Chapter 10

[Mavis]

“What do you mean you can’t pay the claim?” I stare at the insurance agent seated behind a large metal desk. Her office is above a store in downtown Sterling Falls.

A turmoil of emotions collide within me. A contrast between punch-to-the-gut shock and numbness despite my heart hammering, anxiety hitting almost immediately before my brain catches up to what this might mean.

If there was one thing Wesley did right, he had us purchase homeowner’s insurance. During the arson investigation, I learned that many people take out the fire policy then set their own house ablaze to make a claim, and thus receive the money.

I’d felt sick at the accusation that I would do something like that to my own home. And being that the mortgage was listed in my name, I’d been the first to be accused of the crime.

Thankfully, Stone Sylver came to my defense in his report about the doping. When Wesley handed me a glass of orange juice that morning, I hadn’t been suspicious. I’d considered it a peace offering after our explosive fight the night before, when I told him I wanted him out. When I’d suggested I’d sell the house and return to Florida, a place I loathed to consider living in again.

Wesley had threatened to burn the place to the ground before he let me leave him or sell our place. At the time, I’d thought his threat was one of many, often said in the heat of an argument. I never suspected he’d go so far as to literally start a fire with Dutton and me inside. Stone assumed Wesley slipped me the roofie to prevent me from saving Dutton and myself. Wesley’s action would have burned us alive.

The irony was Wesley Holland had no claim to any insurance policy if he had set the blaze.

Also, there was now a warrant out for his arrest for attempted double homicide.

Wherever he was, I doubted he’d show his face again in Sterling Falls. He was stupid but not that foolish, which was another reason I felt safest here.

Still, I needed money to live anywhere and the insurance agent, with her perfectly polished red nails and professionally dyed blond hair, was telling me there would be no payout.

A bubble of laughter pops free. Disbelief gurgles inside me. Hysteria takes over.

The agent continues. “There was an investigative report in which the arson charge was inconclusive.”

“The conclusion was that there wasn’t an act of arson.” Even if Wesley had started the fire, the house had been titled in my name, and as the official owner, I hadn’t done anything to spark the blaze. I’d been cleared of suspicion.

Ignoring me, she continues. “A further investigation was done into the faulty wiring claim. You didn’t have a legal permit with a licensed electrician for the work on file.”

I’d been over this with the adjusters, sharing the records I have from various contractors. The work invoices often were missing a phone number or an email address. Many of them were without legitimate websites and asked us to pay in cash. As several came after me for the outstanding debts, I’d borrowed money from my parents, like I’d told Clay, to pay them off. I hadn’t further inquired into the legitimacy of each of them. Still, I refused to take the blame here. Not fully.

“And finally, the last two checks written for the policy bounced.”

“What?” How much more bad news can I take?

“Which means your insurance coverage was voided.”

My breath catches. I almost worry I’ve blacked out as the room disappears for a moment.

Was she serious? “Why is this the first I’m hearing about this?” I’d been on the phone over and over again, transferred from department to department, and not one person ever mentioned that the insurance payments were not up to date nor that the coverage had lapsed.

“So, what exactly are you saying?” Although she’d already told me, I needed to hear it again, disbelief now firmly rooted in me.

“I’m sorry.” She averts her gaze, embarrassed for me, maybe ashamed of herself. “There isn’t any payout for you.”

“What you’re telling me is, my burned house is a total financial loss?” My heart hammers faster. The office is suddenly too warm. The agent grows fuzzy in my vision.

She swallows and fiddles with the pens on her desk. Ones I notice are red to match her nail polish. “Yes.”

“Unbelievable,” I whisper. As if I still don’t hear her correctly, as if I can’t comprehend what this means.

But fifteen minutes later, I’m outside in the alley behind the building, sliding down the side of the brick wall at my back and curling into myself while the truth vibrates through my body.

And I’m too stunned to cry. Too angry to think straight. I literally have no feeling in my limbs and no thoughts in my head. I’m numb when I should be sick to my stomach.

I can’t ask my parents for more money.

I can’t go back to their home.

I don’t have a plan.

How did I get into such a mess?

With my head in my hands and my elbows on my raised knees, skirt tucked beneath my thighs, I stare toward my feet, willing them to carry me away and yet begging for a few more desperate minutes to wallow in this new betrayal.

No money from the insurance company. No house. No job. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing .

“Mavis?”

Oh God, no . This is the last thing I need, but when a body blocks out the sun, and a man squats before me, I can’t fully ignore him.

Instead, I close my eyes, as if I can disappear inside myself and wish him away.

“What’s going on, butterfly?” Clay’s rough masculine voice is full of concern.

The nickname flips a switch inside me. Tears fill my eyes, reminding me of my grandmother. She’d know what to do. She’d hold me when I am desperately in need of a hug.

Leaning forward, I drop my forehead to my knees and let the tears fall, wanting Clay to go away and leave me to my self-pity party.

“Fuck,” he whispers, scooting closer before settling next to me, his back against the wall as well, but he slips his arm around my shoulders and I fall into his side, much like I did last night during the storm.

His other arm wraps around my front, tucking me closer to him, cocooning me against him. I am nothing like the beautiful butterfly Nana once called me. The girl who was quiet and shy and needed to fly. My wings are clipped, pinned back, and holding me permanently in place like a spectacle. I’m not even a pretty butterfly but one that’s ugly-brown and frightening, like a large-winged moth.

Clay’s lips come to my hair, lingering there as he tries to soothe me. “I’ve got you.”

