Page 10 of Brazen Defiance (Brazen Boys #4)

Clara

T he next day, I wake from a nightmare with a thundering heart and heavy limbs, still exhausted from the weekend, but my head slightly clearer.

Do I have a solution?

No. I have sweaty sheets and a wonderful tangle of limbs to escape from, but no answers. The icy sun, though, feels hopeful in a way yesterday’s gray blanket of cold didn’t.

My shower has my limbs moving again, albeit not with enough dexterity for a run, even though all of me wants the oblivion of miles spent running—away, through, toward, I don’t know which, but I need some combination of those directions. Only my body is wrecked.

Reflecting on the three bites of a roll I had yesterday, it doesn’t surprise me.

I promised I’d do better. I’ve failed so far. But there’s still today.

The kitchen is silent, my bed full of warm bodies still snoozing, all of them staying up long after I passed out, talking, trying to tease out what had happened, and what we were going to do about it.

Trips, however, had locked himself in his room after we gave up on brainstorming, and no one mentioned it. No one mentioned him.

Maybe if I were taking better care of myself, I’d feel something besides a heavy ache in my chest about that fact.

A sense of loss but not anger. Anger, fully justified, that I can’t seem to access.

Whatever burgeoning rage Trips had been teaching me to find seems to have sputtered out, leaving the same bone deep ache as the cold I almost died in.

Fire and ice.

Ice won.

Rice and vegetables look palatable, so I plop that in a bowl and toss it in the microwave, opting for nutrition over calories, even if I need both in equal measure right now. I’m shaky on my feet, the urge to fall asleep again slightly alarming considering how many hours I’ve been out.

A shuffle from the front of the house has me standing across from Trips, his cheek a purple that bleeds into red at the edges, a newfound respect for whatever martial arts training RJ has surging.

Weird internal flex, but I’m done questioning anything for a day.

Today, I’m just going to make it through.

No trauma. No disasters. Nothing to make today hellish and inescapable. I want one singular boring day. Just one. Food, fucking, and terrible movies. I have a plan. And this one won’t put anyone, including myself, in danger.

Trips drops his eyes as he comes into the room, yanking open the fridge as I make us a pot of coffee.

How often has he made me coffee? Bought me coffee?

Have I ever done the same?

Once, when I was pissed with him, I considered salting the cup, but thought the unadulterated drink was scarier, leaving him wondering what I would do for payback.

I never got payback.

The microwave beeps, and I pull out my food, the bowl hot enough that I half throw it onto the island.

“Are you eating a bowl of vegetables for breakfast?”

“It didn’t sound terrible, so yeah.”

His lips twist, but he reaches into the fridge and pulls out the same containers I did, dumping the last of the rice and veggies into another bowl.

“If you think it’s gross, don’t eat it.”

He shrugs. “One less decision today.”

“You have a lot of decisions today?”

He turns away, walking to the curtained windows, springy and sunshiny in yellow. And new. The guys must have gotten them while we were gone.

The coffee maker spits out the last of the water, and I pour us both cups.

When I hand it to him, his lips turn down, and he still won’t look at me. But he takes the cup.

I add milk and the fancy rose syrup Emma got me, then shove everything over to the side of the island, making room for Trips to warm up his bowl of vegetables.

When the microwave dings, he grabs his food but ends up with the bowl on the counter, a curse escaping under his breath. He stares at the cup and bowl like they’ve wronged him, then gets the tray and loads it up, shuffling it so he’s only gripping with one hand, the other balancing it underneath.

His hands. He busted his hands. Worse than I’d realized.

He did it to himself.

He goes to move past me, but I reach out, touching his arm, not ready for him to pull away. Even that little touch stings. Maybe not outside, but inside, it tears at my heart.

I’m stronger than this. I keep bending, I’ve been broken, but I’m still here. “Stay. Eat. We need to figure out how to coexist.”

I wait, and after I’ve managed two bites out of my bowl, he slides onto the stool the farthest from me, his gaze locked on his food.

