Page 116 of Traces Of You
He detested that life for his brother but knew Clay had lived it.
Not that his brother ever said those words, but Clay had talked in his sleep a few times and Ford let him ramble.
Maybe he thought it’d be a form of therapy his brother would never seek.
But it shed a light on his brother’s head that no one could ever understand.
“Don’t worry about me. I’ve got this.”
“When you care too much you make mistakes.”
“Did you?” he asked.
“Nope. Never cared enough about someone to worry about it.”
“Then you don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I know enough,” Clay said. “Everyone can see it. Now it’s more. It’s out there. She’s no longer reported missing, but that also means Oliver is going to know she was last seen in this area if he truly has contacts in the police department.”
“Which we aren’t sure of other than one guy.”
“For someone with her background, that’s enough. Remember that. You don’t know what she’s lived. What’s in her mind or what she went through.”
He didn’t need that reminder either.
That he might never know enough. He didn’t expect to know it all, but he’d like to know more than he did.
“I know what I need to.”
“You keep telling yourself that.”
“Do you want to take this downstairs? I don’t mind throwing your ass on the mat again.”
Clay held his stare. “I’m itching if you are, but you’re the one that has to go back to your girlfriend and explain the bruises.”
Since he was going to have a few already, he didn’t need to add to it. Not with the look in his brother’s eyes that he wouldn’t go easy on him.
“Another time.”
“That’s what I thought,” Clay said. “Beer?”
“Sure.” His brother went to the kitchen and grabbed two, then brought them out and tossed one to him.
“How come you’re not drinking your cider over beer?”
“I taste it enough at work. If you say this to anyone, I’ll deny it and then beat the shit out of you.”
“You don’t like your own cider, do you?” he asked, grabbing his side as he laughed. Oh, that was hilarious.
“Don’t be a dick,” Clay said. “Of course I like it. I wouldn’t do it if I didn’t. I wouldn’t be able to get it just right either if I didn’t like the taste of it.”
“Then what?”
“It’s the sweetness. I can only take it in small doses. The acid in my chest and gut is too much after large amounts of it.”
“Awww, the sugar gives you a bellyache?”
Clay put his beer down and stalked toward him.
