Authors: Beth Cornelison
The night air had grown chill, and the nip had a sobering effect on Kevin. He'd been crazy to kiss her, had no excuse other than getting swept away by the moment and by her intoxicating eyes. He eased himself into Claire’s car. When she climbed in on the driver’s side, she faced him. "How do you expect to ride your motorcycle home?"
"Carefully." He lifted the corner of his mouth. He could still feel the lingering moisture of her kiss there.
Cripes.
Why did kissing her have to be so damn good?
She rolled her eyes, then reached for his cheek. "I could drive you."
Drive him crazy maybe..
. He shook his head. "I’m fine."
She huffed her disagreement but didn’t argue. "Then will I see you tomorrow?"
"I don’t know. Guess it depends how bad I feel tomorrow."
She grimaced, and he wished he hadn't phrased it that way. Apparently at a loss for words, she cranked her engine and backed out of the driveway. "I want to stop by your place after work tomorrow and check on you."
"Not necessary."
"Maybe not, but I want to. I'm worried about you."
Wrong as it might be, her concern flattered him, stirred an ember of hope deep in his soul. For her to worry meant she cared, at least a little bit. But a little hope could be dangerous to his yearning heart.
"I'll be fine, Claire."
"I'm coming over anyway."
She didn’t know where he lived, but Kevin wasn't going to point that fact out. He truly didn't want her seeing the shambles of a trailer he called home. When she pulled into the parking lot at the hardware store, he turned toward her. "Thanks, Claire. For—"
She silenced him by placing a finger across his lips. Her mouth captured his in a warm, deep kiss that he knew would stay with him, numbing him to his body's aches through the night.
"Good night, Kevin," she whispered, her voice husky.
"Good night, Claire."
Kevin stood on the sidewalk beside his motorcycle in the humid night and watch Claire drive away. Every muscle in his body ached with the effort to stay upright. When her taillights disappeared, he sighed.
Oh, yes. Claire was well worth it.
C
HAPTER
S
EVEN
The next morning when Claire arrived at work, she spotted Ray’s Corvette in the parking lot. The events of the previous evening, which had haunted her through a sleepless night, flooded back in vivid color, especially red: Ray’s Corvette, Kevin’s blood, and the angry haze she saw as she marched into the hardware store. She made a beeline for the break room where she found Ray, his head propped in his hands and bent over a cup of coffee, clearly nursing a nasty hangover.
Claire made a point of slamming her hands on the table with a loud smack, and Ray groaned.
"Oh, I’m sorry, Ray. Are you not feeling well this morning?" she asked without the slightest sympathy. When he glanced up at her with bloodshot eyes, she sent him her iciest glare.
He sighed miserably and dropped his head again. "Save it, Claire. I know what you’re going to say."
"You do, do you?" She leaned closer, sticking her face inches from his, and braced her arms on the Formica table top. "Good, then you can follow along as I have my say."
Ray ground his palms into his eye sockets with a moan.
"You should consider yourself very lucky to be walking the streets of this town today, because if I had my way, you’d be in jail for attempted murder!"
Ray looked up at her, and his face paled.
"Only the grace of God and Kevin’s unbelievably forgiving nature are allowing you to sit there and tend your illegally-gotten hangover."
Ray huffed impatiently. "What do you want? An apology? I’m sorry, okay?"
"That was
so
heartfelt, Ray. I’m touched." Claire's clipped tone contradicted her words.
"Look, I let things get out of hand. I know that. I didn't mean to go off on him so bad. Really. And I'm sorry I busted him up. But if he'd stood up for himself—"
"He was. I know that's hard for your narrow mind to wrap around, but in his own way he
was
standing up for himself. Standing up for what he believes in. He put himself in the line of fire to protect me—" Her throat threatened to close, just saying the words. "—and he still managed to stand by what he believed."
"Aw, man, you mean that paci-whatever crap of his? Geez."
"Pacifism is not crap. It took courage and conviction for him to do what he did last night. I have a great deal of respect for Kevin because of it."
Ray wrinkled his brow as if dumbfounded by her admiration for Kevin. He shook his head and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "So...what is Fuller gonna do now? Spill everything to my dad again?"