“So,” I say, not sure how to start this. How to start over. “We have new curtains.”

He looks around the room. “Yeah.” He picks up his fork, winces, and sets it down.

I try to figure out where to go from there, but he cuts into my thoughts.

“I’m sorry, Clara.” He pushes back from the island, and vanishes from the room, the shuffle of his feet up the stairs so different from his usual stomp that it’s like a stranger in the house.

Right now, he is a stranger.

And if I can’t figure out a way to fix this, I’m marrying this strange version of Trips in a few months.

“Damn it,” I mutter, taking another bite of veggies.

RJ steps out from the back hallway, that new rage still clear in the twist of his lips, but a soft smile takes its place when he shifts his attention from the front of the house to me. “You’re eating,” he proclaims, like it’s the most wonderful thing he’s seen in months.

“I’m eating,” I say, frustrated that I worried him so much. That I worried them all so much.

“Good. Can I get you anything else? Eggs?”

I’m not sure if I’d be able to eat that much, but I need to try. I’m not going to find a solution when I can’t even fuel myself properly. My brain won’t work, and should I need it, my body won’t either.

“If you’re making them, I could try one.”

He goes to work making breakfast, the flex of his muscles along his spine exactly the distraction I was hoping for today.

Rest. Fun. Hope.

Because without hope?

I might as well lay down and get buried alive by my problems.

Hope is essential. And I’m going to create it. “I was thinking that today, we just chill. Do you have anything planned?”

RJ’s smile is bright. “Sugar, I’m all yours. Whatever you need, whatever you want, we’ll make it happen.”

I slide off the stool and round the island, squeezing him tight from behind. He twists so he can wrap his non-cooking arm around me, his lips pressing to the top of my head. “Thanks. For everything. For just being you,” I say.

His breath gets ragged for a second, and I’m certain that his anger is back, but it fades out quickly without a target. “I couldn’t be anyone else if I tried.”

“Which is exactly what I love about you.”

The words slip out before I can pull them back. But there’s no more of a reaction from RJ than a tightening of his arm around me. “When we’re done with breakfast, I have something for you,” he says instead, his voice raspy.

But instead of freaking out about being too much, too fast, my new icy apathy just knows that what I said was true. I love him. What he does with that information is his prerogative.

I could have died. Died without telling RJ and Jansen how much they mean to me; that I love them.

And Walker, even after the stumbles we’ve had, that same love, it only gets stronger every time he shows he cares.

Every time he opens up. Every time he cooks enough for an army or takes me out to museums or tells me about his dreams.

I’m done holding back. There’s no point. I’m all in. I have been for a while, even if I didn’t want to admit it to myself. Not wanting to feel vulnerable and not being vulnerable are two different things.

As long as I have a heart and people I love, I’ll always be vulnerable. But maybe I don’t have to feel that way, like a fawn in a clearing, the crack of a gun in the distance urging me to run.

Running hasn’t helped.

Maybe staying will.

Walker finds us curled up on the couch, my stomach full for the first time in weeks, my new key to RJ’s room warm in my pocket.

He presses a kiss to my lips, and I want more.

So much more. But first, this. Comfort. Support.

Reveling in what I have. Then figuring out how to keep us all safe. All together.

A thump from above has me thinking about Trips.

I can’t trust him. Not the way he is right now. But I care about him, too. More than I wish I did.

He’s part of my hope, of the future I want for my strange little family.

There’s so much there, buried by circumstance and rage, but the pull, the comfort I feel in his presence, can’t be denied.

Only I don’t know how to get to the good. Not with the way things are right now. So for now, I can’t build him into this moment of security. For now, he can stay upstairs, doing who knows what while I seek comfort below.

“Do you two want breakfast?” Walker asks, pulling me from my thoughts.

“Already done. Not to your standards, but we both ate,” RJ says, the subtle emphasis on the ‘both’ making Walker’s face shine.

“Excellent. Then I’ll just fend for myself. Do we have plans today?”

“I just want to hang out with you guys,” I say.

