Page 7 of Sterling Clay

Stone’s head lifts at those words, eyes expressive and wide.

I clear my throat as my face heats. “I mean, I helped him into his bed, tucked him, and then—” And then what? Helped myself to stay here overnight? Made meals with food that wasn’t mine with the intention I’d pay him back?

Stone watches me a long, awkward moment before stating, “Clay’s lucky you are here.”

I want to take that praise and roll in the genuine warmth of Stone’s words, but I know better. Luck and I are not friends. We aren’t even neighbors.

“I was hoping to get him to eat something and then we’ll be on our way.”

“We?” Stone arches a brow, glancing around me.

“Do you remember my son, Dutton?” My voice lowers, embarrassed and ashamed of how I first encountered Stone Sylver. A cold sweat breaks out on my neck. I don’t know if the sheriff remembers all his cases or if situations eventually blur together. We hadn’t lived in Sterling Falls for long before everything fell apart.

How had my life become such a mess?

Oh wait, I know the answer to this one. Because I had a proclivity for alpha-holes instead of cinnamon rolls in my life, and my ex had been the biggest jackass.

“How is he?” Stone asks, his voice firm, but comforting. His question is as genuine as his smile.

I remember when he told me how proud he was of me, for finding the courage and the opportunity to admit to him what had been happening in my life. Like I had done something truly amazing and brave. I didn’t think I had, but Stone made me feel like I had.

If only I had gone to Stone sooner. Would it have made my life easier, or more difficult? Leaving came down to timing, and I’d almost been too late to freely make the decision on my own. There are statistics and reports on the number of women who stay in abusive relationships, and volumes written about the psychology of such decisions, but no one understands the toxic position like the woman who lives it.

The hope that he doesn’t mean his ugly words.

The desire to believe he loves us.

The way he made me feel during the good times.

The absolute lie in every touch and word and promise.

I focus on those lies to remind myself of what happened to me and Dutton.

My sister would have been so ashamed of me and the mess I made.

“He’s doing well. Better.” I slip my hands into the back pockets of my jeans. “We’ve been in Florida for a while. But I wanted to come home.”

Again, we hadn’t lived in Sterling Falls for long, but I’d liked it here. A sense of community existed. People were friendly. Business owners polite. We’d found a routine I appreciated. I’d had a good job. We had a beautiful home.

The thought of that house makes my skin crawl. I won’t ever go back there, which was another reason to return. I had insurance claims to collect and the shell of a residence to sell, and I’d made the assumption that being present would speed up the already painfully long, drawn out process.

Stone continues to watch me before glancing around his brother’s living room. “If you need anything, don’t be afraid to ask.”

“Thank you.” We remain pinned in place. Him eyeing me; me trying to hold my ground. I should be restating how I’ll leave after Clay takes some dinner. I should tell the local sheriff that I’ll be staying in a motel some forty minutes from here because it was the cheapest place I could afford on my unemployed budget. I should ask if he’s seen or heard anything about Wesley Holland.

But I don’t.

Stone nods, then tips his head toward the long hallway that runs the length of the house, the outer wall all glass panels until the end where Clay’s bedroom begins. “I’m gonna go check on the invalid.” His smile softens again.

I smile in return and relax for the first time in a long time.

Chapter 4

[Clay]

“You called in sick.” Stone enters my room without a knock or additional warning.

The murmuring of voices had carried to my bedroom, and I’d intently listened to decipher all that was said between Mavis and Stone. I’d caught the gist of things, as their lowered voices drifted along the window-lined hallway to the slightly ajar door of my bedroom. What a wimp, tripping over my own feet, and knowing Mavis rescued me from laying on the floor of my living room. God knows how long I could have laid there before I might have gotten up.