came out no better, but I forced myself to knock quietly. “Clay, it’s me. Mom wanted—”
I stopped and let the shame of a week of absence wash over me. Every moment we were apart, every time I’d intentionallynotcome over to see him was a self-inflicted wound. I was a piece of shit for wanting to kiss him now until the ache went away. “I wanted to come check on you.”
The door didn’t open and I leaned my forehead against it. “I was an asshole for not coming to see you. For ghosting you. But you became important to me, Clay.”
Lifting my hand, I pressed it against the door, the wood cool against my sweaty palm. “I shouldn’t have shut you out. It was a dick move. But if it makes you feel better, I’ve had the worst week without you.”
“It actually does help to know that.” Clay’s voice rang out loud and clear and I spun around to see him standing in the bathroom doorway. “But I do love a good grovel, so don’t let me interrupt.”
The side of Clay’s mouth lifted like he wanted to smile, but the sadness in his eyes was deep enough to drown in. Had it been there when I saw him last? All I’d seen then was pools of blue framed by laugh lines. I’d seen the way they softened when I kissed him.
I took a step toward him, then another. Herding him into the bathroom, I shut the door behind us.
“Tell me I can kiss you.” I was already reaching for him, sinking my hands into his hair, stepping into his space. Breathing in his scent, spicy and citrusy, and clean, and undeniably Clay. My lungs opened and it was like I’d taken my first real breath in a week. I was already leaning in, unable to escape the magnetic pull of Clay’s mouth. I wanted to kiss his sadness away.
“You’d better.”
Clay barely finished giving me permission before my lips were slanting down against his. His lips were full and soft, and as much as I wanted to devour him whole, we still had an evening with my brother to get through. Pulling away was nearly impossible, but I managed to put some space between us. Just enough that our lips were no longer touching, but the urge to kiss him again and again was there lingering under the surface.
“I’m sorry,” I told him, looking him in the eyes, willing him to believe me.
“I know.”
The haunted, sorrowful look in his eyes diminished, but didn’t completely disappear. A giant stone of regret sank to the pit of my stomach.
“I can’t tell you how sorry I am.”
Clay huffed a laugh. “You can stop apologizing, Kieran. I get it.”
Narrowing my gaze, I looked at him again, really looked at him. “I don’t think you do. You’re in my head, Clay. You’re all I thought about. All week long.”
He exhaled and leaned into me, resting his forehead on my shoulder. “As much as I liked hearing you apologize to my door, and as much as I want to kiss you again, we can’t hide in here.”
“Are you okay?”
Clay nodded. Then shook his head. Then nodded again. “Probably not, but I have to be, right? Eventually, I was going to have to face him again.”
“You don’t have to.” Archer wouldn’t insist on Clay’s presence any more than anyone else would. But I was starting to get the idea that Mom was hoping for some kind of a truce to be called between the former best friends. Even if they never repaired what had been broken.
“I think I do.” Clay took a deep breath and pulled away.
“Maybe I’ll take you for a spin in my new car when they’re gone.” That earned me my first real smile.
