Page 26 of Let It Breathe (The Can’t Have Hearts Club #1)

He felt his limbs start to relax and he picked up a menu to study it.

He recognized a few new dishes, but it was mostly the same.

There was something comforting in that. He set down the menu and tried to catch the eye of a passing waitress.

There were none to be seen, and he wished he’d thought to bring a water bottle the way a lot of guys did.

It would give him something to do with his hands, something to sip so the temptation didn’t creep up on him unexpectedly.

But his hands stayed steady and the scent of beer didn’t send his heart racing the way it used to. You’ve got this.

Ten minutes passed. Fifteen.

“Hey, sorry I’m late,” said Patrick as he slid into the seat opposite Clay wearing a T-shirt that showed his ham-size biceps and misspelled tattoos. “Did you already order?”

“I’ve been trying to get someone’s attention, but no dice,” Clay said.

“Wow, they’re really packed. Guess it’s Friday night, huh?”

“That it is.”

Patrick grinned. “So, Clay, how have you been?”

“Good, really good. Things are really getting underway with the construction, so that feels positive.”

“You’re enjoying the job?”

“I am. There were some hiccups with the bid, but we’re working on it.”

“Good. Look, about the thing with the marijuana the other day. You know that if you need to talk about anything?—”

“Thank you,” Clay interrupted. “I appreciate that. But things are okay, really.”

Patrick frowned. “Drugs and alcohol in the same place? I’m not sure how I’d handle that myself.”

Clay swallowed and looked at the menu. “I’m handling it pretty well.”

“Are you the only one there who doesn’t drink?”

Clay considered that. “Probably.”

“That must be hard.”

“Not as hard as you’d think,” he said, resisting the urge to make a hard-on joke.

“What’s with the shit-eating grin?”

Clay looked up. “Nothing.” He shrugged. “Just something dumb I used to say. Old joke. Ancient history.”

Patrick studied him, and Clay fought the urge to look away. “You know, not everything from your past life needs to be shoved under the carpet.”

Clay felt his jaw clench. “What do you mean?”

“Just that it’s okay to cut out the things that were unhealthy, but keep the ones that were harmless parts of your personality. Your identity.”

Clay nodded. It was on the tip of his tongue to tell Patrick about Reese. It would feel good to confide in someone, to let him know how intensely the feelings had swirled around him since his return.

Maybe after he had a beer.

No . Not a beer. A plate of nachos, and maybe a Coke.

“I think the waitress forgot us,” Patrick said.

“No doubt. Why don’t I just go up to the bar and see if I can place an order there?”

Patrick frowned and glanced around, clearly hoping a waitress would materialize so Clay wouldn’t have to venture into the danger zone.

Clay smiled and clapped his sponsor on the shoulder as he stood. “Tell you what,” he said. “If you see me guzzling straight from the beer taps, you can come rescue me.”

Patrick grinned. “Deal.”

Clay maneuvered through the maze of tables into the bar. The music was louder, and the smell of beer made the back of his tongue feel itchy. Clay ignored it. He leaned forward on the bar, trying to catch the eye of the guy slinging drinks.

“Stop touching me!” shrieked a female voice at the other end of the bar.

Clay squinted that direction. He couldn’t see through the maze of bodies and the curve in the bar, but the voice sounded familiar. Larissa?

“Stop it!” she yelled again. “I said no.”

A dark figure at the end of the bar blocked his view—broad shoulders draped in black leather, dark hair hanging forward to conceal any view Clay might’ve had of the woman who’d yelled.

Clay glanced around, wondering why no one else was concerned.

Most of the other patrons seemed numb with beer and loud noise.

Clay looked back at the other end of the bar.

“C’mon, baby,” the guy growled. “I just want a piece of that sweet ass.”

“I mean it, Derek. Knock it off.”

This time, Clay was certain it was Larissa. The guy’s next words confirmed it.

“Aw, ’Rissy—you’ve been giving off vibes all night long. What’s a little?—”

“Pardon me, is there a problem?”

Clay wasn’t sure how he wound up at the other end of the bar, but suddenly, there he was. Side by side with Larissa, nose to nose with her date.

