Saturday is the soonest I can go see Clay. He works late enough that it would be dickish to ambush him afterward. Not that it’s any better before work on Saturday morning. But I ask Mrs. Rhodes to pack up some breakfast anyway. She makes the fanciest basket I’ve ever seen, full of rolled eggs, cut fruit, and fried potatoes. Then I pull Morgan’s car keys off the peg and dare her to tell me I can’t.
There’s little traffic passing from the country to the small city limits, ten cars or so. I obey all the rules of the road, coming to a full stop before making the left once I drive through downtown. Clay’s neighborhood is quiet as I park. His borrowed car is here, one hurdle overcome. That was a minimal risk, however, as it’s only nine now.
Taking the basket from the passenger seat, I hop out and go up the stairs. It doesn’t occur to me until I’m knocking that I didn’t do Morgan makeup. Actually I’m not wearing any, no jewelry either, and I think these yoga pants are probably what she wore to work out in. Morgan wouldn’t have gone out looking like this, but there’s nothing I can do but roll with it now.
I knock a second time before I hear footsteps inside. Clay comes to the door wearing only a pair of faded jeans. The top button is unfastened, so the denim hangs low, revealing a strong chest, sculpted abs, the smooth indent of muscle on his hip, and astonishingly beautiful ink. A complex geometric pattern done in red and black frames his broad shoulders. For a moment I just stand in stunned silence because I honest to God had no idea he was this … breathtaking.
His skin holds a late summer bronze, and dark stubble shadows his cheeks and jaw. The guys at school look like little boys in comparison. His eyes glint with gold in the morning light. Lazily he stretches and I watch the interesting things that motion does to his tight, rolling muscles. It’s obvious that he’s just slid out of bed because his shaggy black hair stands on end, worsening when he tries to tame it.
“This is a surprise,” he says, smiling.
The dimple pops in his left cheek, telling me he’s happy to see me. That expression may not last when he finds out I kissed his brother. Suddenly my palms are wet around the handles of the basket because I truly don’t want to hurt him. Though I don’t know him too well, the fact that he’s working full-time for Nathan says everything about what kind of person he is.
“I brought breakfast.” Offering the food is a great distraction.
Clay cocks his head. “It’s not my birthday.”
“I know.”
“Well, come in. Nathan’s still asleep.”
Good. It’ll be better if I can get this done without seeing him. But the problem with their house is that you have to walk through the bedrooms to get to the kitchen unless you come in the back door. Clay decides that’s the best option, so we close the front door and slip in that way. There’s plenty of sunshine in the kitchen, and I get some plates while he quietly closes the bedroom door so his brother can sleep longer.
“How did you know where they were?” he asks.
Shit. As Liv, I spent a lot more time here than Morgan did. I also know they don’t have a washer and dryer, and that Nathan walks six blocks to the Laundromat when he runs out of clean clothes. But nobody else would. I have to watch myself.
Smiling, I shrug. “Common sense? Most people put plates near the fridge or the stove.”
“Should I make some tea?”
Since Morgan loves it, I should say yes, but I’m tired of pretending. “It’s too warm. Water is fine.”
“Don’t tell me you’re already working out.” Clay touches my shoulder. It sounds like he’s gearing up to lecture me, which is oddly heartwarming.
“No, I’m not. Why, am I not formal enough?”
“You know you’re beautiful,” he says. “You don’t need me to tell you.”
Heat suffuses my cheeks, early warning that I’m blushing. No, this cannot happen. Clay, put on a damn shirt. Now I can’t even look at him because he’s propped against the counter and the sunlight’s burnishing his skin, and he’s like somebody out of a magazine. Rugged guy in kitchen, take one. I busy myself setting the food out, and he goes out onto the back porch. Through the screen door I can see some T-shirts drying on the railing. Great, now I’m imagining him washing them by hand, muscles flexing. He pulls a white one down and shrugs into it. By the time he comes back inside we’re ready to eat.
“Did you make this?” he asks.
I laugh. “Seriously?”
“Didn’t think so.” He grins back. “But why are you being so nice to me?”
The question makes me go, WTF? Even if they’re just bang buddies, why would Morgan need a reason to see her man? “Isn’t that kind of our deal?”
“Nobody told me there was an amendment.” He’s smiling, so I can’t tell if he’s joking or not. The real Morgan would know.
“You’ve been great since the accident.” Which is true. “So I figured…”
“The food is top-notch. Thank your housekeeper for me.” Clay is wolfing it down like he hasn’t eaten in days.
