Clara

I feel sick.

I’ve never seen Cruise look like this, much less sound like the world we built is about to come crumbling down. Toby starts pinching my nose and twisting. “Ow! No, Toby.”

Grabbing his hand, I continue to bounce him on my hip and I try to amuse him, but he’s not having it. He starts crying. I look at Cruise, and say, “One moment. Let me give him to my mom.”

He nods silently, then turns back to look at the photo of my father. Something’s wrong. Very wrong. I just hope it doesn’t sink us. I move around him to take Toby to my mom when Vaughn comes back out, and says, “He wants his mother, Clara.” I suck in a breath that never makes it to my lungs. My throat closes as I stare at him. He adds, “Have you told your boyfriend all your secrets?”

“Vaughn,” I warn, my feet unable to move.

“What are you worried about, sis? He told me he’d kill for you. Do you think he would if he knew the truth?”

“Shut up, Vaughn,” I say, my voice quivering. Why is he doing this? I feel like I’m on the edge of a breakdown. I can’t get to my knees with Toby on my hip, but if I could, I would be praying for this to not go any further than it already has. So much damage has already been done, but not to the point of destroying what Cruise and I have together.

“Tell him, Clarissa. Tell him. See if your knight wants to stay and save you after he knows what you’ve been hiding.”

My eyes flash back to Cruise, who asks, “Why did he call you Clarissa?”

I’m quick to reply, “We need to talk.”

“I know,” he says with a furrowed brow. “We do.”

“Okay. We’ll go. Yes, we’ll talk about . . . things.”

Suddenly looking unsure, he shifts away from the mantle and comes toward me. “What things? My thing?”

“And my thing.”

The warmth of his hand on my arm is comforting, more so knowing it might be the last time I feel it. “What is going on, Clara?”

“Just give me a minute. We’ll go. We’ll talk.”

Reaching out, he caresses Toby’s cheek, instantly calming him. Toby happily babbles when Cruise says, “See you around, little guy.”

His parting words to Toby give me an inkling of hope. I still feel sick to my stomach though.

Toby reaches to touch his cheek and my heart clenches. Seeing them together is so sweet, the quiet acceptance before the storm.

Always the gentleman, even under the worst of circumstances, Cruise says, “Thank you for having me, Mrs. Johnson. My apologies for having to leave so soon.”

“No apology needed. Maybe another time.”

“Yes, maybe.”

I hear the uncertainty in his voice when he looks between us. Vaughn’s laughing like an idiot, and I look down in shame. Cruise opens the door and walks out, closing it behind him, so I take Toby into the kitchen.

“I’m sorry you went to so much trouble.” It’s the first time we’ve had someone over since . . . since he was killed. Tonight was supposed to be the start of something wonderful for us, a time to work together and figure out how to help Vaughn, and now this . . .

My mom takes him from my arms and steps back to sit down. “I’m sorry, Clara. He seems really nice.”

My chest shudders and I lean down to stop the panic attack beginning to drag me under. My mom rubs my back. “Talk to him. If it’s meant to be, it will be no matter what you tell him.”

Through sobs, I ask, “Did you put out that photo?”

“No. Vaughn did.”

I nod, because I knew it. I just needed it verified. Standing up, I kiss my mom on the cheek and then Toby who’s slobbering from blowing raspberries. I wipe my mouth, dragging it across the back of my arm. “I’ve got to go. Bye.”

“Bye, sweetheart.” I feel every ounce of sadness in her goodbye.

Swinging the door open, I make sure to glare at Vaughn, who stands proud with his arms crossed over his chest. “You’ll pay for this.”

“Actually,” he snarls, “you will.”

“I hate you.” Three words I never thought I’d use with my brother.

“Good. It will make things a lot easier that way.”

“What are you talking about?”

Nodding to signal behind me, he says, “You should catch up with him, break it off. It was never a good match.”

“You don’t know anything about him, or me, it seems. I have no intention of breaking things off with him.”

“You’ll come to regret that.”

“Your threats aren’t so veiled anymore.”

“No, they’re not.”

There’s no backing down for either of us. But I refuse to fear him. We’ve both done more than our fair share of submitting in our lives. Now we’ve tasted freedom, we’ve changed. I thought for the better, but glancing at my brother one last time before the door closes, I don’t know if it is for him.

The death march plays in my head as I walk toward the car. Cruise is inside, the tinting too dark to see what he’s doing, although at this moment, I’d rather know what he’s thinking. He gets out when I approach and silently walks around the car to open my door.

