Page 22 of Brazen Defiance (Brazen Boys #4)

Clara

P icking out what to wear to a bluegrass concert isn’t any easier when I’m the one dressing than it was for Emma, but once I’ve decided I’m good enough, I go find Jansen.

The house has been oddly silent since we got back—my usual welcome committee missing. A tiny part of me is sad about it, but mostly, I’m curious what’s been so engrossing that they didn’t greet me.

Using my sparkly new key on Jansen’s door, I open the room and find something that looks like a cross between a bobcat and a house cat sitting on his desk, golden eyes judging me and finding me wanting as it lifts a paw and gives it a lazy lick.

“Um, hello,” I say to the dog-sized cat, not seeing Jansen anywhere in the space. What the fuck?

The door bumps against my back and I step out of the way, Jansen stumbling in behind me. “Beautiful,” he chirps, scooping me up and tossing me onto the bed, the cat making a disgusted yowl at us. “Pipe down, Fluffington. She’s going to be around, so you’re going to have to get used to her.”

“Um, Fluffington?”

“His Royal Highness, Prince Fluffington.”

“Jansen, why do you have a royally-named animal that looks like it’s half bobcat sitting on your desk?”

“He snuck into my sister’s stuff. He’s staying with us for the week. And he’s a Maine Coon cat, so he’s supposed to be huge.” He looks at the gray tiger. “He’s probably still growing.”

“Isn’t that the kind of cat you were talking about a while ago? You said they get huge.”

“Maybe? Either way, he’s my mom’s, and he’s currently a little pissy about being in a new space, but he’s super friendly usually, so I’m sure you’ll be buddy-buddy soon. Careful, though. He likes to sleep on people’s faces. Freaks you out to wake up half suffocated.”

I blink at the blond whirlwind currently lying on top of me. “Jansen, you’re one of a kind, you know that right?”

His grin is infectious, and I feel my cheeks stretching to match his. “I know I’ve been waiting all day to do this.”

He runs his nose over mine, then his lips press softly against my cheek.

When he lowers the rest of his weight on top of me, it makes all my nerves light up.

Our kiss is sweet, as necessary as breathing, the night away suddenly feeling so much longer than just a dozen hours.

He lets me roll us so I’m on top, nipping at his lips, nibbling along his neck, running my hands over his chest.

His motions become frantic, my shirt drawn off and his calloused fingers snaking under the lace of my bralette, his tongue tracing the edge of my ear. “I missed you,” I say against his skin, loving the heat and smell of him.

“Same.”

He helps me get him out of his shirt, my nails trailing down his chest, and I get an improbable urge to dig them in like I did earlier with Trips, but I ignore the thought. I want joy, comfort, not something violent and bloody. At least, not right now.

Even my own thoughts are suspect.

As I brush my hands down his muscled pecs, over the small patch of hair and down the trail I want to follow with my tongue beneath his belly button, a many-pronged-sharp-something stabs my back. “Ow ow ow,” I yelp, the weight of my attacker registering a moment after the pain and shock.

Jansen’s eyes widen and he scrambles out from under me.

“Oh no. No, Fluffington,” he shouts, trying to dislodge the twenty pounds of feline currently attached to my back.

The cat starts what sounds like a conversation with Jansen, and my eyes water as he takes another step up my back, his claws digging in to stabilize himself as I flop down on the mattress without Jansen under me.

“Jansen?” I squeak.

“I’m getting him off, I swear. I just don’t want him to tear into you.

Come on, Fluffer, want a treat?” The rustling of a bag has the cat leaping off my back with a happy yelp, his back nails apparently a vital part of that move.

I bite my lip, annoyed that a cat being a cat is making me cry when nearly dying has left me with no tears to shed.

My brain is so fucked-up right now, I’m not even sure what’s supposed to be normal.

“Shit, Clara, I’m so sorry. Stay put. I’m grabbing the first aid kit.” Jansen rushes from the room, and I turn my head, glaring at the pretty gray cat perched on his desk.

“You and I will have a major problem, Prince Fluffington, if you won’t let me get up close and personal with your human. Do you understand me?”

Prince Fluffington lets out a plaintive mew, then struts back to the bed, hopping up by the pillows and butting his head against my hand.

“Making nice? I’m not sure I’m going to trust you, cat,” I say, scratching him behind his tufted ears.

His purr rumbles the bed, and I drop my glare.

“You probably have no idea you did anything wrong, do you? And you got a treat out of it, so if you did do that on purpose, you’re going to do it again, aren’t you? ”

He flops onto his side, showing me his belly, but I know enough not to pet him there. I can feel blood dribbling down my back. This is not the time to take risks with my new furnemie.

Jansen sprints back in, his face a little white when he looks at my back. “That’s…yikes. I’m so sorry, Clara,” he says, dropping to his knees next to the bed and pulling things out of the kit.

“It’s not the first time I’ve had a cat claw in me, Trouble. Although, I can say that I haven’t had a lot of experience with cats wanting to join in on the action. New experience there.”

He doesn’t laugh, but after swiping up the blood threatening his sheets, something cold covers the first cut, stinging enough for me to register it as rubbing alcohol.

I hiss in a breath, and Jansen apologizes.

“Shoot, I should have warned you. I’ll warn you next time.

I didn’t think he’d do something like that. I’m so sorry.”

The pain has me pausing my pets, and Prince Fluffington nudges my hand again, obviously wanting more attention. “No worries, Jansen. His royal highness has already apologized. Not that I plan on getting naked around him again, at least until we figure out if that was a fluke or a habit.”

“Sting incoming,” he mutters, the warning lessening the burn. “I can’t say I blame you, but I’m not waiting a week to fuck you, Clara. Next cut.”

