Page 11 of Drifting Hearts
Kieran
For someone who hadn’tleft the house in weeks, Clayton didn’t seem all that thrilled to be doing so today. To save Shane from having to deal with him, I’d volunteered to handle all things related to Clayton, and that meant taking him to the doctor to see how he was healing.
“I can hobble to the truck myself.” Clayton frowned at me and hopped down the front steps. “I’ve had a lot of practice now.”
My mom assured me that Clayton was a sweet boy. He was well-mannered and polite. He kept to himself, maybe a bit too much, she’d said to me. That wasn’t the Clayton that I got. She got the sweet, well-behaved house cat and I got the angry, hissing stray. It was better for everyone that way. I didn’t mind Clayton directing his moody attitude at me. I would, however, mind very much if he was anything but pleasant to my mom.
I watched Clayton hop across the driveway to my truck and pull the door open. He stared at the seat as though he could conjure up an easy way to get into the vehicle.
“You couldn’t get a lower vehicle?” Clayton looked back at me and scowled.
“Sorry I didn’t take your broken leg into consideration when I bought my truck eight years ago. How thoughtless of me.”
Clayton was never going to ask for my help, regardless of whether or not he needed it. Taking matters into my own hands, I marched over to him. His shoulders dropped like he was actively losing pride by needing me to help him into the truck.
After that first day, I’d been careful to avoid touching Clayton as much as possible. I didn’t want to like touching him, but I couldn’t deny the way my body responded when I put my hands on him and lifted him into the truck. Fuck, I needed to get laid.
That was the problem. It had to be. I’d been so preoccupied lately with overseeing Shane’s money on top of handling my other clients, and then there was the fact that every free minute I was over at Mom’s making sure Clayton was behaving. Suddenly, I couldn’t remember the last time I’d gotten laid.
My body didn’t get the memo that Clayton wasn’t suitable material to get excited over. He might look like my type, but someone who stole from their friends was definitely not my type. Clearly my brain and my body had to get on the same page. I collected his wheelchair from the porch, folded it, and tucked it into the back of the truck.
In the passenger seat, Clayton’s good leg bounced up and down as I drove toward the hospital for his appointment.
“Nervous?”
Clayton scoffed. “No, of course not.”
If he lied any harder, his pants would catch fire.
Mom would be the first one to offer comfort in this situation and it wasn’t that I didn’t think he deserved it. I was just bad at it. What was I supposed to say?There, there. It’ll be okay.Empty platitudes were seldom comforting.
Clayton wasn’t my friend, but a small part of me almost felt bad because I knew he didn’t have anyone to talk to besides the therapist my brother was paying for or my Mom. But then I remembered whyhe didn’t have anyone. I hated that I felt bad for him while knowing why he was in his current situation.
Clayton’s mood only grew more dour the closer we got to the hospital. By the time I paid for a parking space and wheeled Clayton through the beige hallways to the x-ray department, he was downright miserable.
It was times like this when I wished I was better at talking to people. I was sure Shane or Brodie would know what to say.
They called Clayton back for x-rays and the nurse wheeled him back, and then out again when they were done. His mood hadn’t improved any in the short time he was gone.
“That wasn’t so painful, now was it?” I stood to take the wheelchair from the nurse, who offered me a sympathetic smile. So maybe it wasn’t just me who noticed Clayton’s bad mood.
He had nothing to say to me. Not even a snarky remark. His doctor would get the x-ray results after the radiologist had a look and then Clayton would find out how much longer he’d be stuck in the casts. I supposed the worry might make anyone grumpy.
Instead of heading back to Mom’s, I pulled into the parking lot outside Bennett’s diner and killed the engine.
“Eat in or take out?” I asked Clayton.
He blinked at me like he was trying to figure out what I’d said, so I repeated myself. “Eat in or take out?”
“Uh, take out?” Clayton answered like it was a trick.
“I’ll be back; don’t go anywhere.”
“Ha, fucking, ha.” Clayton rolled his eyes and I climbed out of the truck. I took my keys with me out of habit, leaving Clayton in the silence of the truck.
Bennett’s was one of my favorite places to eat. I was okay with not taking Clayton inside and sharing a booth with him. I didn’t feel like subjecting innocent wait staff to Clayton’s current mood.
Ethan buzzed around behind the counter, filling coffees and the waitress, a woman who’d once stayed with Mom, came darting out of the kitchen, her arms stacked with plates.
