Page 30 of Scar Tissue

I open my mouth to say something, anything, but he’s already striding away, expecting me to follow him so we can have that talk. And it’s then that I realize…

We’re inevitable.

Chapter

Nineteen

THEA

The car ride back to the house was excruciatingly quiet, the tension palpable between us, so much so that he didn’t even ask how today went for me. Not that I need that from him, but it’s who he is. It’s dark by the time he pulls into the driveway and rounds the front of the car to open the passenger door for me. “Thank you,” I mumble as I step out, feeling much more steady on my feet. Making my way up the sidewalk to the front door, he stops me with a hand on my arm.

“I’m sorry.” His voice is quiet.

“For what?”

He scrubs his other hand down his face in a way that is so distinctly him. “For kissing you earlier. For kissing you back. You laid out boundaries and I didn’t respect that. I should’ve stopped it, stopped myself.” I keep waiting for thebutthat should greet the end of that sentence, but nothing comes.

He’s apologizing for something that I initiated. “It wasn’t your fault. I kissed you first despite my own rules.”

Yet, he shakes his head. “Like I said, I should’ve stopped it. It doesn’t help that you had been drinking, either.”

That earns him a small smile from me. “I hardly think two drinks counts.”

“Mm. Say that when you can walk upright after, next time.”

I scoff. “Bastard.”

He returns my smile before a level of seriousness crosses his face as he guides me to the door, and I swear I can hear him whisper something under his breath that sounds an awful lot like,You’re a damn siren.

He shuts the door closed behind me once we get inside and I can hear the television playing from the living room. “Claire?” I ask.

Nodding, he takes my purse and hangs it in the closet for me. “She’s been there all day.”

I can’t even judge her for it. She’s missed out on vital years of her childhood—television is probably the closest she can feel to normalcy right now. “Hey, Claire,” I say as I walk into the living room and sit on the couch next to her. “What are you watching?” It feels like I’m trying too hard even as the words leave my mouth. I have no idea how to connect with her.

She tells me as much with her retort. “You don’t have to do this, you know? It almost makes it worse.”

Taken aback, I pull at a hangnail. “Do what?”

“Make small talk, act like you care about me. I know this isn’t a permanent solution for me.” Her tone is sharp as it cuts through the awkwardness. She is so fucking hot and cold sometimes that it feels like nothing I say is going to be the right thing. This is exactly why I was frustrated with Nathan when he suggested I try and get close to her. I don’t fault her for it. Not after what she’s been through. This is probably her factory setting, but I’d be lying if I said it didn’t sting some.

“I don’t—” I start, but she cuts me off, shaking her head.

“Don’t lie to me. You don’t even know me, and I don’t know you. Stop acting like we’re suddenly family.” Her tone is so bitter you could choke on it.

Trying not to take it personally, I take a deep breath. “I’m sorry.You’re right. We don’t know each other, and I can only imagine how…weird this is for you.” I avoid using the word difficult for a reason. “But if you’d be open to it, I’d like to try.”

Her eyes soften, if only a little bit, but it’s enough to tell me she’s at least open to the idea even if she doesn’t admit it as she focuses back on watching the screen. I feel Nathan’s presence over my shoulder as I look back at him and he mouths at me to give her time. “Are you ready to talk?” Anything to get me away from the awkward energy of this conversation, and he nods.

“Claire, we’ll be outside.” He opens the back door for me and I step out into the chilling air. My skin breaks out in goosebumps before I feel the warm material of a jacket wrap around my shoulders. Nathan walks around me and leans against the railing right after as I study the material. It’s his.

“Well?”

“I want to preface this by saying you are not obligated to agree if you have even the smallest hint of refusal through your veins, okay? But one of my colleagues reached out to me earlier with some information on Harrison Clark. Apparently, he’s hosting a gala next week in the form of a charity for at-risk youth.” I snort and I don’t miss the way he raises an eyebrow in my direction. I didn’t laugh because it was funny, but because of the irony.

“Sorry, continue.”

He tousles his blond locks where they are starting to fall over his forehead, the honey hair having grown longer in the short time I’ve been here. “They want us to get a volunteer inside to gather information about locations, dates, times, things of that nature. The guise is that he’s sporting information through schools and certain programs that allow these kids to buy into false promises of job and education opportunities amongst others when in reality it’s their way of being able to traffic them. But…”