The shaggy-haired guy stared him down, none too pleased by the intrusion. Clay didn’t blink.

“We’re just talking,” the guy said. “Just a friendly conversation, that’s all.”

“Funny, it didn’t sound too friendly to me,” Clay said, trying to keep his voice light. He stole a glance at Larissa, who looked dazed and a little rumpled.

“Dude, stay out of it,” the guy warned.

The smell of beer on his breath practically gave him a contact buzz, but Clay didn’t step back. Larissa blinked at him and swayed a little on her feet.

“Maybe you missed that day in high school health class where they explained how no means no ,” Clay said slowly. “That sounded like a pretty clear no to me.”

The guy snorted. “No never means no with this one.”

Clay looked at Larissa again. “’Riss?”

She swayed a little, blinking through smeared eye makeup, and reached out for the edge of the bar to steady herself. “Hi, Clay.”

“Want me to get you home?” Clay asked.

Larissa opened her mouth to say something, but her date cut her off by snaking an arm around her shoulders. “Back the fuck off, okay? I don’t need your help.”

“You may not,” Clay said, “but she seems to. Come on, man. Just let her go and we’ll get out of here. No hard feelings, no trouble.”

Larissa tried to shrug off the guy’s arm, but he gripped her tighter. Behind them, the bartender spoke. “There a problem here, guys?”

“No!” snapped the other guy. “It’s a personal matter, between me and this douchebag.”

Clay gritted his teeth, his eyes on Larissa. He was fighting hard to keep his composure, not to lose his temper the way he might have a few years ago.

The way he had the night Reese got hurt.

They could still do this civilly. “C’mon, ’Riss—let’s get you home, okay?”

The guy shoved him so fast, Clay didn’t see the blow coming. He staggered back one step and felt his hands clench into fists by pure instinct. He gripped the edge of the bar and resisted the urge to push back.

“Guys—” the bartender warned.

“I’m not going to fight you,” Clay told Larissa’s date. “Let’s be adults about this. Just let her go and we’ll walk away.”

Larissa finally succeeded in shrugging out from under the guy’s arm and took a step toward Clay. The guy sneered and grabbed her elbow so hard her head jerked forward. She gave a little yelp of pain.

“Make me,” the guy snapped. “The bitch ain’t worth it and you know it.”

Those were the last words Clay heard before his knuckles cracked bone.

“This cheese really tastes amazing, don’t you think?”

Reese smiled up at Wally and nodded. “It’s terrific. Pairs great with the Chardonnay from Firesteed, though I think their ’25 would have been an even better match than the ’24.”

Wally shook his head and smiled. “I’ll take your word for it.”

“Sorry,” Reese said. “I didn’t mean to tempt you or anything.”

“No, it’s totally fine. I do drink occasionally, just not tonight when I’m driving.”

“You drink? But I thought?—”

“I’m not an alcoholic,” he said. “I just have a lot of acquaintances in recovery. My partner, my dad, several friends.”

“Partner?”

He grinned and plucked a piece of cheese off a passing tray. “Veterinary partner, not life partner. I’m single, in case you weren’t clear on that. And straight.”

Reese felt her cheeks grow warm as she stopped to admire a large painting. “This one is really beautiful.”

“Mmm,” Wally said, popping the cheese in his mouth as he looked up at the chaotic assembly of colorful brushstrokes. “It is. So are you. Really, I thought you were attractive out at the farm the other day, but seeing you dressed up like this?—”

“Thank you,” Reese said, flushing again.

She caught sight of herself in the mirror by the door and made a mental note to thank Larissa.

The simple black dress and tall boots gave her a streamlined, elegant look, while the French twist in her hair and the smoky liner around her eyes completed the ensemble.

Her cousin might have her faults, but she also had some great clothes.

“That’s quite a menagerie you have out at the vineyard,” Wally said. “Have you always been so interested in animals?”

“Pretty much,” Reese said. “I got serious about it in college, though. Clay was always bringing me broken animals to fix, so I got certified to do the rehab thing through the Department of Fish and Wildlife.”

“So Clay is someone you’ve known a while?”

Reese opened her mouth to say something, not sure how much to volunteer. She was saved the trouble of figuring it out when a male voice interrupted.

