Clayton (Bourbon & Blood Book 2) (7 page)

“Where is she, Evelyn?” I ask. I’m still raw from the face off with Clayton in his office. Even when we’re not trying to hurt one another, we do. Maybe focusing on Mia’s issues instead of my own will help.

“She’s upstairs in her Mama’s old room. She has torn this house apart! Everything in it is upside down… Not that it doesn’t need to be. They’ve been living in this house like it’s a museum for far too long.”

I move past Evelyn toward the stairs. She’s probably right about all of that. In a lot of ways, even though they’ve all gone on and done other things, for Mia, Quentin and Clayton, it’s like a part of them froze in time with Patricia.

I enter the bedroom and note the dated decor. Even before the accident, Patricia had been talking about wanting to update and get rid of the Laura Ashley wallpaper and bedding. The heavy oak furniture with its early American motif is just as out of fashion. But it’s not the decor that has me stopping in my tracks. Mia is sitting on the floor, cross legged, surrounded by boxes. Her hair is wild, her face is streaked with dust and she appears to be wearing clothes more appropriate to clubbing than housework. She’s so focused on the task in front of her that she hasn’t even realized I’m in the room.

“Can I help?” I ask softly.

Mia looks up at me and instantly, her eyebrow goes up speculatively. “You look rested,” she says and there’s a world of innuendo in her tone.

“He did not spend the night. I did not sleep with him,” I reply, keeping my answers concise and completely honest. “Stop poking at my love life and I won’t poke at yours.”

Mia cocks her head to the side and considers it for a moment. “Done.”

“So what am I looking for?” I ask her.

“Letters. Handwritten to my mother or father from Barbara Shelby. They may or may not be signed.”

I take a seat on one of the upholstered chairs that flank the dresser and grab one of the plastic storage totes. “Got it… Am I going to be grossed out by them?”

“Probably.”

I wipe the dust off the top of the tote before opening it. I start sifting through the contents, piece by piece. It’s depressing and sad to think that the person who put these things in a box is lying downstairs, probably completely unaware of anything going around on her. Of course, my more immediate concerns are for Mia. Whatever is going on with her, it’s bad. I’ve never seen her like this. “Not to be too much of a nanny here but, have you slept? Or showered?”

“No, and I’m hot. Sweating like a whore in church. There’s a lot of things you shouldn’t be poking at right now,” Mia replies pointedly.

There’s a lot of warning packed into that tone. “Fair enough.”

We work in silence for the longest time, each one of us sorting through years of memories. The tedium isn’t what’s getting to me. Picking out school papers, awards that each of her children had received that had been carefully filed away, bills paid. All the little pieces of a life that just stopped. It never ended. Just stopped.

My thoughts must have mirrored Mia’s because she looks up at me. There are no tears in her eyes, not because she doesn’t need to shed them, but more than likely because she’s already cried out her quota.

“This is what’s left of her. This, right here, all these plans and tasks… I don’t want this to be someday. I don’t want to look up and realize that I let my whole life be an accumulation of things that I thought I would do or have someday.”

I meet Mia’s gaze and the papers I’ve been shuffling still in my hand. I’d hurt for Clayton when Patricia was in that accident, I’d cried for him when he wouldn’t in the aftermath. We hadn’t even been together that long, but I’d known then how much it was cutting him, how much it hurt with every progressively negative report from every doctor that examined her. Persistent vegetative state was the final word, but no one could explain why. And Mia has been left here, alone for the most part, caring for a woman with no end in sight.

“Mia, I don’t know what happened here last night,” I begin, but it’s hard to speak past the lump that has formed in my throat. Apparently all the Darcys want to make me an emotional wreck today. “Or what happened here the night you intended to run away with him… but I do know, that in spite of everything, these last two weeks I have seen you smile more, laugh more, and live more than I have in the twelve years that I have known you.”

