Page 55 of If You Were Mine (After We Fall 3)
“Sure.” Eating pancakes with Claire sounded a lot better than eating crow with my brother. And his family didn’t need me today—they had him back. Claire, on the other hand, ne
eded my help. “Maybe after that, we could hit the tile store.”
“I’d love that!”
“What are you thinking for the counters? Replacing the Formica?”
Claire went to her closet, slipped off her robe, and hung it on a hook. “I want something natural, like stone. I’m not sure which kind yet, but I’m leaning toward slate.”
“Good choice. We could check out some options at a stoneworks place where I used to work. It’s not far from the tile store.”
“Really?” she squealed, going over to a small dresser. She pulled out something tiny and white. “That would be amazing.”
I watched her pull on her underwear, slip into her bra, shimmy into her jeans, and throw a sweater over her head. I’d never watched a woman dress this way before, in her own bedroom, morning sunlight coming in the windows, her movements graceful and feminine. So different from furtive, awkward, post-sex yanking on of clothing in a dark hotel room. It felt personal, like she was letting me in on a secret.
Because she trusts you.
I fucking loved that.
One more day with her. That’s all I needed.
* * *
“Tell me why your day was so rough yesterday.” Claire sipped her coffee, which she’d doctored with so much cream and sugar it was almost as light as her skin.
I brought my cup to my lips and tipped it up slowly, giving myself time to consider how to handle this. I supposed talking about my family was OK. Better to clue her in on Aaron’s shortcomings than my own. “My brother came home.”
Her eyes widened. “But that’s great! Isn’t it?”
“Yes and no.” I took one more sip and set the cup down. “He does this—comes home, claims he’s going to stay sober and find a job. Fills his wife and kids with hope. But it never sticks.”
“Maybe this time will be different,” she said hopefully. “Give him a chance.”
“He’s had so many chances, though. And I know his alcoholism is a disease and I shouldn’t blame him for it, but at what point do you stop putting the pillows under him when he falls down?”
She shook her head. “God, I don’t know. I can see both sides. You love someone, so you don’t want them to feel pain. But if he doesn’t feel pain, he won’t stop.”
“Exactly. And the thing is, he does feel pain. He feels horrible—but the only escape he knows is the bottle.”
Claire was silent a moment, setting down her cup and looking at me intently. “What’s he escaping?”
I exhaled. “Fuck. A lot of shit.” History. Genetics. Abuse.
“How’s his marriage?”
“Josie idolizes him and he adores her. They’ve always been crazy about each other. It’s not that.”
She bit her lip. “Childhood stuff?”
I nodded slowly, my eyes dropping to the menu in front of me but not seeing the words. Instead I saw blood on Aaron’s shirt. Heard the sickening thump of a punch landed. Felt winded as I ran up the stairs to hide under the bed like my brother had told me to do. The familiar shame of it slammed into me like a fist—I’d escaped then. Who was I to prevent Aaron from escaping now?
“Hey.” Claire’s hand reached out and covered mine. “You OK?”
“I’m fine.” I cleared my throat, burying the shame somewhere I couldn’t feel it. “But yes. Our childhood was not good. And Aaron took the worst of it to protect me.”
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I can’t imagine how awful that must have been.”
“I don’t even want you to.”