“Hey, you’re Axl’s granddaughter!”

Reese spun around to see a buxom woman with a towering silver beehive hairdo and a streak of bright-pink lipstick somewhere in the vicinity of her mouth. She smiled and held up a tray of hors d’oeuvres.

“Um, hello—” Reese struggled to remember her name. “Frenchie?”

“Francie,” she corrected. “Axl’s main squeeze. Hey, how’s he doing? I tried to go see him at the hospital, but they wouldn’t even confirm he was there. Privacy stuff, you know how it is.”

“Hospital?”

“Yeah, I thought we could have one of them conjugal visits like we did when he was in prison,” she said. “Figured the surgery didn’t sound too bad, and he could just lie there anyway while I did all the work.”

Reese frowned, wondering what the hell she was missing. “Um, I’m sorry, I don’t understand.”

Francie’s face darkened. “You mean Axl ain’t in the hospital?”

Reese bit her lip. “You know, I haven’t seen him for a while,” she backpedaled. “We really aren’t that close, so maybe my mom forgot to tell me?—”

“Don’t give me none of that, I know your family’s tight. Axl is screwing around on me, right?”

Reese closed her eyes, wondering if it was weirder to have her grandfather accused of screwing around, or weirder that it was probably true.

“Um—” said Reese.

“Hi,” Wally said, putting out one hand for Francie to shake as he slid the other around Reese’s shoulders. “Wow, these hors d’oeuvres look really great, what are they?”

Francie frowned down at Wally’s hand, then at the platter. “I dunno. Probably shrimp or something.”

“Mushrooms,” Reese said. “I think they’re mushrooms.”

Wally nodded and touched Reese’s elbow. “Nothing like a good mushroom, eh?”

Francie cast a confused look down at the platter. “Guess so.”

Reese reached out to take one, then hesitated. “Actually, I’m allergic to peanuts. Would you mind checking with the caterer to see if these have any peanut oil in them?”

“Peanut oil?”

“Please? My throat will swell closed, and I’ll have a psychotic episode and probably end up destroying all these lovely paintings. Could you just check for me?”

Francie gave her a dubious look, then swung her eyes toward a door at the back of the room. “I guess I could find out. But then I want to talk to you about this thing with Axl, okay?”

“Right,” Reese said.

Francie retreated and Reese looked up at Wally. “Any chance you’d want to grab dinner? Quickly? There’s a really great Thai restaurant a few blocks away.”

“Thai? Doesn’t that have a lot of peanuts?”

She couldn’t tell if he was joking or not, and started to clarify that the peanut thing was just a ruse, but the ringing of her cell phone saved her. Reese reached into her handbag with an apologetic smile. “Sorry, I should get that.”

“No problem.”

She stared at the screen and blinked, trying to bring the words into focus. Newberg Police Department?

Reese looked up at Wally, hoping her shock didn’t show. “I’m sorry, I’m going to take this outside. If Francie comes back?—”

“I’ll handle it.”

The phone rang again. Reese stepped toward the door, her hands shaking.

“Is everything okay?” Wally asked.

“Fine, fine—just give me a sec.”

She ducked out onto the drizzly sidewalk and hit the button to take the call.

“Hello?”

There was a sniffle, followed by a choked sob. “Reese? It’s me. Oh, God, Reesey—something bad happened.”

Reese felt her blood turn to ice. “Larissa? Where are you? Why does my phone say you’re calling from the police department?”

“Because I am,” she sobbed. “I left my cell in my purse back at the bar when the police hauled Clay away, and now they’ve got him in a holding cell and?—”

Reese’s knees buckled and she grabbed the cold brick doorframe to keep herself upright. Larissa’s words slurred in her ears, and Reese leaned against the side of the building, not trusting her legs anymore.

“Clay is in jail,” Reese repeated. “Are you okay? What happened? Do I need to come get you?”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know who else to call.”

“Are you hurt, Larissa?”

“No,” she sniffed. “But Clay might be.”

Reese closed her eyes, hating the sick feeling in her gut almost as much as she hated the familiarity of it.

“I’ll be right there.”