twenty minutes in a cage with Melody’s bastard of an ex-husband—without gloves.
He silently debated between going to the Cellar and beating on something padded or going home and beating off. He was leaning toward the Cellar, because even if Wyatt was working late, Jules wasn’t, and she’d know something was up with Clay the second he walked through the door. Then he’d have to hear advice he didn’t have the patience for, and he’d likely say something rude and snappy. Jules would probably punch him for it, which sounded harmless but was actually pretty fucking painful when you considered her running black belt collection. Jules hit low more often than not. All those damn self-defense classes she taught were starting to do away with her sportsmanship.
Yup, the Cellar it was.
What did it matter if he had to wake up in a few hours to train with Wyatt, who would be meaner than usual due to lack of sleep? Good, they could be mean together, because Clay was feeling pretty damn vicious himself. If he wasn’t careful, he’d start pretending Wyatt was Melody’s fucker of an ex-husband and likely send his best friend to Mercy General. One thing was certain: Wellings was in very big trouble with their upcoming fight, because Clay was ready to kill something.
“Clay!”
Clay pulled himself out of the internal fantasy of beating Melody’s ex-husband to death. He frowned through the fogged-up windshield, seeing Melody running through the parking lot. For one brief moment, he thought his mind was playing tricks on him, but he reached for the handle of the door before he could make up his mind if she was real or not.
He jumped out of the car and rushed to meet her, half afraid she’d slip running like she was because the treading on those sneakers had seen better days. Halfway through the parking lot, all he could do was catch her when Melody jumped at him. He wrapped his arms around her, holding her off her feet as she buried her face in the curve of his neck and started sobbing.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, fear and concern causing a sickening wave of dread to settle low in his stomach. “Did something happen? Are you hurt?”
“No,” she rasped, her breathing labored, her voice heavy with tears. “T-truck wouldn’t start.”
Clay heaved a sigh of relief, still holding her tightly against him while her entire body shuddered from the cold. Her teeth were chattering against his throat. Her fingers felt like icicles as she slipped them beneath the back of his jacket and underneath his shirt, obviously seeking the warmth of his skin.
“Come on.” He turned to walk back to his car, still supporting all her weight as her feet dangled off the ground. “We’ll get warmed up, and then we’ll get the truck started.”
All he heard from her was the click , click , click of her teeth chattering, but he didn’t need confirmation. He slid into the driver’s side of his car, still wearing Melody as a necklace. He reached around her, finding the button to automatically push the seat back. When there was enough room for both of them, he pulled Melody fully into the car and slammed the door shut.
Then he sat there with her on his lap, trying to get his breath back, because he was still recovering from the fear something genuinely terrible had happened to her. He stroked her back soothingly while she pushed her hands deeper beneath his jacket and shirt, her cold fingers splaying over the bare skin of his shoulders.
“I thought I was alone,” she finally whispered.
“Nope,” he said, infinitely thankful his apprehension about Jules’s nosiness and low-hit tactics had left him sitting in the parking lot. “You’re not alone.”
“I know.” She finally lifted her head to look at him. Her glasses had fogged up in the heat of the truck, and she pulled them off, tossing them to the passenger seat. “Thank you.”
He nodded, not trusting himself
He silently debated between going to the Cellar and beating on something padded or going home and beating off. He was leaning toward the Cellar, because even if Wyatt was working late, Jules wasn’t, and she’d know something was up with Clay the second he walked through the door. Then he’d have to hear advice he didn’t have the patience for, and he’d likely say something rude and snappy. Jules would probably punch him for it, which sounded harmless but was actually pretty fucking painful when you considered her running black belt collection. Jules hit low more often than not. All those damn self-defense classes she taught were starting to do away with her sportsmanship.
Yup, the Cellar it was.
What did it matter if he had to wake up in a few hours to train with Wyatt, who would be meaner than usual due to lack of sleep? Good, they could be mean together, because Clay was feeling pretty damn vicious himself. If he wasn’t careful, he’d start pretending Wyatt was Melody’s fucker of an ex-husband and likely send his best friend to Mercy General. One thing was certain: Wellings was in very big trouble with their upcoming fight, because Clay was ready to kill something.
“Clay!”
Clay pulled himself out of the internal fantasy of beating Melody’s ex-husband to death. He frowned through the fogged-up windshield, seeing Melody running through the parking lot. For one brief moment, he thought his mind was playing tricks on him, but he reached for the handle of the door before he could make up his mind if she was real or not.
He jumped out of the car and rushed to meet her, half afraid she’d slip running like she was because the treading on those sneakers had seen better days. Halfway through the parking lot, all he could do was catch her when Melody jumped at him. He wrapped his arms around her, holding her off her feet as she buried her face in the curve of his neck and started sobbing.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, fear and concern causing a sickening wave of dread to settle low in his stomach. “Did something happen? Are you hurt?”
“No,” she rasped, her breathing labored, her voice heavy with tears. “T-truck wouldn’t start.”
Clay heaved a sigh of relief, still holding her tightly against him while her entire body shuddered from the cold. Her teeth were chattering against his throat. Her fingers felt like icicles as she slipped them beneath the back of his jacket and underneath his shirt, obviously seeking the warmth of his skin.
“Come on.” He turned to walk back to his car, still supporting all her weight as her feet dangled off the ground. “We’ll get warmed up, and then we’ll get the truck started.”
All he heard from her was the click , click , click of her teeth chattering, but he didn’t need confirmation. He slid into the driver’s side of his car, still wearing Melody as a necklace. He reached around her, finding the button to automatically push the seat back. When there was enough room for both of them, he pulled Melody fully into the car and slammed the door shut.
Then he sat there with her on his lap, trying to get his breath back, because he was still recovering from the fear something genuinely terrible had happened to her. He stroked her back soothingly while she pushed her hands deeper beneath his jacket and shirt, her cold fingers splaying over the bare skin of his shoulders.
“I thought I was alone,” she finally whispered.
“Nope,” he said, infinitely thankful his apprehension about Jules’s nosiness and low-hit tactics had left him sitting in the parking lot. “You’re not alone.”
“I know.” She finally lifted her head to look at him. Her glasses had fogged up in the heat of the truck, and she pulled them off, tossing them to the passenger seat. “Thank you.”
He nodded, not trusting himself
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