Page 171 of Hate You More

Clara stands by a tree, her tiny frame hugging the shadows. Her long hair is loose, her face pale, and her eyes like dinner plates as I scramble out of my car, running for her.

She says my name, meeting me halfway, the blinkers giving her stricken face a sickly look.

“I’m sorry.” Her voice trembles, her fingers, too, as she reaches for me. “I didn’t know who else to call.”

“It’s okay. I’m here.” I don’t think I’ve ever felt relief like this as I envelop her in my arms. “What happened? What are you doing out here?” I cup the back of her head, keeping her close as she makes to pull away.

“I had a fight with my dad. I need . . . I needed to leave.” Her voice is so small, and her expression wrecked.

“Your feet are bleeding.” I run my hands down her body, checking she’s okay everywhere ese. “Why didn’t you call me, come to me?”

“I didn’t—” Her breath catches. “I was trying not to drag you into this. I thought. . . I thought maybe you wouldn’t want to see me again.” Her voice breaks on the last word.

“That will never be true,” I whisper with all that I am, all that I will ever be, pulling her tightly against me again. “You’re okay.” I whisper the words like a prayer. “That’s all that matters right now.” I can’t, I won’t think of this being any other way.

“I’m so sorry.”

“I’ve got you.” I cradle her head, feel the bump forming there as her tears soak my shirt. We stand there, my hold on her the reassurance I need right now. Eventually, her breathing begins to even out and her tears slow, leaving behind the occasional wrenching spasm. I take her face in my hands, ducking to bring my gaze to hers. “Let’s get you out of here, yeah?”

She nods, and I carry her to my car. Lowering her inside, I pull the belt over her body when her hands refuse to work. Then I check the Mercedes, secure what I can. And while we don’t speak on the journey back, I do hold her hand.

She drank champagne tonight—not a lot but enough. And she’s underage, my mind whispers. I can hardly believe she’d be so reckless. That she’d risk herself—risk others. Clara is impulsive, but she’s not selfish.

“You’re angry,” she whispers. I don’t answer immediately, maybe because I can’t deny it. “Please don’t be mad.”

“I am pissed,” I admit, not taking my eyes off the road. “I might’ve lost you, and I can’t process that right now.”

“I think I wanted to die,” she says, her voice so small that it breaks my heart with a clean snap.

“Don’t say that.” I bring her hand to my mouth, pressing my lips to her knuckles. “Don’t ever say that. Whatever this is, we can fix it.”

“I hate him,” she whispers hotly.

My head is a mess as I turn in to the service road, heading for the back of the house. I’ll take her to Mom’s place. Make sure she’s okay first, then we’ll face her dad together. Get to the bottom of whatever the fuck this is.

What I don’t expect is to find a squad car at the back of the house.

“What’s going on?” I ask, though mostly to myself as Clara slinks back into the seat as though the threadbare cover might camouflage her. I wind down my piece-of-shit window as I pull over, the gravel crunching under the tires. “Can I help you, officer?” I keep my hands glued to the steering wheel and squint as the beam of his flashlight crosses my face.

“Step out of the vehicle, sir.”

“Yeah, sure.” My heart begins to thunder as I undo my seatbelt. “What’s this about?”

“A vehicle has been reported stolen.” His tone is neutral as his attention dips to the passenger seat. “Ma’am, are you okay?”

Clara doesn’t reply. Shock, I guess.

“Stolen?” What the fuck? “You mean the Mercedes?” I glance Clara’s way. She looks even more scared now.

“Step out of the car, ma’am.”

From the back of the house, Clara’s father appears like he’s been waiting for this cue. A plaid dressing gown, navy pajamas, suede slippers, and not one hair out of place. No fucking way I believe he was tucked up in bed.

“That’s him,” he says, pointing at me. “That’s the young man who took my car.”

“Your car? Are you serious right now?” I turn to the police officer. “You just saw me pull up in that heap, right? If I took the Mercedes, why the hell am I driving that piece of shit?”

The other officer looks up from his radio, the dispatcher confirming the plates of a car found by the side of the road.