“That sounds wonderful.” His hand on my cheek lights me up, just like his kiss, but he goes back to the kitchen, the banging of pans muted through the door.

I press a kiss to RJ’s bare chest, loving that I get to, the closeness still so new that I get butterflies.

He’s tapping something out on his phone, his arm draped over my shoulders.

It’s exactly what I imagine a Saturday morning with RJ would be like: quiet, calm, no need for words or action. And I love it.

The sounds of the house make a melody around me, and the lack of do-ing is magical.

When did I last just chill?

The question brings up all the things I’ve been doing, the moments where things calmed down, but purposeful nothing?

I honestly don’t remember. Too many jobs, classes, skills to learn, and dangers to avoid take up my recent memory.

But with the ice in my veins, I have no urge to do anything.

To go. To scrape and build, form and dodge, run and dance.

A smile curls across my face against the rise and fall of RJ’s chest, and with the steady beat of his heart under my ear, it’s clear. This is what I need. Truly, honestly, need.

Rest.

When Jansen finally wanders out, RJ, Walker, and I are piled on the couch, watching Lock, Stock and Two Smoking Barrels , which I’ve never seen before.

It’s messier than I thought it would be, but I’m loving Walker’s suggestion.

And because it’s a little more removed from the work the guys do, they seem to enjoy it too.

“Movie day? Nice,” Jansen says, before laying on top of me, sprawling his legs across Walker’s lap and his head in RJ’s.

“You’re ridiculous,” RJ says, pushing him upright and off him. This leaves Jansen to curl into my lap like the world’s most over-sized cat.

He doesn’t stay like that for long though, as it’s obviously uncomfortable, so he slides down to the floor, resting his head on one of my knees. “I take it today’s a lazy day?”

“That’s the plan,” I say, stroking my fingers through his hair.

“Will that work for you?” RJ asks him.

The question itself has me looking between them.

“One day won’t hurt,” Jansen answers.

And the answer has concern flashing through my apathy.

He hasn’t been doing well. I’ve seen it. And I’m not the only one. One day is okay, but tomorrow? He stole jewels and watches just a few days ago. And cars all the week before.

At some point, we’re going to run out of things to steal. And as much as I don’t want to turn my mind to my problems, Trips’ dad has enough on us that breaking his rules, breaking the law, could have dire consequences.

Tomorrow. Tomorrow I can talk to Jansen and see what we can do.

“Hey, when is your sister coming to town?” I ask instead.

“Next weekend. Why?”

“Weren’t we going to set her up with Emma?”

Walker laughs beside me, and RJ rolls his eyes. “You guys are matchmakers now?” he asks.

Jansen spins, facing us instead of the TV. “This wasn’t me. Or Clara. It was Emma. And it can’t hurt to introduce them.”

RJ’s face turns thoughtful. “Has your sister heard from her stalker lately? You know we decided the next time, you’d let me know, and we’d see if we could track the guy down.”

“I haven’t heard anything, but she usually gets something around Christmas. I can check.”

RJ nods, and Walker tugs me so my head is in his lap. “I thought we were watching a movie?” he teases. Then he leans down, his breath warm on my ear. “These guys don’t know how to take a break.”

“They’re not the only ones. But you’re right. Today only, no work talk. No side projects, no new skills, no problems that need solving. Just fun.”

“What kind of fun?” Jansen asks.

“I was planning on starting with a movie,” I hedge.

But I can’t lie to these guys. I can’t even be evasive. They know me too well. “And then?” Walker asks, his grin shifting into something greedy.

“And then, I thought we might spend some time together.”

RJ reaches forward, pausing the movie on a still highlighting a shotgun. Then, as if it was coordinated, they all get up, Walker handing me to RJ before shoving himself to his feet, Jansen hopping over the back of the couch and holding open the door for us.

We’re in my room faster than I can think of a reason for us not to skip the movie, and when I do, I don’t say it. Because this is what I want.

More than anything right now.

I need to feel close. Loved. Cherished. Safe.

And these guys, they do that for me.