A pained expression crosses Mia’s face, a kind of agony that I am all too familiar with. If Clayton is the love of my life, then surely Bennett Hayes is hers. I’ve always known that Mia was hurting, that she was lonely and unhappy being so isolated, but I’d never known just how much. I hadn’t allowed myself to see it, if I’m honest. Neither had Clayton or Quentin. We’ve all just gone about our business and left Mia to fend for herself. Being hit with the realization that you’ve been an entitled, self-indulgent shit to someone you actually care for is a bitter pill to swallow.

Mia is miserable and if Bennett Hayes can undo that, if he can break through that hard, icy shell Mia has been wearing for years, I’ll be the first one in line to cheer him on. Reaching into the box on my lap, I pull out a photo and hold it up to Mia. “For the last week and half, you’ve been this girl. A little older and a little wiser… well,
maybe
a little wiser. But I’ve never known the girl in this picture. I’ve never seen your eyes sparkle like this… not until recently.”

There is a long pause, silence stretches in the room. Finally, Mia asks, “Do you regret it?”

“Regret what?” I respond. It’s a stalling tactic. I know exactly what she is talking about. The conversation has turned and this is no longer solely about Mia and Bennett. Now it’s Clayton and myself under the microscope.

Mia’s expression tells me in no uncertain terms that she isn’t buying the dumb act. “Do you regret leaving my brother?”

She won’t let me off without giving her a straight answer. Since I’ve birthed one of their ilk, I know all about who hard headed and strong willed a Darcy female can be. Still, I try to keep my answer vague, more to protect my bruised feelings than because I feel like she’s prying. “I regret feeling like I had no other option.”

“That’s not really an answer. Do you miss Clayton? Do you think about him and about how things might have been, or could still be, different?”

She’s given me a question I can’t dodge.
Fuck
. “I thought we weren’t going to poke at this,” I hedge, throwing Mia’s own words back in her face.

“Changed my mind,” Mia says with a shrug, as if she is perfectly entitled to so do.

A dozen and one things cross my mind. The months of silence and distance, the invisible wall that Clayton constructed between us for reasons he couldn’t or wouldn’t explain. But it’s the encounter in the kitchen the previous night, the weight of his hands and the heat of his mouth on hers, the way we talked like we used to, all of that is there at the forefront of my mind. Yes. I regret it. Every day in a dozen different ways since he moved out of the house, I regret it.

“Of course, I do. I love him. I will always love him… but somehow, it just stopped being what it was supposed to be for us. He got quiet and distant, and I felt like a shadow moving through his life. Whatever was in his head, whatever was consuming him… he wouldn’t share that with me.”

Mia shakes her head at me, like I’m being an idiot. Maybe I am.

“Clay doesn’t do a whole lot of sharing, Annalee,” she says pointedly. “That’s not who he is. He’s the fixer. Hell, that’s why you’re here right now!”

I can’t talk about it anymore, I can’t look at it anymore. It’s like broken tempered glass. It’s all still together, each of those million broken pieces clinging together against all odds, but one more staggering blow, and the pieces will scatter and I’ll never put them all together again.

“I know that, Mia. I’ve always known that about him… but how he related to the rest of the world was not how he was supposed to relate to me. I was his wife. I deserved to have a piece of him that was just mine.”

“I’m sorry,” Mia said. “I wish I could make it better.”

I force my tone to soften, realizing that I’ve spoken to her far too harshly when she is clearly in a fragile state herself. I take a deep breath and force the clenched muscles in my body to ease before they just snap. Mia isn’t trying to hurt me, but then neither is Clayton. It still feels like they’ve both left a mark though. “We all wish that for the people we love. Whatever happens for Clayton and me, you’re my family. Got it?”

Mia nods. “I got it. And I’m guessing that it’s time to pick up Emma Grace from… what is it today? Dance, Girl Scouts?”

Thankful for the reprieve, I answer with a smile. “A field trip to the candy factory in Bardstown. What the hell happened to just going to school?”

I get up from the chair and place the box back on the floor. There is no point in uttering a goodbye, Mia is already engrossed in the next box. She is on a mission like a woman possessed.

