“Because they’re paparazzi,” Maisie said, peeking around the curtain and out the window. “They’re paid to twist stories.”
Amelia handed Maisie her phone back then said to Clara, “This doesn’t matter. They don’t matter. Anyone who believes this trash talk doesn’t matter.”
But someone did matter, someone above anyone else. “Mason matters.” Clara took the phone from Maisie again, searching for anything bad said about Mason. While he wasn’t mentioned directly, the article stated that Clara hated Sullivan for leaving them, and that Sullivan hadn’t wanted a son. Her heart squeezed tight. Gossip ran like wildfire through town, which was likely how the reporters got wind of Sullivan’s son no one knew about. Surely, a kid a school would mention it to Mason and bully him. Especially since Mason had been boasting about his dad being a professional baseball player. She never wanted Mason to think Sullivan didn’t want him.
With trembling limbs, she moved back to the window, watching Sullivan talking to the reporters, handling them like he seemed to do so well. But she wasn’t used to any of this, and her head swarmed with worries. “This is our story, not theirs, and they’ve twisted it. Made it so ugly.”
Before Clara could even think what to do next, the front door opened, and Hayes rushed in. “Fucking vultures,” he growled.
But in that exact moment, before Hayes slammed the door shut, Clara heard something else.
“Do you still love Clara Carter?” a reporter called. “Did you ever love her?”
It occurred to her right then that she had been fooling herself. And that, from day one when it came to Sullivan, she’d been all in. Because her unguarded heart bled as Sullivan answered, “No, not now. Not ever.”
13
An hour had gone by since the cops showed up at the brewery to clear out the reporters, and Sullivan’s mood was in no better state than when he’d arrived after being alerted to the article by Marco. “Thank you for coming by,” Sullivan said to Penelope’s husband and cop, Darryl, as the sun sank lower behind the mountains.
Standing on the porch steps, Darryl rested his hand on the barrel of his weapon. He was a scruffy guy with a thick beard, tough for sure. “Hey, man, not a problem. Sorry you’re dealing with this. Let me know if you need me to come back.”
“Thanks,” Sullivan said, his jaw muscles clenching and unclenching against the frustration burning through him.
As Darryl headed down the porch steps, the chief trotted up. “Looks like you’ve had a day,” he said.
“You could say that,” Sullivan said with a snort, feeling the tension trembling through him.
John arched a brow. “Price of fame?”
Sullivan gave a firm nod. “A steep one, sometimes.”
“Pity,” the chief muttered. “Listen, I’ve got a cruiser sticking around for the night to make sure no one comes back.”
“Thanks, John. I appreciate that.”
The chief cupped Sullivan’s shoulder in a strong grip, his stare steady, at the ready. “Call if you need anything.”
“I will, thank you,” Sullivan said.
The chief headed back down the porch steps and got into his SUV, right as Sullivan’s cell phone rang. He saw it was Hayes before he answered. “Is Mason okay?” Sullivan asked by way of greeting. Hayes had been here, at the house, but Sullivan had asked him to take Mason home until all this settled down.
“He’s all good,” Hayes answered. “Don’t worry. He’s totally fine and happy to be here with us for dinner. Take the time you need with Clara.”
“Thanks, appreciate it, man,” Sullivan said, the weight squeezing his chest lifting slightly. “Can I talk to him?”
“Sure. One sec.”
There was rustling over the phone line, and then Mason said, “Hi, Sullian.”
“Hey, buddy, are you having fun?”
“Yeah, Auntie Maisie is helping me paint dinosaurs.”
“Cool,” Sullivan said, running a hand through his hair, not enjoying this next part. “Your mama has an upset tummy, but she told me to tell you we’ll come get you once she’s feeling better, okay?”
“Okay.”
The last thing Sullivan wanted to do was lie, but Clara was in no state of mind to see Mason right now. Truth be told, either was Sullivan. The article shook him. The paparazzi had always been cruel, but never like this. They’d taken their story and made it look far worse than the truth of Sullivan’s past.