"I'd say that's the
least
he should do, especially if he's not going to report you to the police."
"My dad won't care. He never cares 'bout nothing I do." A shadow crept over Ray's face that unsettled Claire. A sullen frown tightened his mouth, and he lowered his voice to a mumble. "It coulda been me got beat up, and he still wouldn't care." Ray hung his head, and his shoulders slumped.
Claire shifted her weight, uncomfortable with the prick of sympathy that punctured her anger. She didn't want to feel anything for Ray but the fury and indignation that soothed her own guilt over Kevin's injuries. Was Ray manipulating her or was this a glimpse of another side of the hostile teen?
Gathering her anger like a comforting blanket around her, she straightened her spine and aimed a finger at Ray. "You better watch yourself around Kevin from now on. Not because he’d ever expect it of you—though he has every right—but because
I
know what happened last night. And
I’m
not as forgiving. You’re a mean-spirited, foul-mouthed juvenile delinquent, Ray Lowery. So help me, if you give me even the slightest reason, I’ll tell the police everything. Do you understand?"
Ray drew a long, slow breath and met Claire’s angry eyes with a defiant glare. "Yeah. I got ya."
Claire stepped back from the table and stalked toward the door. "Oh, yeah. Remind your friends that they are accessories to the crime. And although I don’t know their names, I have a very good memory for faces. It’s a small town. I’d find them if I had to."
After her run-in with Ray, Claire's mood went from bad to worse. She struggled to be civil to her customers and keep her patience with the minutiae of the job.
Kevin never came in to work, and she counted every minute until she could clock out and go to check on him.
When her shift finally ended, Claire drove straight to the address she had, searching for Kevin's house. Near the edge of town, set off from the road, she spotted a small, white mobile home with a familiar motorcycle parked beside it. She pulled in on the weed-covered lawn and cut her engine.
A small brown dog—quite possibly the ugliest dog she'd ever seen—crawled out from under the trailer and wagged his tail in greeting. Despite the dog's ragtag appearance, Claire found something charming and sweet about the affable mutt. His friendly eyes and ruffled fur reminded her of Kevin, a fact that made her grin.
"Hi, pooch. Is Kevin home?"
The dog barked, then sat down to scratch his ear.
She patted the mutt's head before making her way to the front door to knock.
When Kevin pulled open the door, Claire sized up his injuries in a glance. It took a monumental effort not to gasp in horror at the swollen, purple eye and blue bruises on his nose and jaw.
Kevin gaped at her as if shocked to see her. "Claire. What are you doing here?"
"I told you I’d stop by and check on you. Remember?"
"Yeah, but..."
"You didn’t believe me?"
"No. I mean, yes. I mean..." He furrowed his brow and stared again.
Claire grinned, amused by his bewilderment. "Can I come in?"
A look akin to horror passed over Kevin’s face, and he glanced into his home and surveyed the interior. "Oh, cripes." He released a ragged sigh. "Can you pretend not to see a week’s worth of laundry and dirty dishes and several weeks' worth of dust?"
"You mean pretend a bachelor doesn’t live here?" She pushed past him with a gentle pat on his shoulder. "No problem. I don’t see any laundry," she said, moving a pair of underwear from a chair to sit down. "So how do you feel today?"
"Like someone beat the tar outta me last night, and I didn’t sleep a wink." Kevin eased himself into a chair across the table from her and flashed her a grin. "Maybe I should look into getting a new mattress. What do you think?"
"I think...you look like heck." Claire reached across the table and put her hand over his.
"Like heck? That's an improvement. Earlier today I looked like hell." He smiled again, and she wondered, as she had last night, about his use of humor to deflect her sympathy and concern.
He fell silent, and Claire brushed her thumb over his knuckles, studying his bruised face. "Can I do anything for you? Get you something?"
He was shaking his head even before she finished. "No. I’m fine really. Thanks."
"You’re sure?"
His head bobbed, and he pulled his hand from away from hers. "Positive."
He leaned back in his chair, avoiding her gaze and another awkward silence ensued.
"Ray was at work today. Hungover, of course. He...said something that bothered me."
His muscles tensing, Kevin raised his head and gave her a sharp look. "What did he say?"