“No, you’re right. That’s way too long.” He treats each subsequent wound as I watch his focused attention on my back, Fluffington’s soft fur under my fingers. He finishes up with a smattering of Band-Aids that tells me exactly how bad my back is right now.

“No backless dresses for a while, I take it?”

His sad gaze turns to me. “I don’t care what you wear. As long as you’re here to wear it, I’m happy, beautiful.”

I roll so I can rest my palms against his cheeks. “I’m here, Jansen. Right here.”

His eyes close. “I know. I just worry. So much bad shit keeps happening. How long until it’s too much? Until you’re not here with me?”

This kiss is quiet, small, and my chest aches. Because what do I say to that? “The future’s never guaranteed. Not for any of us. All we have for sure is right now. So, for now, be happy with me?”

His lips twist up, but his eyes are still sad. “Are you handing out wisdom now?”

“Only sometimes. I don’t seem to be the wisest. I have a feeling if I were, I wouldn’t keep getting into these situations.”

His lips meet mine again, but it doesn’t escalate. “Maybe we both need a little more wisdom.”

Prince Fluffington chooses that moment to force himself between us, his tail held high. Jansen chuckles, then scratches the cat’s rump. “You should have seen Walker picking out a food dish for this handsome fellow. I think a pet might be in our future.”

I allow the subject change. Too much heaviness has hung over all of us. A little mindless fun is a needed break. “Really? You think we should get a pet?”

“Not now. But when things settle down, it could be fun.”

“Dog or cat?”

“Both. You?”

Sitting up, I pull my shirt back on, Jansen mirroring me, silently agreeing that sex isn’t going to happen right now. We’re both too raw once the initial mood was cut. Literally. “I’ve never had either, so I don’t think I have any particular preferences.”

“No pets?”

“Nope. My mom hated the mess. And probably the responsibility.”

“Your mom, Clara...” Jansen’s face twists.

“Trust me, I know.”

“But your dad’s pretty cool. Needs a spine, but cool.”

I search my memory, but I can’t think of any reason for Jansen to have an opinion about my dad. “You didn’t even talk to him at my race.”

“Oh, no. Not then. We chatted when I got your old snow stuff.”

“And my mom didn’t freak out?”

He leans back against the headboard, the cat settling into his lap. “She wasn’t awake.”

“How late were you there?”

“Like, one in the morning.”

That doesn’t sound right. “And my dad was still awake?”

“Oh, no. He heard me in your room and then we chatted.”

My heart stops in my chest. “You broke into my parents’ house, Jansen?”

He shrugs. “It made the most sense.”

“Instead of knocking?”

“Clara, no offense, but your mother’s a menace and you dad did shit-all to protect you from her.

All those things that spiral around in your head, that break you down, yeah, a lot of that is Bryce’s voice, but a good chunk is from your mom.

She tore you apart, made you believe you weren’t enough, taught you to always think about what others think about you rather than what you want for yourself.

She shaped you just right for Bryce to weasel his way in.

So yeah. I broke into their house. You weren’t safe there. They shouldn’t be either.”

I stare at the wall, tears making my vision blurry.

The words are right, but they don’t sit in my heart straight.

My parents weren’t perfect, but it was my mom that made things hard.

At the same time, my dad stayed. He always chose my mom.

He still does. It always felt like neither of us had a chance to leave.

Like my mom had locked us into her disastrous orbit, dragging us inexorably into the black hole where her empathy should have been.

His arms band around me, my nose pressing into the comforting scent of his shirt.

“I’m sorry, Clara. I shouldn’t have been so blunt.”

“But you meant what you said.”

“Yeah. You deserved better, Clara. So much better.”

I swallow down the lump in my throat. Because did I? If I’ve learned anything over the last few months, it’s that I might not be as good of a person as I thought I was. Or maybe good doesn’t mean shit. I care for people, all the people around me. I’d do anything to keep them safe.

Flashing to the threat to my parents, I know they’re on the list of people I’ll sacrifice myself for. Even if they aren’t what I thought they were. I love my dad.

I don’t think I’ll ever trust or speak to my mom again.

Why does Dad stay? Why didn’t he get us out of there the first time mom yanked me stumbling down the stairs, only staying upright by the force of her nails in my forearm? Or the first time she slapped me so hard my mouth bled?

So much blood. So little compared to what my dad survived, but still. Was it not enough for him to have left? Should it have been?

And their fights—bloody, knock down matches where my mom screamed and swung, and my dad just stood there, taking it. He said my mom saved him. Did she? Or did she just make him a prettier cage?

Jansen cuts into my thoughts. “It’s almost time to get Emma. Are you ready for some bluegrass?”

I pull away from him, looking up at his twinkling green eyes. Still hazier than I’m used to, but happier than he was earlier. “I was coming to check and make sure I look okay.”

“I think we just agreed that you’d look good in a tablecloth. But give it a spin for me.”

He sets me on my feet in front of him, circling his finger in the air.

I take a spin in my jeans and thin black sweater, literally not dressed in anything special, but wearing makeup with my hair down in its natural curls, a mess down my back that I will probably put up later.

Hence accessorizing with a hair tie on my wrist. I have on the military boots I got on the way to Chicago with Walker, splitting the difference between practical and fashionable.

Jansen’s on his feet in front of me, pulling me against him. “Gorgeous. Give me thirty seconds and then we can go.”

He drags down a cowboy hat from the top shelf of his closet, his hair loose around his face and work boots on his feet. Then he spends the rest of the time tidying his room and scratching Fluffington behind the ears before ushering me through the door.

Time to learn what bluegrass music actually sounds like.