Page 4 of Don't Leave Me Behind
“A week? So, only one family dinner. You could pretend to be sick?”
He backs up across the loft, dropping that big body onto my bed, theonlybed in the cabin. His upper body bends forward, elbows resting on his knees as he rests his head in his hands. “You know damn well if I play sick, she’s coming straight over here to spoon-feed me soup and clean the cabin.” His voice comes out muffled from behind his palms. He sounds exhausted.
“True. You’ll have to figure it out, I guess. Or maybe you’ll get called out for work?”
“Not a chance. Mercer gets calls twenty-four-seven, but for those three hours on Sunday evening, his phone never rings. I think Ma put the fear of God into Patsy, and she literally calls anyone else but him, and by extension, me, during family dinners.”
I laugh at the idea of my five-foot-nothing mother marching into the Sheriff’s office to threaten Patsy within an inch of her life. Clay’s head snaps up, his gaze locked on my face. When the smile fades from my lips, his shoulders slump, and his hands come up to cover his face. The heels of his palms resting in his eyes.
“Fine, second option, how often do you duck out early cause you’re not sleeping well?”
He slowly brings his gaze up to me, eyes wide like I caught him with his hands in the proverbial cookie jar.
“Don’t look so surprised. I can see the bags under your eyes. You’re clearly exhausted.”
He sighs, veins bulging in his forearms as he runs his fingers through his black curls. He can’t deny that he isn’t sleeping well. Clearly, that hasn’t changed since I last saw him.
“Yeah, that’s what I thought. Just tell them you need to goget more sleep. Ma won’t be offended by that, and it should keep the boys off your back.”
“So how does this work then?” Clay eyes the one bed in the loft, an eyebrow raising so high it disappears behind a curl on his forehead.
“I...uh...I’ll sleep on the couch.”
“Not gonna happen. I’m not making you sleep on the world’s most uncomfortable couch after you drove five hours to get here.”
“Fine.” I shrug. If he wants to sleep on the couch, who am I to stop him? I’m too tired to argue. I don’t care if he sleeps on the floor, as long as he doesn’t tell my family I’m here.
“Great.” Clay sighs, one hand scrubbing down his face. His shoulders stoop more, like they’re too heavy to hold up. When was the last time he slept well? Was it ten years ago? Shouldn’t he have figured out a way to sleep by now?
“You could—” My voice catches, the weight of what I’m offering makes me pause. Hecouldsleep in the bed with me. It’s a queen-size mattress, not huge but big enough for the two of us to sleep without being on top of each other. I bring a finger to my mouth, gnawing at the nail bed as I think it through.
“It’s alright, Leni.” Clay gives me a tired smile, walking toward me. Or probably, the stairs behind me. “I’ll be fine on the couch.”
“Are you going to actually sleep?”
He shrugs. The look on his face tells me he won’t be getting any sleep.
“Stay,” I whisper. Even though I’m practically cringing internally. “You can sleep in the bed, Clay. It’s fine. We’re grown-ups.”
“I’m not sure that it is fine.”
It’s not. Not really, but I lie to myself whenI say I don’t care. Clay is the one person I will never be able to bring myself to not care about. He’s a freaking Sheriff’s Deputy; he needs sleep. He can’t be driving around in a patrol truck, barely conscious because he didn’t get enough rest. That’s not safe for anyone. So, while the idea of climbing into bed with him again makes my skin feel itchy, it’s kind of the only acceptable option.
“It’s fine. You need sleep. Maybe having me here will help.” I glance at him through my lashes, fighting to push back my anxiety. “Like it used to.”
“It might.” He shrugs. “But I don’t want to make you uncomfortable in your own home.”
“You’d rather sleep on the couch?” I’m about to rescind the offer. If the idea of sleeping next to me is that abhorrent, he can have the couch. Ugh...no, I’d take the couch. He needs sleep.
“Of course I’d rather sleep next to you.” Clay massages his temple like I’m giving him a headache.
“Great.” I roll my eyes, making my way to the bathroom. I keep it stocked with the basics because, aside from summer trips, I’m not usually prepared to come back here. I take my time with my nightly routine, pushing back memories of the last time we saw each other. That was ten years ago; neither one of us is the same person now. I don’t need to be afraid of Clay. I need to get through this week and figure my life out.
Slipping into a fresh pair of dusty pink boy shorts, I scan my top options. None are remotely appealing for sleep, so I grab a charcoal grey t-shirt from the side of the closet he’s claimed. Soft, comfy...and a quick sniff confirms the hot guy smell comes from him. A second inhale has me taking in a hint of vanilla, cinnamon, and something woodsy. Like Christmas, only better. The shirt doesn’t cover everything, but he’s seen me in less clothes, so what does it really matter?
Apparently, it matters a lot. When I step into the bedroom portion of the loft, Clayton takes me in, wearing his t-shirt. Hiseyes darken, his throat bobs ever so slightly. Maybe the issue isn’t that he doesn’t want me. Maybe it’s something else, because right now, it looks a lot like he does.
He mumbles something unintelligible before tossing his phone onto the nightstand and flopping onto the bed. I’m stuck standing by the bathroom door, painfully aware he’s in my bed, and I’m going to have to sleep next to him for the foreseeable future.
