Defying the Odds(34)
“You’re being sweet. Please don’t be sweet,” she begged, her desperation apparent. “It makes it so much harder.”
“You don’t have to do this,” he told her, the wild panic freezing in his chest and settling there like it planned to stay awhile. He gripped her hip harder, pulling her tighter against him. “Whatever this is, we can figure it out.”
“No, we can’t.” She reached into her apron, pulled out a small stack of bills, and pushed it against his chest. “You left this on the nightstand.”
“It’s yours,” he said, feeling his eyes sting in a way they hadn’t since he was young and homeless. “I left it for you in case the truck—”
“I know and I appreciate it, but it ain’t right.” She pushed the money against his chest insistently. “I want you to take it back. I don’t deserve it.”
“Please take it,” he pleaded, his face hurting from the effort it took to hold his emotions. “Take the money. I want you to have it.”
She bit her lip and then leaned down, pushing the money into his pocket while he stood there frozen and horrified.
“I wish it could be different.” She sighed in a soft, anguished voice that bled with longing. “I wish it more than anything, Clay, and I’m so sorry it can’t.”
“I don’t accept this,” he snapped because everything about this felt wrong. “Something happened, and I wanna know what it is. I deserve to know.”
She turned to leave rather than answer him, which only deepened his suspicion. He wasn’t just going to sit back and watch her walk out of his life. He reached out and grabbed her arm, not willing to let it go at this. Melody flinched violently in reaction to his hold. Her knees bent; her eyes opened, wide and terrified.
Clay let go of her like he’d been burned, having a horrible realization. “You’re scared of me?”
“I’m sorry,” she said rather than argue, her face still scrunched up against entirely breaking down. “I have to go now. Please don’t request my section at Hal’s.”
Clay didn’t have a choice but to watch her run off. He stood in the back hallway of the Cuthouse Cellar, watching his heart run away from him in a blue and white waitress uniform. It turned out the sound of heartbreak squeaked like sneakers with bad treading sliding against linoleum.
This couldn’t be happening.
He hadn’t spent a lifetime pushing women away only to be taken down by a piece of pumpkin pie. There was no fucking way this could be his undoing. It felt surreal because he wasn’t raging and furious; instead he felt broken and devastated. His pinpoint vision on Melody blurred when she rounded the corner.
He couldn’t believe it. Someone or something not Melody was doing this to him, because never in a million years was he going to be convinced she wanted this. She’d looked exactly how he felt, like some terrible, malevolent force had just ripped out her heart and stomped on it for good measure.
If he ever got ahold of that force…he’d end it.
The idea of revenge should offer some comfort, but the room was still swimming and gray, making him feel like losing Melody had taken the color out of his life. He’d forgotten who he was before she’d shown up. Bitter and unhappy, with two friends he trusted and a sea of acquaintances who didn’t give a fuck about Clay outside his ability to be a meal ticket to anyone good at capitalizing on strength, agility, and violence as a sport.
He was going to sit there and actually cry if he didn’t find an outlet for the pain and crushing loss trying to swallow him whole.
“You left cash on the nightstand?”
Clay turned his bewildered gaze on Wyatt, who walked over and stood next to him. With his tan, wide-brimmed hat in his hand, Wyatt pulled a face of disappointment.
“I feel like I should arrest you for that. That’s pretty darn bad, Clay.”
Clay frowned, the shock and heartache making his thinking process fuzzy. “What?”
“No wonder she dumped you,” Wyatt went on with a wince. “I knew this was a nightmare waiting to happen. I’m probably gonna have to tell you ‘I told you so’ once the shock of getting kicked to the curb wears off.”
As it happened, an outlet for the pain dressed in a sheriff’s uniform and had a tendency to gloat no matter how dire the situation. Clay didn’t even hesitate before he raised his fist and nailed Wyatt, savoring the crunch that meant he’d just broken his best friend’s nose.
Chapter Six