I leave, slipping out before Evelyn can corner me and demand my accounting of how I think her baby-girl is doing. I’m hoping against hope that Mia finds what she needs, that all of that digging through the baggage of their lives and their tragedies isn’t for nothing. I climb into my minivan to go and pick up Emma Grace and glance in the mirror. “I hope we all do.”

I
t was
dark by the time I parked in front of my condo again. The day had gone by at a crawl and I still felt like ass. Going through the front door, it was a relief not to see Samuel there or to have any other unexpected guests. All I want is to take enough Tylenol to fell a horse and guzzle water by the gallon.

Stepping into the kitchen, I grab one of the two kitchen towels that I actually own and fill it with ice which I immediately press to my aching head. “Fucking hell! I am never drinking again.” It’s a lie. I know it was the minute I utter the words, but at the moment they’re gospel.

Moving to the couch, I settle in, lean my head back and close my eyes against the glare. I’m too damn old to feel this way and to be this damn stupid. From across the room, where I dropped my jacket and brief case as soon as I walked in, I hear my phone ring. For about two seconds I consider not answering.

I can’t do it. It could be Annalee, though I doubt it. It could be anyone of the half dozen people who have been feeding me info about Samuel. Or it could be Mia. Right now, that’s my biggest concern. Annalee had sent me a text in the afternoon stating that whatever had happened with Mia she was still ‘fragile’. I don’t know exactly what that means, but I sure as hell don’t like it.

In the end, I ignore my aching head and my less than happy stomach and cross the room to answer the phone. I don’t recognize the number which doesn’t bode well.

“Clayton?”

I know that voice. If Bennett Hayes is calling me there’s a damn good reason. “Yes.”

“It’s Bennett Hayes. Mia is at my house and will be for at least the next twenty-four hours. Your father is with Patricia so you probably want to get somebody on that.”

Son of a bitch. This isn’t good. There is nothing about this that can possibly be good. “Is Mia hurt?”

I can hear the hesitation in Bennett’s voice before he answers. “Physically? No. I don’t think so. But that son of a bitch is going to hell for the emotional shit he’s put her through.”

Truer words were never spoken. The fact that I’m not totally clear on what exactly he’s talking about worries me more than a little. “That’s an understatement…I know what he is, Hayes. I’ve known for a long time. I’m working on that, but taking down someone who is a professional liar like Samuel isn’t easy.”

Bennett gets quiet on the other end for a second. I can all but hear the wheels turning. When he speaks again, he asks a question I wasn’t expecting. “What do you need?”

It’s an easy enough answer to give. It’s a harder thing to lay hands on. “Something damaging enough to kill his social status. If he thinks he’s losing that, he’ll come to heel quick enough.”

Bennett sighs, and then says in a resigned voice, “I need you to meet me at my brother’s farm in an hour.”

“Will I be leaving it alive?” Emmitt Hayes is a crazy bastard. Big, mean and possibly ugly. It’s hard to tell under his lumberjack beard. The one thing I do know is that he hates everything Darcy. If he sees me roll up to his front door, I’m liable to get shot, if not worse.

“Alive, yes. Unscathed? Don’t get out of your car unless I’m there.”

I can hear the smile in Bennett’s voice when he answers. The bastard is enjoying himself. “Fine,” I agree.

There are no goodbyes. The call just ends abruptly. I go into the kitchen, dump the makeshift ice pack in the sink and grab some Tylenol from the cabinet and bottle of water from the fridge. They probably won’t help, but at this point, they can’t hurt. It’s a good thirty minutes to the Hayes farm.

I pick up my phone again and call Annalee. She picks up after one ring. I can hear Emma Grace giggling in the background.

“I need a favor,” I say immediately.

“What is it?”

“I hate to ask, but I need you to go over to Mama’s for a while. Apparently, Mia either left under her own steam or Samuel kicked her out. Anyway, he’s there with Mama right now, so I’m on my way over to evict his ass. But after that, I’ve got to go meet Emmitt Hayes and probably get my ass handed to me.”