More rustling then Hayes came back to the phone, laughing. “He appears done with you. We’ve got this. Don’t worry.” A pause. “How’s Clara?”
“Rattled,” Sullivan said.
“Anyone would be,” Hayes commented. “All right, we’ll keep the little dude busy until you guys call.”
“I owe you, thanks, Hayes.”
“You don’t owe me shit.” Hayes ended the call before Sullivan could say anything more.
With a sigh, he tucked his phone into his pocket and scanned the property one final time, but didn’t see a reporter in sight. Though he did see the police cruiser sitting at the end of the driveway. For years, he’d wanted the fame, the recognition. Now he’d hand it over in a second to avoid the way it hurt Clara. Determined to fix this, he went inside, locking the door behind him, and headed up the staircase. Every step of the way and creak of the wooden floorboard beneath his feet, he swore he’d done the right thing, but he realized his misstep now. He’d brought the reporters right to Clara’s doorstep when he gave the press conference to publicize the brewery. And the baseball game only confirmed she meant something to him. He should have known better—should have anticipated they would dig into his connection to her. He’d let his guard down, and he shouldn’t have. He’d done this to her by coming back, and he’d hurt her…again.
When he reached the bathroom door, he knocked softly. “Clara?”
“Come in.”
He opened the door then wished he hadn’t. She was in the claw-foot bathtub set against the left wall, full of bubbles. Makeup streaked her cheeks, and he could see the heartbreak written all over her face. Betrayal, her eyes screamed at him. “Clara, anything I said in that interview was to protect you and is not how I feel,” he told her, closing the distance between them.
Her gaze held his. “I know.”
She didn’t believe him, and his gut twisted. He knelt by the tub. He explained further, “If they think there is nothing going on here, they’ll leave you alone.” However, he could tell his words weren’t enough and that any headway they’d made was gone. She was guarded again. Not that he could blame her. He knew without even asking what truly scared her. “You’re worried about Mason.”
She shut her eyes, tension radiating from her. “I’ve spent his whole life trying to keep him in a safe, happy bubble.” Her voice cracked. “They’ve twisted our story. Took the worst parts of it. Told lies. I don’t want Mason hearing any of that. All I wanted to do was protect him, and I’ve failed at that.”
Sullivan breathed past the constricting of his chest. “There is one way to stop them, but you’re not going to like it.”
She froze, a cold worry filling her eyes. “You have to leave.”
Of course, she had already considered this. “It’s the only way to stop this.” He knew the impact his words would have and saw them ricochet off her face. “To stay here would only have the reporters digging deeper. Hell, they will start loitering around Mason’s school. They’re vultures. Writing more stories. Let them write that I left you and Mason again, and this will end it. I’ll return to Boston and let this die down.” He paused to consider, thinking this through from every angle. “I can get a PR company that can help smooth all this out for us.”
Clara’s brows pinched. “But if you leave now, it’s only going to make you look worse.”
The bubbles began popping as he stroked her warm cheek. “I’m used to looking bad, Clara. I can handle the media’s negative attention.” He leaned closer, needing no distance between them. “But what I can’t
handle is how this hurt you and Mason. I’m sorry this happened. I never expected the shit that happened in Boston to follow me here.”
“Who could have expected it?” Clara asked, tugging at her damp hair. “I just hate how they twisted our story.”
“It’s part of the deal, and sadly, I’m on their radar right now.” Heady emotion filled her eyes before she shut them and leaned her head back against the tub. He couldn’t take the silence. “Please tell me what you’re thinking.”
“I hate how they portrayed everything.” She opened her red eyes, tears rimming them. “They only took the bad, without any of the important parts…the stuff that makes our story…ours.”
Desperate to take this all away so the pain didn’t touch her, he stroked her cheek again. “That’s what they do. They create a narrative and roll with it. People, sadly, enjoy hearing about the bad.”
“I don’t know why,” she said, a single tear sliding down her cheek. “It’s awful, and it’s our past, and no one has any right telling it.” She shut her eyes again and took in a shuddering breath. “I’m very worried about Mason.”
