Page 8 of Hale Yeah, It’s You

Dinner is awkward after that. I find myself picking at my food before giving up and pushing the plate away.

Clay asks me why I would even entertain the idea of talking with Roman, but I brush off his concern.

No matter what comes of that conversation, it needs to be had.

I need to clear the air about Alayna, and I need him to explain to me what the hell happened fourteen years ago.

Neither of my dinner companions speaks directly to me after that, and I’m content to let Alayna carry the rest of the conversation like a one-woman show. She’s good at it—thank God.

She opts to ride home with her dad instead of with me, and I don’t blame her.

I’m not exactly radiating warm-and-fuzzy vibes tonight.

I turn my radio up and drive the long way back to the house, letting the thumping of the bass keep me grounded in the here and now.

It would be too easy to drift back into the past. Everywhere I look—every street, every turn—holds a memory of Roman.

Of us. Moments I thought I’d buried deep enough to stay buried.

Clay’s silver SUV is already in the driveway when I pull in.

After it became clear Tasha wasn’t coming back and I’d become Alayna’s full-time nanny, I’d moved into the guest room at the back of the small house.

When Alayna started kindergarten two years later, I brought up the idea of getting my own place.

Clay insisted I save my money and the commute, said it didn’t make sense to split up what already worked. So I stayed.

Not a traditional family, not a romantic partnership, but something that worked. A parenting plan held together by mutual trust, exhaustion, and the little girl who stole both our hearts.

The darkness pulls at me. I shut off the car but don’t move. I sit there, staring at the brick house. My home. My life.

What will Roman think when he sees it? Will he think I’ve settled? That I let this town swallow me whole?

Do I think that?

I shake my head. No. Forget that. Why does it matter what he thinks? I’ve done the best I could by that girl, and that’s more than most people could say. Sure, she isn’t my biological daughter, but she became my responsibility the moment my sister vanished without a second thought.

That’s something Roman would probably understand—my sister, and her ability to walk away from everything. Like he did.

I don’t take risks. I never have. I cling to what’s safe, what’s predictable. I’ve stuck to the path that was laid out for me like a set of train tracks, and I’ve followed it straight through.

Maybe that’s why Roman and I would never have worked. He was built like Tasha—all risk and no road map. And me? I like my little life, my job, being near my family. The little things add up to the biggest things when it comes right down to it.

Love. Family. Security. A home.

I have all of those things.

A knock at the window startles me .

“Hey, you coming in?” Clay’s voice is muffled through the glass, but his concern is clear. Those deep blue eyes of his look almost black in the moonlight. I release my seatbelt and open the door.

“Yeah,” I say, grabbing my bag and stepping out into the night. “I was admiring this little place we call home.”

He looks toward the house and smiles. “Yeah, it’s not too shabby, is it?”

I laugh softly and lock the car behind me. We walk in silence toward the door, but my steps are slow. My whole body is tight and worn.

Clay stops a few steps short of the porch, turning to face me.

“Look, Frankie, I’m not trying to tell you what to do or how to feel about this whole thing with Roman—”

There’s a pause. Not a natural one. It stretches, uncomfortable and expectant.

I narrow my eyes at him. “Then don’t.” I nod toward the front door. “It’s been a long, emotional day, and I’d really like to go inside, take a hot shower, and sleep. Can we talk about this later?”

Clay frowns but nods. “Of course. We’ll talk in the morning.”

He starts to turn back to the door, but that flicker of hurt on his face keeps me from walking past him.

“But you do have something to say. I can see it all over your face.” I cross my arms. “If you need to get it out, let’s hear it.”

His chin lifts. “We’ve been lucky to have you in our lives, Alayna and me…

and I’d be selfish to ask you to stay, but I do hope you will.

We understand each other, I think—both of us have been burned.

The ones left behind.” He swallows and runs a hand through his hair.

“This isn’t coming out right. I’ve tried to ignore it for as long as I can, but I don’t think I can sit on my feelings anymore. ”

My heart skips. My head starts spinning before I can even make sense of what he’s saying .

“Clay,” I say cautiously, “what are you trying to say exactly?”

He reaches for my hands and I’m startled by how warm his touch is against my cold fingers. He’s never done that before—never touched me like this. I study his face, a face I usually know exactly how to read but currently cannot make sense of. He’s handsome, boyish and charming, but he’s Clay…

“What I’m trying to say, Frankie, is that I think we should try this…” He drops our joined hands to gesture between us. “You and me. Not only for Alayna, but for us, as a couple.”

My breath catches. Heat rises in my face. “Like… date?”

He nods, his gaze never leaving mine. “Yeah.”

My mother’s voice floats in from somewhere in the back of my mind—little comments she’s made lately about Clay and me being lucky to have each other, about how it makes sense. Are they in on this together? He spends weekends with them all the time. God.

“Would it really be that much of a stretch?” he asks. “We already live like a family. What if we tried it for real?”

My throat closes up. This is Clay. Alayna’s dad. My sister’s ex. My friend. The man who once, years ago, grabbed my hand during a stormy night when the power went out. We sat on the couch by candlelight and he didn’t let go right away. I thought it was simply for comfort. Hadn’t I?

“I haven’t dated anyone seriously since Mara,” he adds quietly, almost like an afterthought—but there’s weight behind it.

“You remember how that ended.” I do. Mara was smart, successful, beautiful—on paper, perfect.

But a year into their relationship, she confessed she wanted more.

A baby. A fresh start with someone who could give her that.

Clay couldn’t. Or at least he wouldn’t. He’s always said Alayna is it for him.

His whole world. And the idea of having more kids?

He shut it down every time Mara brought it up.

“She wanted to start a family,” Clay says, staring somewhere past my shoulder. “And I already have one. I wasn’t willing to change that. ”

I can’t breathe.

“Say something, Frankie.”

I blink rapidly. “What if we didn’t work out, Clay? What if it ruined this thing we have now?”

He sighs, fidgeting with his hands like he’s holding himself back from reaching for me again. “I’ve thought about that too. It’s why I’ve stayed quiet for so long. But my heart knows what it wants. And it’s you, Frankie. I want you. ”

Goosebumps rise along my arms despite the thick sweater. I cross my arms and grip my elbows.

“This is a lot,” I whisper. “And given the day I’ve had, I think I need to sleep on it before I say anything else.”

Part of me wants to scream at him for doing this now, for shifting everything under my feet when things were finally starting to settle. And yet… another part of me wonders— what if it’s not that crazy?

Sure, there’ve been moments—when we’re laughing around the dinner table, or passing the grocery list back and forth in perfect rhythm—when I've realized we live like a married couple. But there’s never been anything romantic between us. No kisses. No sparks. No crossing lines.

But have I ever allowed myself to look for them?

Could I see him as more than Alayna’s dad? More than my sister’s ex?

Could he see me as more than the woman who stayed behind?

Clay’s face tightens, but he nods. He turns and opens the front door, holding it open for me. “Think about it. That’s all I’m asking.”

I walk past him in silence. The familiar smells of vanilla wax melts and Alayna’s potted plants greet me, but they don’t bring the comfort they usually do. Everything is different now. Tilted.

My feet don’t stop until I’m in my room, the door shut firmly behind me. I wait, listening. His footsteps pause outside my door. My heart stutters. Then—finally— they move on.

I don’t want to lose what we have. I don’t want things to change.

But they already have, and pretending otherwise won’t stop the fallout.