As Darkness Gathers (Dark Betrayals Book 2) (23 page)

“Clay called me,” she whispered. “He told me what happened.”

The tears that had remained locked behind a wall of numb shock the night before brimmed and spilled from the corners of my eyes in warm rivulets down my temples. “I don’t want to die, Ju.” I choked on the words.

She rolled onto her side and tucked her head against my uninjured shoulder. “You’re not going to,” she said fiercely as she wrapped an arm around me. “The police are going to find the son of a bitch doing this, and they’re going to lock him away until he rots.”

“I don’t even know why. What have I done to make someone hate me so much?”

“You didn’t. Whoever’s doing this, it’s their own sick twistedness.
Not
you.”

It was long minutes before my tears were depleted. I scrubbed my hands over my face and took a deep, shuddering breath. “I need to get up and get ready. We’re supposed to be at my parents’ for lunch.”

“Are you sure—”

“Yes. I refuse to hole up in my apartment in fear.”

“Of course not, but what will you tell your parents?”

I struggled upright. I was so stiff I half expected to creak with the movement, and I bit back a groan as I swung my legs over the side of the bed. “I’m not going to tell them anything. They don’t need to know.”

“Finch . . .”

“They’ll only worry.”

She blew out a breath that made her long, wispy bangs stand straight up over her head before wafting back in place. “I’ll wait around and help you with your makeup. You have dark circles under your eyes, and you suck at applying concealer.”

The laugh that escaped eased the pressure in my chest. “Thanks. I’m just going to take a quick shower to wake up. I’ll be out in a few minutes.”

I shuffled into the bathroom and turned to face my reflection after closing the door. She was right, the bruised smudges beneath my eyes stood out in stark relief in my wan face. The bruising around my nose and eyes was fading to black and green.
 

I shrugged out of my nightclothes, wincing at the dark, mottled purple that marred the flesh of my hip and shoulder. Turning my back to the mirror, I stepped into the shower. The heat of the water loosened some of the tightness knotting my muscles, and after I dried off I settled on wearing a gray sweater dress with a hem long enough to hide the brace that fit around my knee. The purple suede boots I pulled on came up over my calves.

Julia was putting the finishing touches of makeup on my face when my phone rang in the other room.

“Got it,” Clay called.

My gaze collided with Julia’s in the mirror. “I’m in dangerous territory,” I whispered.
 

My friendship with Clay was so cohesive that I couldn’t help but think how easily he’d become a fixture in my life. I needed to keep reminding myself he wasn’t a permanent one.

Her face softened with empathy, but before she could say anything, Clay appeared in the open doorway behind her.
 

Something in his face made my stomach clench. “What’s wrong?”

“Jeremy has a black Tahoe registered in his name.”

I blinked. “He does.” The implication siphoned the air from my lungs.
 

“But he’s in jail,” Julia said, her eyes wide.

“No,” Clay said, his gaze never leaving mine. “He was released yesterday afternoon since you didn’t press charges, and the police are trying to locate him now.”

“They think he did it.” The numbness crept back in.
 

Could the man with whom I’d spent so many quiet evenings, with whom I’d slept and been intimate, whom I once thought I’d loved, have come to hate me so? Could the man who had been a faultless gentleman until just days ago day be capable of such violence?

“They don’t know.”

I remembered the wildness about him and his brutal grip on my arm. I didn’t know either. And it terrified me.

“You’ve been quiet today,” my mother observed later that morning while we sat at the kitchen table chopping vegetables for a stew.

“I’m sorry. I just have a lot on my mind.”

“No need to apologize, sweetheart. Your brother said when he spoke to you the other day—”

“What?”

She glanced at me, her brow pleating at my sharp tone. “Darcy. He said when he called you—”

“When was this?”

“He called yesterday and said he’d spoken with you earlier this week. Is everything okay, Finch?”

“Yes, I . . .” I cleared my throat. I hadn’t heard from my brother since he’d dropped me off at the auto repair shop to replace my slashed tires. “I’m sorry. What were you saying?”

She eyed me for a moment before continuing. “He said you sounded like yourself, but I’ve still been worried. You’re looking pale today.”

“I—”

“Oh, come
on
, ref!” my father exclaimed. “Clay, can you believe that call?”

From our vantage point in the kitchen, I watched my father settle back into his recliner with Aramis in his lap while Clay sat on the couch with both Athos and Porthos vying for his attention.
 

My mother smiled and pointed her paring knife toward them. “I like that young man, and what’s more, so does your father.”

“Mama—”

“Just hear me out.” She lowered her voice. “He’s well-mannered and charming. Intelligent, handsome. I could stare into those eyes all day.”