"Well, pretty much what I expected at first. I read him the riot act, told him he was lucky not to be rotting in jail."
Kevin sighed and knitted his brow as he faced her. "I wish you hadn’t."
"Why? Kevin, I couldn't ignore what he'd done. You may be able to forgive and forget, but I’m furious with him for what he did to you."
Kevin looked toward the front window, the muscle in his jaw ticking. "Tell me what he said today that upset you."
"It wasn't as much what he said as how he said it. Like he didn't mean to say what he did aloud. And it was the look in his eyes when he said it that bothered me."
Kevin turned to her, and the corner of his mouth curled up. "Are you going to tell me what he said or do I have to guess?"
She scowled playfully. "All right, smart aleck!" Taking a deep breath, she said, "He thinks his dad wouldn't care what he'd done or even if he'd been the one beaten up. He seemed so dejected when he said it, too. Like he truly believed his father didn't care about him."
Kevin's expression reflected the same stunned confusion she'd felt when she heard Ray's mumble.
"I
almost
felt sorry for him. Almost. But he's still old enough to know what he did was wrong and to take responsibility for his actions. But I have to wonder..."
Kevin’s eyes darkened. "Go on."
"Do you think Ray's behavior, his bad attitude, all the outlandish comments and laziness, his drinking and smoking...is his way of getting his father's attention? Do you think he's pushing the envelope to see when his dad will
finally
step in and say, '
Enough
!'?"
Kevin tunneled his fingers through his hair, a faraway look in his eyes. He rose from the table and paced a few steps away to stare out the front window.
"Lydia says his parents have always let him run wild." She rubbed her finger along the grain of the wooden table, deep in her own reflective thoughts. "Maybe he's searching for boundaries. Maybe he was hoping you
would
punch him in the nose. At least that would finally be someone drawing a line and telling him 'no more'. When I reminded him he could go to jail for what he'd done, he looked positively ill. Kevin, the idea scared him to death."
Kevin grunted, shook his head. "I've known Ray to be a lot of things in the past. Arrogant, lazy, obnoxious. But I never considered that under it all he was really just scared."
"I'm just saying maybe. The one undergraduate class I took in child psychology makes me no expert. But I do remember reading about a kid's psychological need for limits, discipline and parameters to feel safe."
He nodded and turned, his face brightening. "I think you're onto something. It makes sense."
Claire studied her blunt nails, deep in though. "Ironic."
"What is?"
Lifting her head, she met his gaze. "I left home because my father was too controlling. He laid down too many restrictions and limitations on me, ran my life for me. But I knew he loved me. I knew he thought he was giving me what was best for me. Ray has no safety net. From the sound of it, he's not sure of anything, even his father's love."
"Want to know what
I
find ironic?" Kevin crossed the room, his movements stiff as sat on the edge of his chair and leaned toward her. "I've worked with Ray for two years, knew him through his father before that, and could never figure out how to deal with him. You've been here a couple weeks and—" He snapped his fingers. "You have the answer."
"Whoa." She held her palms up, laughing. "Just because I think I understand
why
Ray is acting out, doesn't mean I know how to get him to stop!"
He shrugged then grimaced as if even the small movement was agonizing. Claire's own chest hurt with sympathetic pain.
"But understanding is the beginning. That's more than I had a couple weeks ago," he said, meeting her eyes.
Now Claire leaned closer to Kevin as if to confide something important. "Can we talk about something besides Ray now? Please."
A smile drifted across his lips. "Of course."
Holding his ribs and moving slowly, Kevin stood again and walked to his refrigerator. "Can I get you something to drink? I have cola, milk, beer..." He pulled out the milk and gave it a sniff. "Hm. Not milk." He grinned and dumped the contents of the carton down the drain.
Claire chuckled, relieved to have changed the subject. "Some cola would be nice, thanks."
Kevin reached into his cabinet for what looked to be the last clean glass in the house and filled it with ice. "Lydia told you where I live, didn't she?"
Claire detected something in his tone she couldn't pinpoint. Defeat? Disappointment? Frustration? Was her visit an encumbrance to him somehow? Nettled by that thought, she shifted uncomfortably in her chair.