Page 30 of Safe in Clua

THIRTY

Felix

Muscles burning, my fist connects with the punching bag in two sharp hooks, then two more from the other side.

Focus on the burn. Focus on the sweat dripping down my back. The release of breath with every strike. Focus on anything but the truth that’s unfurling in my gut—in my chest—turning over in my mind.

I put way more force than necessary into my last right hook then grip the heavy bag with both hands and rest my forehead against it, its familiar leathery scent calming to my ragged breaths.

Even with my eyes open I can see her. Her pouty lips turned up into a smirk. Her cheeks and their constant flushing. Her eyes when they flash with whatever she’s feeling.

Her scars.

Her strength.

Laia.

I grab the towel hanging from the weight bench and drag it over my face, walking over to the floor to ceiling windows of my home gym.

From up here there’s nothing but trees. Huge, towering, Big Leaf Magnolias, the sun filtering through in speckled rays, coloring everything green. Not another person for miles.

Solitude. The only thing that’s kept me sane these last few years. Now everything just makes me think of Laia.

The Beach Hut had been mine and Rosa’s dream. After the Marines I put every ounce of myself into getting it up and running. For her. For me. For us. Her memory is in every corner of it. I’m proud of what it’s become. Proud I was able to finish what we started. I still am.

This place though. I turn from the window to the decked-out gym. The first room I renovated. The first place after Rosa I felt any semblance of peace in.

I’ve never pictured sharing this place with anyone else. I grind my teeth against the conflicting emotions that tighten my chest. Against the thought that took up root last night and hasn’t budged since.

Until now.

I’m ready to move on.

Fuck. I throw the towel onto the bench and leave the room. Move through the hallway, my bare feet soundless on the hardwood floors. Down the curved staircase and through the living room, straight to the drawer built into the fireplace.

The slice of pain that accompanies the contents of this drawer still dries my mouth. A box and a polaroid.

I lower myself onto the sofa and turn the small, delicately carved wooden box in my hands, brush my thumb over the initials carved into the top before I flip it open, my heart thudding painfully against my ribs.

The ring slides onto my finger, easy, like I never took it off. I drag my hand over my face and release a ragged breath before I pick up the smaller ring with my pinkie and the faded-with-age photo. We’re not even looking at the camera. She’s sitting on my knee, her head tucked beneath my chin. The smile on my face makes my eyes blur every time. I had no idea—no fucking idea.

I brush my finger over her cheek in the photo. She’d want this for me. I tighten my fist, both rings glinting against the sunlight from the living room windows. Rosa would want me to be happy. Laia makes me happy.

A knock at the front door pulls me from my thoughts.

“Come in.”

The door opens and all I can do is stare.

Laia. As if I’ve summoned her. Standing there, her green eyes fixed on mine. Her eyebrows quirked up in the middle, fingers twisting in front of her. “Felix. Hey.”

“Hey.” I clear my throat and stand. “Come in.”

Pink stains her cheeks as her eyelids flutter and her gaze moves over my bare chest. “I tried calling … I can come back if you’re busy. I just wanted to…”

I rake my hands through my hair, the tiny diamond sparkling from my pinkie when I drop them again. “No. I need to talk to you about something.”

Her bottom lip disappears between her teeth as she steps from the entrance. “Everything okay?” Her flip flops click against her feet with every step closer she takes.

Denim shorts and a white tank, her hair pulled back from her face, she finally looks up at me from beneath her eyelashes and the now familiar tug of protectiveness in my chest makes itself known. For better or worse I’m done fighting this. I’m ready.

The second she’s close enough, I slide my hand around the nape of her neck and pull her to me. Brush my lips over hers. Breathe her in.

Her lips part, her tongue flicks against my top lip and she almost, almost leans into me. But then she stops. Slips her hands over my pecs and pushes me back. “You wanted to talk?” Her gaze flicks to the engraved gold band on my ring finger, then to the one on my pinkie and a frown creases her forehead. “Are those … are they your wedding rings?”

“Yes.” I drop back down onto the sofa, twist them both off and tuck them back into the box.

“Is this her?” She lowers herself onto the coffee table in front of me, her knees between my thighs as she picks up the polaroid, her gaze flicking over the photo. “So young.” Her voice is quiet, her attention still fixed on the photo. “This is one of Mama Den’s.” She blinks up at me, her lips parting, cogs turning. “Rosa was your one. Why did you break up?”

“We didn’t.” I cough to clear the roughness from my words. It never gets easier saying this out loud. “She … Rosa…”

“You still love her.”

It’s not a question. I grind my teeth but meet her stare and nod. There’s no point in lying. “She was the love of my life.”

“I get it.” Her smile is shaky, but she blinks and looks down at her fingers. “You want her back.”

“Laia, Rosa is dead…”

“I mean, me and you … you just got caught up in the … wait. What?”

I hold her wide-eyed stare, the dull ache, the bone-grinding finality of those words still hard to breathe past.

Her mouth opens. Then closes. The color in her cheeks fades. “I didn’t mean … I mean … she’s dead? Rosa died?” Her breath seems to leave her along with whatever she’s trying to say. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

I shake my head and flip the box shut, walls I hadn’t even realized I’d built around myself reinforcing themselves against her pity.

Heavy silence thickens the air between us, all the things I wanted to say?, needed to explain sitting like lead in my stomach. “Does this change things?” I run my tongue over my bottom lip, my eyes narrowing on the confused crease between her eyebrows.