“I will.” As I eat, I keep an eye on the door to the bedroom because I didn’t bring enough for Nathan and I’ll feel like an asshole if he wakes up before we finish.
“You seem to have something on your mind.”
Okay, here we go.
“I do have something to tell you, yeah.”
“Go for it.” He leans back in his chair, folding his arms.
“So basically, Nathan was pretty drunk the other night. He forgot who I was for a few seconds … and kissed me. When he realized I wasn’t Liv, he threw up next to the porch.”
Once it’s out, it doesn’t sound as bad, though I’ve omitted how I responded. Clay doesn’t need to know that. If I’m lucky, Nathan was hammered enough that he can’t be sure what happened exactly, and he’ll wonder if his memory is playing tricks on him.
But Clay … Clay is thunderstruck. I mean, he’s staring at me like I’m the devil. Or no, that’s not exactly right. He’s just dead shocked. By what, I have no idea. Can’t even guess.
The silence lengthens until I can’t stand it. My gaze drops to my plate.
“Why are you telling me this?” he finally asks.
“To make sure you heard the story in context. Nathan would probably make it sound worse than it was. You know how he is.”
“I do, yeah.” The emphasis is delicate; something has changed in the way he regards me. His focus sharpens.
“And I wanted to make sure you didn’t get hurt,” I add. That’s common courtesy, right? Even if you’re not super serious, it’s an asshole move to treat someone’s feelings like nothing.
His reaction is still incomprehensible, but there’s a subtle softening to his smile. “Okay. Let me know if he gets out of line again. The kid’s struggling, I get it. But he can’t chuck his future when he’s so close to getting out of this town, you know?”
I nod. “Liv wouldn’t want that.”
“I’ll take your word for it. She never liked me.”
That makes me start guiltily. I had no idea Clay noticed, but I did judge him based on what other people said about him. Whenever he was home, I’d make an excuse and take off, dragging Nathan over to my place instead. Back then it was like I thought his bad reputation was contagious or something.
“She just didn’t know you,” I say.
“True.” His gaze lingers on mine, then it drops slightly, and I feel a tingle in my lips, bare arms, shoulders.
This is … crazy.
To interrupt whatever’s happening here, I stand and pick up our dishes. I’m at the sink washing them before it occurs to me that Morgan probably has never washed a plate in her life. But it’s too late to back out of this, so I just finish up and stack everything in the dish drainer. Then I get a dish cloth and turn around because the table still needs wiping. Though I didn’t hear Clay move, when I turn, he’s right behind me. I back up against the counter, but he doesn’t take the hint to give me more space.
Instead he steps forward, close enough that I can feel the warmth radiating from his skin. “What are you playing at, Morgan?”
“Excuse me?” There’s nowhere for me to go.
“Are you trying to make me fall for you?”
Hasn’t that happened already? But it’s not the kind of question I can ask. I mean, you don’t interrogate a guy about loving you. I manage a nervous smile and say nothing.
He cups my face in one hand, long fingers curving over my jaw, and his thumb skims down slowly until he’s almost touching my lower lip. My lashes tremble before I even realize I’m halfway to closing my eyes. Clay moves in until our bodies are flush, heat prompting more. He’s so close that I can feel his heart against mine. With his other hand, he brushes the hair from my face in a move so gentle that I can’t pull away.
This kiss isn’t like the other one. He slides his right arm around my back, pulling me up against him, and his other hand tangles in my hair. Clay’s mouth is firm, but it’s like he’s asking a question with every brush of his lips. With each flicker and turn of his head, the spark builds a little more, until I wrap my arms around him and dive deeper. His shoulders are incredibly strong, and I can’t resist moving my hands, digging my fingers into his back. In response he lifts me onto the countertop and steps between my legs. I wrap them around him, not thinking about anything but his mouth on mine, the delicate way he breathes me in. He pulls back for a few seconds to stare at me with glazed, incredulous eyes and then comes back in for another round.
This time his mouth feels both softer and hotter, plus a thousand times hungrier, and I respond the same way. I’ve never felt like my bones were melting before. Clay trails his lips away to nuzzle my jaw, my throat, the curve of my shoulder. His hands rove over my back, just like I’m touching him, and I’m not thinking of anything else. I just want him.
But he backs off first, leaning his forehead against mine. His breath comes in quick, heaving gulps, but I sound about the same. I’m shivering a little, too. Jesus. My head drops onto his shoulder and he follows as if he doesn’t want to lose that contact point.
