Chapter 5

[Mavis]

Something deep inside me tells me I’m safe here. Clay seems genuine enough in his offer for us to remain a few days, and I really don’t want to take Dutton to a musty, old motel. Plus, Clay needs more rest and recovery time, and I want to help him in return for his generosity.

He didn’t immediately kick us out.

After helping Clay back to his bedroom and setting him up with a bed tray I’d found tucked in his kitchen, I leave him to his soup. I move Dutton and my things into the guest room we will share, and feed Dutton, then set him up in front of the television, as a means of distraction.

Returning to Clay’s bedroom, I find the meal tray on the floor beside the bed and Clay resting on his side, phone in his hand.

“You should sleep,” I remind him, handing him another dose of fever-reducing pills. Men are babies when it comes to illness, and I’ve found doling out their medication when they’re sick is best.

Plus, I’m a mom and a nurse. Funny how I hadn’t planned on being the first one when it happened.

Clay takes the pills, downs an entire glass of water, and settles back on his pillows. “Thank you.”

I nod, bending to retrieve the food tray, but when I stand upright, Clay is watching me.

“I mean it, Mavis. Thank you for being here.” He holds out his hand and I want to take it. I want to believe in the sincerity on his face. The warmth in those occasionally icy eyes. The softening around his mouth, flashing me with more dimples. But I don’t trust myself.

Kindness could be my undoing, and I don’t need to be undone now that I’ve finally pulled the tatters of myself back together.

Still, I offer him a timid smile and nod. “You’re welcome.” Holding his gaze, our eyes locked together, a thin bead of sweat trickles down my neck. His large palm remains extended but I’m holding the tray like a shield when I want to drop it and take his offering. I want to know how his rough-looking hand might feel in mine. Would he be gentle? Would his kindness seep through his touch? Or would those large hands turn into fists?

Instantly, I shake the thought. This is Clay Sylver. He’d never act in such a manner.

“Get some rest,” I whisper, forcing more of a smile before turning away from him and exiting his bedroom.

Hours later, Dutton has taken his nightly bath and settles into the queen-sized bed in Clay’s guest room. We read a chapter from the book we’ve been sharing nightly together. He loves to read, which I’m thankful for. He loves to draw and dance. Play outdoors and take adventures. And he loves anything princess related.

My ex hated that about my son. He swore I was babying Dutton, catering to a whim, making the boy soft. With old-fashioned ideals and machismo off the charts, my ex didn’t understand that Dutton was constantly evolving. He needed to discover who he is, and indulging in a phase of princess worship or finding a preference for typically female-defined activities did not make him a girl or gay or any other construct my ex wanted to place on a child.

Because Dutton was a child, full of imagination and exploration, and I didn’t want to squander, squash, or dissuade him. If he wanted to be a fucking princess, he could be whoever the hell he wanted to be.

And if he did want to be a girl or was gay or wanted to be any newly defined term, I would love him unconditionally. Un.Con.Ditionally .

My ex disagreed and that was the final straw.

To my surprise, Dutton never asks about Wesley. A quiet relief fills the empty well once within my son. Although spending time with my parents hadn’t done Dutton many favors, being around my father restored his faith in men a teeny bit. My father hadn’t been physically cruel or outwardly aggressive. He wasn’t verbally abusive or demeaning. Any chastising digs he made were aimed at me.

Cecilia wouldn’t want this . The reminder of my sister’s perfection was constant. She would have made better decisions. She would have done a better job than me.

“Okay, baby. Time for bed.”

Dutton groans. I kiss his head and roll off the side of the bed, taking the chapter book with me. After setting it on the nightstand, I turn toward Dutton, watching him slip deeper beneath the blankets and then I pull the covers to his shoulders.

“Sleep well, my love.” I swipe a hand over his dark, shaggy bangs.

He smiles before his expression turns pensive. “Are we going to live here now?”

I kneel beside the bed, leaning on the edge to be at his level. “No, honey. But Mr. Sylver is letting us stay a while.”

“Until he’s not sick.”

I’m not certain how long we’ll be here, but I don’t want to overstay my welcome and I don’t want to take advantage of Clay. Still, canceling the motel reservation for a few nights will make me rest easier knowing the extra money will remain in my pocket for now.

“I don’t know, baby. But we’re safe here.” That’s the question he’s really asking.

“I don’t want to go home,” he whispers, recalling our house in town. The beautiful historic place on a gorgeous boulevard off the business district of Sterling Falls. The one bought under false pretense and with money we didn’t have. The one purchased with a promise of forever when eternity wasn’t a possibility.

“We aren’t ever going back.” I run my hand through his thick hair and cup it on the top of his head, lowering my forehead to his. We didn’t have a place to call home now, but we’d find one. We’d make something great out of the grains of sand we had. The thought reminds me of the princess chapter book we are reading where the heroine has a jar of loose sand she’s convinced is magical.