Please look at me, I silently beg, but am not rewarded with the rich browns I’ve fallen in love with. I slip into the car. “Cruise?”

“Can we wait until we get home, Dove?”

He always told me to be loud, not ever to be silenced again. Even when he has every right to request my silence, he asks me to speak. I nod, and then my head drops as I cry, because I realize he said home like we share one.

My home being his home.

Me being his home.

Him, my home.

The door is shut and I try to stop the tears from falling before he gets in the car.

I never deserved this man. I should’ve always known we could never be, not with all the secrets I’ve kept from him.

When he settles into the driver’s seat, he starts the car and steers us onto the street. I hate the quiet, the stiff silence that fills the car. Unspoken arguments rage inside me until he reaches over and takes my hand.

I ask, “Is it going to be okay?”

“I don’t know.” Finally rewarded with his gaze on me, his smile is only surface deep. “I hope so.”

Me too.

I don’t say it out loud and wonder if I should. Should I confess all the love I feel for him that I’ve been carrying inside of me since the day he was brave enough to say, “Hey.” I was the girl nobody talked to until that Wednesday. That was the day I became somebody.

His somebody.

And he’s mine.

My hand tightens around his because I’m not ready to lose the only man who’s ever treated me like I mattered. Despite him not saying the words, I know he loves me. He shows me. He listens to me ramble. He buys me macarons even though he thinks they are weird and chewy. He watches me do boring stuff like study as if it’s the most interesting thing in the world to him, as if I’m the most interesting person in the world to him.

When he parks in front of my house, he says, “I’ll come around.”

I watch as he walks in front of the car, his eyes on mine the whole time. His face is so serious that I worry even more. What was it that upset him? Did I do something wrong? Was it me? Or Vaughn? Us arguing. I just wish I knew.

The door is opened and he offers his hand. When I step out, he wraps me in his arms and kisses my head. I want to live and die in these arms. His strength is not just physical, but he’s an emotional warrior that is brave enough for the both of us. But I don’t know if it will be enough this time.

Whispering into my hair, he says, “No matter what happens, no matter what is said in there, I need you to remember that I care about you more than anything.” His voice is even quieter when he adds, “More than anything else in this world.”

Too choked up and too scared to speak, I nod, my cheek rubbing against the buttons of his white shirt. The door closes and the alarm chirps. He takes my hand because even in our wreckage, he’s still willing to connect with me.

I only glance once at him while we walk to the door, and I see my own devastation marking his perfect shirt. Black streaks of mascara and pink from my blush stain his chest.

The loss of the shirt won’t bother him. He can afford to replace it with a thousand more.

But what about me?

When the secrets are out on the table, will I be as easily replaced?

He has a key I gave him, since we always seem to stay here, and he unlocks the door. Opening it wide for me, I walk in with him right behind me. The door is closed, but not locked. I let my thoughts run away wondering if that’s on purpose for a quick escape or just what it is.

Cruise goes into the kitchen while I sit on the chair in the living room. I hear the refrigerator open and then close, the crack of bottle top being popped and heavy swallows as he gulps down a beer.

When I lean back and look over my shoulder, I can’t see all of him, but I can see enough. The bottle is set down on the tile countertop, and he rests both palms on either side of it. His head is dropped and the distress is written across his expression.

I’m tempted to go to him. To try to ease his pain. To call a truce and use our safe word. But donut can’t save us now. Only the words that will be too hard to bear can.

“Cruise?”

“Give me a sec, okay?”

“Okay.” I hate how weak I sound, but to him, for him, I am the weakest. I can’t lose him. Please, Lord, don’t let me lose him.

My eyes track him as he comes into the living room and sits on the edge of the couch. Our knees almost touch and I adjust to cover the distance. “Listen, Dove—”

“I’m sorry.”

His eyes lift to mine. “What are you sorry for? It’s me. I didn’t know.”

“You didn’t know what?”

“About your father.”

“I told you, but not everything.”

He’s about to reach forward, but restrains himself, and sits back. He hates when I cry. I imagine it’s a struggle not to dust the tears away. If only my lies could be handled so seamlessly.

“Tell me everything, Dove,” he pleads, his broken expression breaking me.

Trying to clear my throat, I can’t. There’s nothing to clear but the air between us.

This time I don’t even try to stop the tears. It would be no use anyway. They flow slowly and steadily over my cheekbones and fall to the abyss where my heart has disappeared. Just when I found happiness, a life to make me feel whole and wanted, to give me blue skies when I was only used to storms, I have to let go. Because of him I lose again. The words fall heavily.

“Toby is my baby.”