KING: Las Vegas Bad Boys(48)
“That’s bullshit, Claire. You’re just scared to let anyone in. You don’t tell people who you really are, and then no one can hurt you, because no one can see you. I don’t know who screwed you over so you became this way, but they must have seriously fucked with you.”
“Don’t talk like that to me, Landon. You don’t mean it. So don’t get all ugly with me now, when I’m speaking the truth. When I say you can’t handle me. Because we both know you couldn’t handle life as a father. You don’t even know how to be a man.”
“Fuck that, Claire. I know how to be a man.”
“No,” I tell him. “No, you don’t. A real man never would come to his parents house trying to trick them.”
“Well, you know what, Claire? A real woman wouldn’t have agreed to it.”
The words we exchange cut into my heart. I want to pretend they aren’t true, but they are. All of them. His and mine. This isn’t pretty and this can’t be love. Because love doesn’t hurt; love heals. Love doesn’t destroy; love protects.
And right now, it feels like whatever we were—whatever we might have been—is gone.
Landon
One day.
One single day can build you up and then tear you down.
One day can make you feel like a fucking King and then make you feel so small. Make you feel like nothing at all.
Claire’s face is streaked with tears, and so is mine.
Our fight is what has kept me from ever letting a woman into my heart.
Winnie and I would fight. We’d throw ugly words at one another when we were drunk or high or both.
But this is worse, because Claire and I are both sober. We know exactly what we just said. We will remember every word. Every line.
Maybe it was better with Winnie. Because at least the next morning would be a fuzzy haze of forgotten exchanges. We’d know we said things we shouldn’t have ... but nothing about the sentences would be clear enough to hinge another fight on.
The words Claire and I spoke won’t be forgotten. They ruined whatever we may have found.
Possibility.
One another.
Love.
“I’m going to bed,” she says, stepping further away from me. “My head hurts and I don’t want to fight anymore.”
“I’ll sleep in a guest room.”
“No, you won’t.” She sighs as if this exhale of breath takes all her energy, all her heart. “It will raise too many questions.”
“So you aren’t leaving right now?”
“I may be an awful woman, Landon, but I’m not giving Fiona and Geoffrey what they want.”
“Really?”
“Really, what?” She raises her hands in front of her, physically creating a barrier between us. “Landon, my heart hurts so bad right now. I feel like a monster and a bitch and cheat. I feel awful inside. But I’m also too tired to fight with you anymore. I don’t want to fight with you at all. I hate this.”
“I feel pretty shitty, too. Which is why I thought perhaps we should just confess to my Mum and Dad.”
“Is that what you want?” she asks.
“It sounds like what I really want isn’t something you want.”
“It isn’t that simple. I’m not that simple.”
“Fuck that, Claire—you’re just scared.”
“So what if I’m scared?” she whispers, opening the door, walking away. “We both know there are worse things to be.”
After she leaves the den I make the executive decision that she may hate ... but in my gut I know it’s what she needs. A way to forgive herself for keeping Sophia a secret.
I make a phone call and then go to our bedroom. She’s curled in a ball on the bed looking at her phone.
I get in beside her, trying to give her as much space as possible. Wondering if I should even be here at all.
“Do you want to see a picture of her?” she asks, rolling over to face me, her phone in hand. I love that she doesn’t play games where she refuses to speak because she’s upset. She isn’t running from me, from our fight.
“Yes.” My voice is so quiet, because I feel like I don’t deserve her trust ... her anything ... but I want it so badly. Want her so badly.
She passes me her phone. “That’s her at the first day of kindergarten.”
The photo is of a miniature Claire. Blonde hair and tan skin and bright green eyes. Sophia wears a pleated skirt and knee socks and a button-down shirt.
“She goes to a private school? I assumed....”
“That I couldn’t afford to send my daughter somewhere nice?”
“No ... well, yes. You’ve been so adamant about needing the money I figured—”