Page 54 of Sterling Clay

I also see people I remember from the Sterlets, especially Trinity Haven.

“Oh, my gosh, girl. Where the hell have you been?” Trinity is a short, blond powerhouse and she hugs me tight. “I heard you’re back at General.”

Trinity is also a nurse there, although we work in different departments, but news certainly travels fast in the hospital. It’s only been a few weeks.

“Only part-time.” My gaze finds Dutton across the room, giggling with Winnie Sylver near a popcorn station Halle set up in her dining room.

“How is he?” Trinity follows my gaze before turning back to me. “How are you?” Her eyes narrow, sincerity in them.

“I’m good.” Out the side of my eye I see Clay lingering nearby. “Really good.” I can’t suppress the smile curling my lips and Trinity glances to my left, slowly nodding her head.

“Ah. The Sylver effect.” Trinity chuckles. “It’s like a pandemic lately.”

I laugh. “What do you mean?”

“First Sebastian. Then Knox. Ford, and now Clay.” She smiles kindly and rubs her hand over my arm. “I’m so happy for him.”

“Clay?” My brows lift.

“He needs someone like you.”

My brows crease, certain that’s a compliment but not certain how. “What do you mean?”

“He needs someone to take care of. That savior complex of his needs saving.” She chuckles like we’re together on an inside joke, but I have no idea what she’s talking about.

Savior complex? I glance at Clay, noticing him watching me. He lifts his beer in salute from his place chatting with his brothers, and I nod, but my smile is tight.

Attempting to relax my pinched lips, I offer Trinity an easier grin. “We should have lunch soon at the hospital, if we work a similar shift.” I grip her arm, giving it a squeeze. “I better check on Dutton.”

But after heading toward him and Winnie, I veer right, and step out the front door to the expansive porch, needing some air. Taking a standing position in the corner near one of the columns holding up the roof, I’m hidden in the shadows and have a clear view of the ruin that was my former home across the street.

The day I found out there was no insurance payout I stopped by the place after coffee with Clay.

Standing before the chain link fences, the privacy tarp ripped here and there, and the fence panels falling over like a haunted mansion once existed behind them, I stared at where my home once stood. The house certainly was haunted with the fear of never knowing how Wesley would act. The tension his drinking caused. The verbal attacks. The small physical assaults. Saving Dutton became the priority. I’d almost been too late to save us both and I shiver at the reminder.

With that tremor comes a familiar scent. Worn leather, cigarettes, and cheap cologne.

Standing straighter, I fold my arms over my midsection and scan the side yard. Narrowing my eyes, I slowly inspect the dark space, continuing to gaze over the front yard and then glancing across the street once more.

The scent is stronger than a week ago at the Harvest Fest, but I shake my head when I don’t see anyone, deciding once again I’m imagining it.

Stress. Anxiety triggers suppressed feelings. Reminders of Florida and when I first met Wesley hit me hard when I’m worked up, and thinking Clay sees me as a project, someone to be saved, has kicked up my fight or flight response.

Flight wants to take control. Not the bold phoenix Clay referenced or the graceful butterfly he calls me, but the woman inside me, angry and hurt that he might think I’m weak and desperate. That I need to be picked up and coddled when what I want is someone to stand beside me and cherish me instead.

“Hey.”

I flinch at the deep tenor of his voice and spin to find Clay standing close behind me. “You okay?”

With my arms crossed around me, protecting myself, I stare back at him, uncertain how to respond. Am I okay? Will I ever be okay?

“I think it’s time I move on.”

“Whoa.” Clay lifts his hands in surprise, eyes wide and blinking like I’ve just socked him in the gut. “Where is this coming from?”

“I don’t need you to save me, Clay. And while I’ll be eternally grateful for you giving Dutton and me a place to stay, I have my job now and we should find our own space.” I grimace. “Plus, I can’t keep sleeping next to a flailing six-year-old.”

Dutton and I need our own space within our own home.