Sullivan felt the pain ripple through his body. He’d done this. He reached into the bath and took her hand, squeezing tight. “I won’t let them get to Mason again. Clara, look at me.” She opened her eyes again, and he added, “They won’t get to him. I swear it.”
“You can’t stop them, Sullivan. They’ve already twisted the story enough that the kids at school are going to torment him. He was so proud you played baseball. Now, they’re going to tell him you never wanted him.” Her voice broke. “It’s so cruel.”
It occurred to him then that her greatest fear had come true, and so had his. His involvement in her and Mason’s life had fucked everything up. “I’ll make this better,” he said, unsure how at the moment. “I’ll do whatever I have to do to distract them, to get them off your back. And then I’ll come back to Mason…to you, and we’ll put this all behind him.”
She cocked her head, gave him a measured look. “Don’t do anything stupid that will get you another suspension.”
He’d come here to get over his suspension. To get back into the game. To fix his life. He cupped Clara’s face. “The last thing I’m going to do is stir up more trouble. I’m going to get them off your back, nothing more.”
Her chin quivered. “When are you leaving?”
Not wanting to answer, he rose and grabbed a facecloth off the shelves next to the pedestal sink with the vintage mirror above. When he returned to her, he dipped the facecloth in the water then began cleaning the makeup off her face. “Now.”
She visibly swallowed and gave a slow, disbelieving shake of her head. “So, this is all the time we’ve got?”
His chest constricted at the truth in front of him. When could he come back? At what point would it be safe? How could they manage all this and Mason? He and Clara were better, but they needed more time. “I’m sorry, Clara, hurting you and Mason, and leaving you like this, wasn’t what I wanted at all.”
“I know,” she said, rising, bathwater splashing as she climbed onto his lap. He wrapped his arms around her warm, sudsy flesh. She smelled of lavender as she met his lips with a kiss that made his mind go utterly blank. Until she whispered against his lips, “Once more, Sullivan. Please, I need you once more before you leave.”
He heard it in her voice then. She believed he was leaving her again. For good. Unsure how to make all this right, and feeling desperation to keep her close and safe, he wrapped his arms around her, holding her tight, and sealed his mouth across hers. He kissed her feverishly, until they were both breathless and she was grinding against him. There was a time to tease, but this wasn’t that time. All he wanted was her, and he knew she wanted the same.
Leaving his clothes in place, he grabbed a condom from his wallet out of his back pocket, and she rose up enough for him to open his jeans. When he settled the condom in place, he didn’t wait. He wrapped a hand around her hip and lowered her down onto him. Their groans echoed in the bathroom as she began moving, rocking back and forth, their mouths and tongues dancing together until they had a rhythm that wasn’t about a release; it was about a connection. He felt tied to her, grounded by their history and the affection between them.
She moved faster, harder, and Sullivan leaned away. He cupped her face, held her gaze as she rode him. Lost in her eyes, he realized he knew exactly how to show her he had no intention of leaving her like he did before. That this time, it was different. That he would come back. “I love you, Clara,” he said, and she froze atop him, her eyes wide in surprise. She slid her delicate hands through his hair, and he knew now, more than ever, he had to tell her. “I have never loved anyone before you, and there was no one after you. Just you. Always you, Clara.”
She leaned in, and he thought she planned to end the conversation with a kiss. Instead, she surprised him by saying, “I love you, too, Sullivan.”
Needing to hold onto her, he tangled his fingers into her hair, holding her tight. “I’m going to make this safe and right for you and Mason. I’m going to fix all this. We will figure this out, and when I come back, we’ll be the family we should have always been, Clara.”
There was a flash in her eyes, the slight look of familiarity to know they’d been in this exact spot before. “Promise?” she asked. The exact same words she asked him seven years ago.
“Promise,” he told her firmly. He couldn’t stand that look of doubt on her face. Hated himself for it. He wished he could go back and change everything, but he couldn’t. All he had was now, and he wouldn’t waste it.
