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“I no longer feel pain over it. I worked through it. Or I thought I did, until you shook me up by being so much younger than me. Can you blame me for being a little uneasy about the difference in our ages?”
Before she could respond, he went on, “I rarely think of them anymore. It was the way you said that about the cat. It brought a different light to the past that I couldn’t help but laugh at.”
She shrugged. “Well, I hope that helps a little bit?”
“It does. But I never want another relationship, Lark.”
Big ouch.
It wasn’t the first time she was rejected, by family, foster moms and dads, so-called friends in the group home who stabbed her in the back with metaphorical dull knives. Even a handful of men had turned her away for various reasons she never associated with being her problem.
But this hurt. It felt personal, especially after all they’d been through in a short time.
It was also obviously one-sided.
Was Clay attracted to her? Yes. Was he willing to bend a few rules and take her to bed? Also yes. But when this was all over, he planned on walking away.
For the first time in her entire life, she felt the scorching urge to flee her hometown. Despite all the bad that happened in East Canon, and how the town was on a southbound train, or the fact that she couldn’t find a solid job, she still always dreamed of settling there.
Of having a home of her own with a swing set in the back yard for a couple of kids. Greeting her man at the door, putting her arms around him and kissing him hello after a long day of work.
Now the town had a task force to fight terrorism, with the object of her desire at the wheel. She would see Clay around town. Run into him at the convenience store, where they’d pass each other like two strangers.
The need to cry overwhelmed her senses, and she did what she’d always done when emotions got the best of her—she put on a bright façade.
“That’s okay. I understand, Clay.”
He twisted his head to look at her. “You do?”
“Yes. We just had sex a couple times. I mean, you’re too old for me anyway.”
The past times she’d brought up their difference in ages, he’d grown agitated, made jokes and clutched his chest as though she’d mortally wounded him.
This time he stared at the road without speaking.
In the side mirror, lights from another vehicle approached. The car came up on them fast and tracked them for a good mile, matching their speed.
“Uh…should we be concerned about that car following us to the safehouse?”
“We’re not going to the safehouse. And we don’t need to worry—that’s Livingston.”
“And you know this how?”
“It was in the original plan for him to meet us.”
“The plan that I ruined.”
“Yes. That plan.”
She stared at the chiseled lines of his profile. Why did it sound like he was talking about some other plan, one that was far more personal?
ChapterFourteen
Two beer bottles sat on the table between Clay and his friend. Livingston had polished his off before the blood on his knuckles from a fistfight back in the warehouse dried. Clay had only taken a few swigs to wet his mouth.
He wasn’t in the mood to drink. After that conversation with Lark in the truck, he wasn’t in the mood for much of anything.
He didn’t need to see her face to know he’d hurt her. It echoed in her sweet voice and the way she’d downplayed what happened between them.