“What the hell?” he breathes. “That was … it was…” But he can’t find the words either.
I curl my fingers around the nape of his neck, holding on. The way I feel, I might topple sideways if I don’t. “Too much for post-breakfast action?”
Clay laughs softly and strokes the side of my cheek. “Probably. Now my morning shower has to be a cold one.”
“Well, that’s something I didn’t expect to hear today.” Nathan ambles out of the back bedroom in rumpled pajamas.
While he rummages in the cupboard, I hop down from the counter. Clay gives me a little space, but I sense him watching me as I maneuver to the other side of the kitchen. His brother grabs a box of Krispy Flakes and cuts me a look. I nod slightly.
Yeah, I told him.
But Clay intercepts the look and punches Nathan in the shoulder hard enough that his brother staggers back. “Touch her again and you’ll get a beatdown.”
“I know,” Nathan mutters.
There’s no way I can stay to watch him eat cereal, so I say, “I need to get going. I’m AWOL right now, and if my dad comes home before I get back, it’ll get ugly.”
Clay raises a brow because he knows this is bullshit. “I’ll walk you out, sweets.”
Guilt is creeping in, now that my hormones are cooling down. I can’t meet his gaze as I move through the house toward the front door. Remorse, regret, they become an unsavory cocktail in the pit of my stomach. I can’t believe I got so completely lost in someone I’m not even dating, except on a weird, after-death technicality.
But maybe it’s not your fault. He implied that their deal was primarily physical, so maybe it’s just … biochemistry. Morgan’s body + Clay’s body = insane, sexy flashfire. That reeks of highly unscientific rationalization, but it makes me feel a little better.
Until I think, Nathan would be so wrecked if he knew.
Clay lifts my chin with firm fingers before I can slip away. For a long moment he studies my face and then shakes his head. “I thought I had a handle on things, but … you’re totally throwing me lately. You know that, right?”
“What do you mean?” I suspect I know exactly what he’s getting at.
He sighs slightly. “Never mind. Be careful going home.”
“Don’t work too hard.”
Clay walks me to the car and kisses my temple before shutting the door. The warmth of his lips lingers long after I’ve driven away.
I’m operating on automatic, making turns according to a whisper or an impulse. I’m also smelling that weird perfume that flooded Morgan’s bedroom as I was reading the letter she left. Gasping, I open the car window a crack and realize that I’m not headed for the Frost mansion, or my old house. In fact, I’m not even sure where the hell I am when I start paying attention to the road again. Glancing around doesn’t yield much help. I’m out in the country where there are few signs posted and there are miles between houses.
But as I go over a small rise, I recognize the tree from a clipping that Morgan included in her file on Creepy Jack. This is where her mother died. Trembling, I pull over onto the dirt shoulder and walk across. The road has been paved over since then, repainted, so it’s not like there’s a crime scene for me to investigate. But the tree itself bears a scar. Is that normal? I mean, I think I read somewhere that trees don’t heal, but I’ve seen telephone poles knocked down by the impact of a crash. Maybe it depends on the relative size of the tree versus the weight and velocity of the car. Physics isn’t my thing, so I can’t do the calculations in my head.
Nathan could. But I don’t text him.
This is a really lonely spot, so out of the way that I can’t imagine where Mrs. Frost was going when she passed by here. It’s possible a deer darted out in front of her car and she swerved, just like Morgan’s dad said.
More to the point, it’s beyond bizarre that I’ve found this spot without even trying. I circle the tree slowly and try to imagine what it was like on that day ten years ago. Mrs. Frost drove a little red sports car, and it was daytime. Not raining. Like a movie the scene comes to life in my head. She’s speeding along, the radio is on. There are no other cars on the road, so she’s going a little faster than she should. The wind whips through her hair, dark like Morgan’s, and her sunglasses hide part of her face.
She’s not smiling. Something is bothering her. I remember how Morgan’s letter said she’s positive that her mother met with Creepy Jack the day she died. So what did they talk about? The scene feels almost too real as she zooms closer to the spot where she dies. But just before I see what happened, the picture in my head cuts out. Now there’s only black and screaming, the sound of crunching metal and then silence. I open my eyes. The summer morning feels cold as ice, and when I exhale I can see my breath.
Then I hear Morgan’s voice, clear as a bell. I told you. This wasn’t an accident.
But my mouth isn’t moving, and there’s no one else here.