No one has me. No one ever has. I had my sister when she was alive. Now I have Dutton, and I need to take care of him.

“I don’t know what I’m going to do,” I finally whimper.

“Don’t think about that right now.”

He doesn’t know what he’s saying. I need to figure out my next step. I need a job. Money. A home. How did I get so helpless? I’m nearly forty, educated, skilled yet lacking so much.

Tugging out of Clay’s arms, I roughly swipe at my face with the heels of my palms. My makeup must be a fright. Ugly-brown moth syndrome . “My brain is spinning and yet all I can think about is the fact I have nothing.”

“You don’t have nothing ,” Clay admonishes.

Turning my head, I glare at him and snarl, “I. Have. Nothing.”

“What happened?”

“There’s no money.” My voice rises as I explain what the insurance agent told me.

Clay intently listens, not offering advice or commentary. Eventually, he casually holds up a hand, his forearm draped over a singular bent knee, and he points one finger. “Five facts. You have Dutton.”

I stare at him.

“You’re healthy and young.” He flicks another finger upward, then adds one more. “You’re smart and beautiful.”

I scoff, wiping underneath each of my eyes again.

“You’re here.” He holds up four fingers, and I’m not certain if this comment means I’m alive or simply that I’m present in Sterling Falls.

He hitches up his thumb. “And you have me.”

I derisively chuckle. Now he’s just mocking me.

“Look, there’s no rush to leave my house. Stay as long as you need.”

I tip my head against the brick wall. The day is surprisingly sunny after the overnight thunderstorm. I could really use a rainbow right now, with a pot of gold at the end of it. “I can’t do that.”

“Why not?” His tone is a bit defensive.

Rolling my head against the hard surface, I look at him again. “Because we’ve already imposed too long.” Still holding his cool blue stare, I add. “I just thought it’d be so easy. For once, it would be simple.” My voice cracks.

Claim the insurance. Cash the check .

Clay shrugs. “So you sell the property as is. You get a job. You start fresh.”

“Not easy,” I whisper. “Not simple.”

“You stay with me, so you have no expenses.”

“I can’t do that,” I repeat.

“You can.” The corner of his mouth ticks up, like we are two kids playing that silly game of you-can’t-I-can my sister and I played as kids.

God, I miss Cecilia. I miss my grandmother. I miss my nursing job, my house, and my life. Who am I? When did I become . . . this? I stare down at my bent knees, my skirt hitched up and tucked beneath the fold of my legs. I’m sitting in an alley with my back against a wall literally and figuratively, feeling sorry for myself. The choices I’ve made. The man I thought I loved and now hated.

“Butterfly, give yourself a break.”

I turn my attention back to Clay who is still watching me. He sighs and swipes a hand over his silvery hair, cupping the back of his neck.

“When I was almost twenty-two, my dad died. Hung himself in the family barn.”

I gasp.

“He ran our family business into the ground. Took the dream my mother had and drove a spade right into it.” Clay fists the hand balanced over his knee, and thumps at the hard bone. “Stone and I did all we could to keep our family together. Keep our siblings in one home, fed and clothed. And I worked my ass off to prove that Sylver Seed & Soil wasn’t the failure our father had been. That business is my life. And I had to start over with it because of all the bad choices my dad made.”

Clay tosses an imaginary ball from one hand to the other. “He used the left hand to pay the right. He took money we didn’t have for his drinking and gambling debts and dug us into the ground.”

Clay pauses and licks his lips, staring out at the alley lot, vacant except for my Jetta and another car. “Ever hear of a phoenix?”

“The mythical bird rising up from the ashes.” I am all too familiar with the symbol.

“You’re a phoenix, Mavis. You got this.”

“But up doesn’t feel like a direction I’m going right now.”

“Give yourself today. Tomorrow we can make a plan.”

“We?” I choke. “I’ve already taken too much from you.”

Clay tips his head back against the brick wall and stares at me. “Like my space and time?” The corner of his mouth slowly ticks upward. “You aren’t taking anything. What I give to you, I do willingly, beautiful. Think about that.”

Hastily, Clay pushes himself upright and stands, brushing off his backside. Then he holds out both his hands for me to take and he pulls me upward.

A broken-winged phoenix struggling to rise up from the ashes, flapping my wings in the wreckage without a flight plan.

“How did you even see me here?” I exited the insurance office through the back stairwell and stumbled into this alley, falling against the wall once I was outside in the fresh air.

“Curmudgeon Bakery. I told you I stop by there before work. It’s around the corner and I parked there.” He points at a black truck on the side of the road within easy sight of my solitary position.

“I’m kind of pathetic.” I lower my head, but Clay catches my chin, tipping up my face.

“You’re not. And I’ve already told you, you are beautiful, but if you need to hear it every day, I’ll say it again and again.” He gives me another smirky grin. One that’s flirty but sweet, and for a moment, I pretend it’s special just for me.

“Now, how about coffee and a donut? I have it on good authority Curmudgeon Bakery makes the best of both.”

“Caffeine and a bad-for-me pastry? Who can say no to that. But don’t you need to get to work?” I remind him, having already taken up more of his time.

He shrugs, while chuckling. “I know the boss. I think I can handle him.”

I weakly smile back at Clay and then he does something that completely catches me off guard.

He pulls me close and holds me tightly to his chest, a hug I desperately needed. A comfort I craved.

I shouldn’t get comfortable, but I can allow myself the few moments of grace he suggested. The strength of his arms. The warmth of his breath near my ear. The solidness of his body wrapped around mine.

Being pressed up against Clay Sylver feels too good, too safe.