“He’s a little young for you. Plus, I don’t think Daddy would approve.”
 

She threw a carrot at me, and I laughed.
 

“What’s this about anyway?” I asked. “You liked Jeremy.”

She shook her head. “No, I didn’t
dis
like Jeremy. There’s a difference. And Jeremy never watched you the way that young man in there does.”

I shifted in the chair, suddenly uncomfortable. “And how exactly does Clay watch me?” I glanced toward the doorway, but both men were engrossed in the football game.

Her gaze followed mine. “Like your smile is the warmth of the sun after a long, dark winter.”

I rolled my eyes, but my breath locked in my chest.
 

As if sensing our gazes, Clay turned and caught my eye. He smiled and started to rise, much to the protests of the dogs. “You ladies need any help?”

My mother waved him away. “No, no, we have it under control. You enjoy the game.”

After a lingering look in my direction, he turned back to the television.

“See what I mean?”

I swallowed. “You’re a romantic, Mama.”

“I taught literature for thirty years, of course I am. Now tell me why you’re opposed to the idea.”

As a distraction, I grabbed a potato to peel and cube. “I’m not. But right now . . . Clay and I are friends.”

“Friends make the best lovers.” She laughed when I groaned. “I’m your mother, Finch. I’m not dead. Your father and I—”

“Spare me the details!”

“Talk and I will.”

“That’s blackmail.”

Her smile was sweet. “It certainly is. Well?”

“Well. I’m not sure I should rush into another relationship.”

“No, I agree, but these things don’t run on our timelines. And your heart was never involved with Jeremy.”

“That’s not true.”

She pointed a stalk of celery at me. “You should never lie to your mother.”

I chuckled. “Yes, ma’am.”
 

“I just wanted you to know your father and I think he’s a fine young man. But you’re the only one who can say for sure if you think he could be a part of your life as more.”

I pushed a wayward lock of hair from my face with the back of my wrist and glanced toward the living room again.
 

“If you allow yourself to admit it.” My mother’s voice was soft, and her smile was slight and understanding when I met her gaze.
 

She didn’t need an answer. I knew my face had given me away.
 

“The right man can be all things in the right time, sweetheart. And it’s usually not in the time you expect.”

I sighed. “That’s pretty inconvenient.”
 

She nodded. “Do you remember when you were five, and you were bound and determined to make me a birthday cake?”

I chuckled at the memory. “All on my own.”

She grinned. “You were quite vehement about that. Your father sat at the kitchen table, but you refused his help. That cake . . .” She shook her head.

“Full of egg shells and lumps and god only knows what else.”

“I made myself eat a piece so as not to hurt your feelings, but to this day I still cringe when you bring me a cake.”

I laughed.

“But I loved that cake. I loved your tenacity. You were always my headstrong one. Even as a child, you made up your mind about something, and there was no deterring you.” She covered my hands with hers. “What I’m saying is, I’ve never worried about you finding your way in life. Or in love, matters of the heart . . .whatever you young people call it these days. The timing won’t matter, because you’ll just know. And with that knowledge, everything else will fall into place.”

The late afternoon sun was a winter glare, and the slushy snow that had been plowed to the side of the road was brown. I stared out the window as Clay sped down the highway, my chin cupped in my hand, the passing scenery a blur. I contemplated what my mother had said.
 

Your heart was never involved with Jeremy
.
 

I had denied it, but the more I thought about it, the more I recognized the truth. I hadn’t been devastated when I’d broken things off with Jeremy. The pain I’d felt had come from knowing I had hurt him. It bothered me that my heart hadn’t been invested in the man who’d asked me to marry him.

I glanced at Clay from the corner of my eye. He handled the vehicle with smooth, laid-back skill, but I knew he was alert. I thought of his searching eyes and realized he was always vigilant, always waiting and watching the world around him.

This time, my heart had been involved from the moment he’d pulled me from the wreckage. Perhaps he had been lodged there because of the circumstances in which we’d met, but he’d remained there because of the man he was. Because I wouldn’t have survived without his stalwart presence at my side. Because he’d put his life on hold when I needed him. Because he made me laugh when laughter was all that kept the nightmares at bay. Because he offered his unwavering support without question or hesitation.

I loved him, I realized, and I pressed my forehead against the window to ground myself as that knowledge rocked me. I loved his charm and his humor, his strength and his patience, his intelligence and his depth. Now that I knew of his past, I recognized his pain and wariness, and I wanted to be a balm to the part of himself that he hid so well. I wanted to be the family he didn’t have, and to see him accept my parents’ fondness of him.

I pressed a hand against my sternum. My heart hammered so hard my chest felt bruised.
 

I love him
.