“Should it?” She drops her gaze to my throat then meets my stare head on. “I still want to try this. With you. Unless you don’t. Unless you’ve changed your mind.” Her lips press together, and she holds her breath. “Is that what you wanted to talk to me about?”

My eyebrows lift and the pain of the rings and what they mean eases for the first time in a long time. “I haven’t changed my mind about this.” My gut clenches, but I lean forward and cup her face anyway. Tilt it up to mine and rub my thumbs over her cheeks. “I won’t.”

Though the confusion in her stare is still there, her pupils dilate and the warmth of her sharp exhale tickles over my skin. “Okay.”

“Okay.” Hiding nothing, I dip my head and press a kiss to her mouth.

Her lips part, her tongue sliding over mine as she smooths her hands up my forearms. Before I’m ready for it to stop, she presses her forehead to mine. “I got the flowers. They’re lovely.” Her grip tightens on my wrists holding my hands to her face. “Thank you.”

My frown is instant. So is the rising panic paling her face when she sees it.

“I didn’t send you flowers.”

Laia

The world just stops, all pretense of brave, strong, happy Laia falling away like she never existed in the first place.

I jerk my hands from Felix’s forearms and pull back from his hold, fear, like a lead weight around my neck, threatening to drag me down.

A shaky breath rushes from my lips. “Who then?” I press my fingers into my temples, then meet Felix’s freaked-out blue stare. “If it wasn’t you, then who?” I don’t know why I’m asking. I know who. I knew the minute I laid eyes on the flowers who they were from.

I knew, I just didn’t have the guts to believe it.

“What’s wrong?” Felix’s big hands lift to my shoulders, his face darkening with concern.

I flinch away. Shake my head. Get to my feet between his legs, my mind spinning, trying not to come up with the obvious truth. “They’re from him. I know it.”

Felix’s whole posture changes, lines creasing his forehead, tension hardening the muscles in his big body. Normally, I’d drool. Right now, the only thing I can think of is all the different ways Damon could hurt him. Destroy me through destroying him. And Kenzi. And Mrs. Devon. He’ll take all my happy and wring it out of my life like he did before.

“I can’t do this. If he knows about you…” I shake my head and fix my stare on the crease between his pecs. “He’ll hurt you. I can’t … I won’t let that happen. I need to go, I’m sorry. I need to leave.” I try to scramble over his thigh.

“Laia. Calm down. You’re not making any sense.” He’s on his feet and my face is cupped in his hands before I get anywhere.

“You don’t understand.” My gaze moves over his serious face. “I didn’t want this. Didn’t want to care this much about anyone.” It just makes everything harder. A big fat tear escapes my eye and trickles down my cheek.

He wipes it away with his thumb and curves his body back so his face is level with mine, giving me no other option but to look at him.

“Please.” I blink back another tear before it gets the chance to spill. “You don’t know what he’s capable of.”

“And he doesn’t know what I’m capable of.” The crease between Felix’s dark eyebrows deepens, but his gaze doesn’t falter. I don’t think he even blinks. “I won’t let him hurt you, Laia. And if he tries” —his nostrils flare— “Let him try. Let him give me an excuse.”

I blow out a puff of air, my heartbeat only slightly less erratic, but the thickness in my throat is impossible to swallow down. He’s here. I can feel it.

“There’s only one florist on this side of the island. We can phone them. We can figure this out. You don’t have to do this alone anymore. Let me help you. Please.”

I lick my dry lips at the strength in his gaze and the sureness of his voice and nod. A tiny jerky movement I’m not even sure he sees.

“Don’t run.”

My chin trembles, but I shake my head, the panic receding just enough for me to release my breath.

He presses his lips to my forehead and wraps me in his arms, my cheek against his chest, his heartbeat pulsing against my skin until mine slowly drops to match its steadying rhythm.

“I don’t want him to take this from me,” I whisper against his warm skin, my arms sliding around his waist. It’s selfish of me to stay. To put him at risk.

But I’m not sure I can give this up.

Curled on the sofa, I chew my thumbnail and peer up at Felix. He’s still shirtless, still wearing just his loose training shorts. Still watching me like I might bolt at any second. He’s not wrong. In the past five minutes I’ve come up with at least fifty plans of escape.

Cell pressed to his ear, he smiles reassuringly down at me. “Great. Thank you. Bye.”

He lowers himself down onto the chunky wooden coffee table and rubs his hand up my calf. “They just sacked a delivery guy for smoking weed on the job. Apparently, he’s been messing up all of their deliveries for weeks.”

I suck my bottom lip and lift my gaze to the wooden beams of the ceiling to stop any more tears. I want to believe him—want to get back how I felt this morning, when my head was filled with tongues and butterflies and a sureness that I was finally moving forward with my life—that I was finally breaking free of my past. “I don’t know if I can do this, Felix.”

When I drop my gaze back to him, he leans forward and presses his lips to mine once, twice. The third time I kiss him back, sink my fingers into the thick dark hair at the nape of his neck then pull back, my head already shaking. “Even if the flowers aren’t from him, it’s only a matter of time.”

That crease reappears between his eyebrows. “I can handle him, Laia. Him and anything he throws our way.”

My thumb lifts to my mouth.

He pulls it back down before my teeth find the jagged corner of my nail. “Trust me.”

A fresh wave of emotion trembles my chin, but I nod. “I do. It’s him I don’t trust.”

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