23. Claire

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Claire

I tossed and turned all night. Poor Joy and Aiden kept alternating rubbing my back to help me sleep, but I was restless—and I don't think any of us got more than a few minutes of real rest.

When I finally got out of bed this morning, both Aiden and Joy were gone. I figured they probably returned to their own rooms, trying to salvage some actual sleep. I walked into the bathroom and gasped when I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. Think vampire—but without the seductive, alluring beauty. Just hollow, pale, dead-looking. No shimmer, no glitter-in-the-sun vibes. Just...dead.

Maybe this look will finally get Drew to leave me alone.

As I considered meeting him looking like a rejected extra from The Walking Dead, I heard a knock at the front door. It was 7 a.m., and I had no doubt it was him.

I heard Aiden's door creak open as he stumbled toward the front, and I peeked out of mine, whispering, "Is it him?"

He nodded. "Do you want me to send him away or... are you ready to talk?"

I took a steadying breath. "Let him in. I'm going to jump in the shower—tell him to give me ten minutes."

Ten minutes turned into three hours. I figured if he could ask for five and vanish for an hour, I could ask for ten and never come back home... hey I don't set the rules on petty, I simply embellish them a little. And goodbye to the Dawn-of-the-Dead look—hello bombshell. Think Gisele Bündchen, but on a Dollar Tree budget.

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As I walked down the stairs, I saw him sitting on the couch, head in his hands. He looked defeated. Kind of got this homeless hot guy look to him..is that even a thing? Am I just horny? what the fuck is happening? These damn hormones. When I stepped off the last stair, he looked up—and damn. His eyes were bloodshot and swollen, like he'd been crying all night without a wink of sleep. Good. He stood slowly, still in that same wrinkled suit from yesterday, and reached for me.

I sidestepped him and made my way to the couch.

He sucked in a shaky breath. "Claire?"

I sat, smoothed my dress, crossed my legs, and looked up at him. He's always loved this dress—can never keep his hands to himself when I wear it.

It's loud in the best way. A bright, unapologetic yellow that refuses to blend in. The top plunges low with a halter neckline daring enough to make my grandma clutch her pearls, but still tasteful enough to feel powerful, not exposed. The fabric gathers beneath my chest, crisscrossing over my ribs, showing just a sliver of waist like a whispered secret.

The back? All strappy drama—thin ribbons crossing between my shoulder blades, tying low at my spine, leaving the rest of my back completely bare. It's the kind of dress you don't wear to get attention—but you know damn well you'll get it anyway. The skirt flows like water, brushing against my legs like it's urging me to dance, even when I'm perfectly still. It's bold. It's bright.

And today, so am I...or at least I'm going to fake it until Drew leaves. 

Drew knelt in front of me. His hands moved toward my thighs, then froze when he saw me tense. He hovered, then slowly closed them into fists and rested them in his lap.

"Thank you for seeing me today, Claire. I know you didn't want to, and you have every reason not to, babe." He cleared his throat. "I left because I didn't want Becca to cause a scene. I didn't want her and my mother to embarrass you... or us... with whatever 'proof' they think they have."

I sighed, shaking my head.

"Drew, you will always pick them. Whether it's your mother or Becca, it will always be one of them—not me. I told you not to go with her, and you still went. It didn't matter how I felt. It didn't matter that maybe I was perfectly fine going to jail for slapping Becca. It didn't matter that your mother could've shown up while you were gone.

"It didn't matter that I was left sitting—looking like a complete fool—in the middle of our reception without my husband because he chose to walk his mistress to her car."

His head snapped up. "She's not my mistress! You are my—"

"No, Drew. I am your nothing," I snapped. "I'm the woman you ignored. The one left waiting like a fool while you run off to her. Every damn time.

"Well, I'm done being the delusional girl with stars in her eyes, in love. I deserve to be loved. I deserve to be heard. And I deserve to not wonder whether I'll be chosen in a situation where I should be the only damn option!"

I stood and began pacing, breath catching in my chest. I bent forward, trying to inhale deeply.

Drew was there instantly, rubbing my back. I feel His hands glide across the bare skin of my back and I step away, but he grabs my hip and gently pulls me toward him, my back to his chest.

"Here's your inhaler, baby. Take a few puffs."

I took two and held onto it. He reached for it, but I shook my head.

"There's no reason for you to keep one on you anymore, Drew. I think it's best I hang on to it," I whispered.

He turned me to face him, both hands gripping my hips now.

"I know you're mad at me—and you have every reason to be—but not having your inhaler? That's not happening, Claire. Your safety is never up for debate. You can keep this one, only because I've got a few more at the house. But don't think this is going to be a thing. I will always have one on me. Till the day I die."

"so if I die before you... will you still keep one on you? Cause I am no psychologist but that is strange behavior... very Becca coded."

He gives me a look—head tilted, eyes narrowed—the universal male version of 'Seriously?'

I gave him back the inhaler—I didn't want him wasting a new one when I had mine upstairs.

"What do you want, Drew? Why are you here?"

He ran his hands slowly up and down my hips, slipping them into the slits of my dress to touch my legs like he always did. I used to love that. God, I missed his touch.

But I step away and walk toward the stairs.

He quickly moves to block me. "I'm sorry, baby. I won't touch you again. I just... I miss you so much, Claire. Please, come home. We can work on us. I'll cut my mother and Becca off—we can move away. Whatever you need, I'll do it. Just tell me how to prove to you that you're the most important thing."

"To be loved is to be seen and heard, you saw me but never heard me."

I placed both my hands on his chest and rose on my toes, pulling him into a kiss.

It started soft. Then it deepened—desperate. Drew's hands slid down my thighs and he lifted me up. I pressed into him, feeling how hard he was already, and a moan escaped my lips. He smiled into the kiss, carrying me to the couch and laying me down beneath him.

But just as quickly, I pulled back.

I looked into his eyes, saw the love there.

And I knew.

I knew what his love looked like.

And I didn't want it anymore.

"Let me up, Drew," I said softly, "and then let me go."