Gathering her in his arms, he gently laid her out on the bathmat. On his knees, with her love sweetening the air around him, he hooked her legs on his arms and, staring into that perfect love, wanting to stay there forever, drove into her. Claiming what he wished he could keep with him always, he took them both where they wanted to go. Together.
14
Later that night, a few hours after Sullivan said a gut-wrenching goodbye to Mason, Clara stood outside of her son’s door watching him sleep. She felt like it was impossible to draw in air into her lungs fully; everything felt empty. The way his eyes saddened when Sullivan said he had to leave to go home to play baseball caused Clara’s chest to ache, but with the promise of FaceTiming tomorrow, Mason had simply hugged Sullivan then run off to play. Alongside that, I love you, Clara, echoed in her heart. A month ago, she’d been determined to not let Sullivan back into her heart. To say goodbye at the end of his time here, able to put the mistakes of the past behind her. Now she didn’t want to say goodbye. This time, his leaving felt different, of course, but it also felt as wrong as the last time. He should be here, with them. All this pain, all the heartache. They both deserved a win. More importantly, Sullivan deserved to stop being on the receiving end of abuse, and as far as Clara was concerned, the reporters, telling their lies and spreading hate, were equally as abusive.
Clara sighed, folding her arms to warm the chill in her veins, and leaned against the doorframe, listening to Mason’s soft snores filling the room. When the coast was clear, she’d picked him up from Maisie’s, and her sister came back to the house with them. Even now, she could hear her sisters talking in her bedroom. From the beginning, all Clara had wanted to do was protect Mason. But she’d allowed her heart to open to Sullivan again. And just like before, he was gone, and all that was left was Mason and her and her heart that was hurting tonight. Unsure of her next steps, she shut the door a little then headed for her bedroom.
The moment she entered the room, Amelia, sitting against the pillows on the headboard, asked, “Do you think Sullivan will come back?”
Clara laughed softly, closing the door a little in case Mason woke up and heard them talking. “Been dying to ask that?”
“Yes,” Amelia said with a firm nod, playing with the loose strands on the quilt on her bed. “So, do you?”
Clara pondered, feeling like she was right back where she’d been the la
st time. Only this time, Sullivan’s leaving felt worse. Hurt more. “I want to say yes.”
“But you don’t think that’s true?” Maisie asked from her spot on the end of the bed.
“I think it’s complicated,” Clara explained, moving to sit with them on the bed. “I think he’ll do what he thinks is right. And right now, staying away is better. He wants to protect us. That’s his nature. He did it before, and he’ll do the same thing now.”
“Ah, I see,” Maisie stated like she knew it all.
Clara felt like she knew nothing. She frowned at her youngest sister. “Ah, I see, what?”
She blinked, as if she hadn’t meant to say that out loud. “Oh, nothing.” She quickly set her gaze everywhere but on Clara.
Not going to happen. Clara reached forward and gave Maisie a pinch on her arm. “Spill it.”
“Ow,” Maisie muttered, rubbing her arm. She exchanged a long look with Amelia then said, “Okay, well, don’t rip my head off, but I mean, it seems like you two have fallen back into your old selves. He’s running from anything that’s hard. You’re letting him because you’re too afraid to be another person who makes his life hard. But the reality is that you want him to stay. And I bet money he wants to stay too.”
Clara stared blankly at her sister. “Please tell me how you got that from anything I said?” she asked in all seriousness.
Amelia cringed and lifted her hand. “Don’t kill me either, but she’s not the only one who thinks that.”
Clara looked between her sisters. “What is this? Gang-up-on-Clara time?”
“Not ganging up,” Amelia countered, giving a don’t-shoot-the-messenger look, still fiddling with that piece of string. “But we’re just pointing out that you don’t need to be the strong, responsible one all the time. To make sure everything is perfect and nothing goes wrong. Shit, Clara, things might fall apart completely, but that’s okay because sometimes good comes from that.”
Feisty Red: Three Chicks Brewery #2 Page 13