I’ll make it happen for him. For us.

First, I need to reclaim what I can of the property loss here. Then, we’ll make a plan.

Running the tip of my nose over his, I say, “I love you, little bear.”

“I love you, too, mama bear.”

That’s all that matters in this world.

+ + +

Hours later, I check on Clay, certain he’s sleeping like he had been the last time I checked, right after putting Dutton to bed.

Instead, Clay is awake, staring at his phone again. I remember a man like that, constantly looking at the device like an extension of his hand. He’d been checking on deals he’d dickered and checking in on the other people in his life.

“Mavis?” Clay softly calls my name in the darkness of his room. The only light is naturally floating in from the outside and the illumination of his phone.

“Just wanted to check on you one more time before I go to bed.”

Clay has rolled to his back, and he slowly sits upright. He wears a T-shirt when he wasn’t earlier. He’s kicked off the blankets once covering his legs and his black sweatpants are tugged up to below his kneecaps. The fever medication must be kicking in if he’s warm.

“Is Dutton all settled in? Everything good for him?”

I smile at his concerned questions. “He’ll sleep like a hibernating bear cub in that bed. Thank you.”

Clay slowly lowers his head but looks at me with a playful gaze. “Will you sleep well in there?”

“I’ll be just fine.” I feel exceptionally comfortable here. Too safe. “Thank you.”

Silence passes between us before he asks, “Were you wearing one of my shirts earlier?”

I chew my lower lip, warmth creeping across my cheeks. The other night, I’d taken advantage of a clean, warm shirt because I hadn’t thought to bring my own nightwear into the bathroom with me when the desire to shower occurred.

“Did you shower in here?” His gaze wanders to the open door of his bathroom as if reading my thoughts.

I chew my lip harder, uncertain how to explain that I’d taken liberties when I should have asked permission.

A wide, bright smile curls amid the heavier-than-normal scruff around his mouth. “Damn,” he whispers. “I missed it.”

Uncertain for a second if he’s toying with me, or teasing, my lower belly flutters at the thought he might be flirting with me.

Don’t be foolish, Mavis .

“And you in my tee.” Clay hums. “Can I tell you how much I liked seeing you in it?”

The T-shirt was nothing special, and for a moment, I simply stare at him, wondering what he’s doing. Men like Clay Sylver don’t flirt with women like me. Broken ones. One trying to pick up her own pieces.

Still, relief washes over me. He isn’t angry that I used his shirt. He is not upset that I helped myself to a shower.

I chuckle as the truth hits me. He’s definitely teasing me like he’d joke and wink at the elderly ladies in town, making them feel a little desirable with his innocent banter.

“Clayton Sylver, I think that fever is muddling your brain.”

He laughs before a coughing fit chokes off the happy sound. Rushing to his side, I’m hesitant to help him, uncertain if he’d want my hands on him as a form of comfort. Unable to relieve his cough, I hate feeling so helpless.

When the chest-clenching subsides, Clay takes the glass of water I offer him and drinks. Setting it back on the stand himself, he glances up at me towering over him like a mother hen.

He lifts his hand as if he wants to take mine again. I glance down at how he reaches forward and then retreats. Earlier, I’d overreacted. He wasn’t going to hurt me. He simply wanted my attention. Still, I’d gone into fight mode. Dutton’s attempt to come between us brought out my mama bear claws. Dutton was the only thing that mattered. His safety. His protection.

“Did you sleep in my bed the other night, mama bear?” The term stiffens my shoulders. Had he heard Dutton and I exchange such a thing? Or can he simply read me?

“I—” Helping myself to his bed was more . . . intimate . . . than borrowing a shirt and sneaking in a shower. Before I can try to explain my reasoning, which was shaky at best, Clay speaks.

“I might have liked that, too.” He winks and my face flames.

He is flirting with me. Or maybe this is just carefree banter. It’s been so long I don’t know how to tell the difference.

“I’ll be staying with Dutton tonight.”

Clay digs his teeth into his lower lip while his eyes focus on mine, like he’s fighting the pull to let his gaze roam down my body. An appraising scan meant to scorch my skin. He’s drinking me in with only a stare, and I want to be swallowed whole. I want to be touched in a way I don’t feel threatened, and Clay wouldn’t harm me. He’d be good for my soul, while bad for my heart.

I could love a man like him but that is a dangerous thought. I trust fast and fall hard, and I promised myself I’d do better. I’d steel myself against charm and good looks and falseness. Besides my life is too complicated for someone to love me in return, and I don’t want to put anyone in a position where they feel led on. It wouldn’t be fair. I’m free of Wesley, wherever he might be, but I’m still not in the right head space to open up to someone new. I might never be.

Because one thing I’d need is control. Of my future, my decisions, my sexuality. And I have yet to meet a man who is willing to let me be domineering in the bedroom and an equal outside of it.

“Good night, Clay.”

“Night, mama bear.”