Looking for Trouble(9)

Clay couldn’t wait for that to happen.

“I don’t ever want a girl to come between us. You, me, and April, that’s all that matters.”

“You, me, and April,” Clay agreed.

“Speaking of April. Do you wanna go hang out with her?”

That sounded perfect to Clay. April was his friend. She wouldn’t want anything. His times with Mike and April were always the best. “Let’s do it.”

April pulled the door open right after they knocked. “You okay, Clay?” she asked, even though she’d had no way of knowing what happened. That was April, though. She got him. She got both of them.

“Perfect,” he replied.

“Action movies and popcorn?” April closed the door behind them.

And that was exactly what the three of them did—watched movies and ate popcorn until they almost puked. April even put seasoning salt on it, which she knew was Clay’s favorite.

Clay’s eyes snapped open, and he gasped a deep breath. The dream made him queasy. He’d forgotten about that. But that had been him and Mike, hadn’t it? They’d always had each other’s backs…until they didn’t. Until everything fell apart and the one thing they swore would never happen, had.

April. His chest ached with the thought of her. God, he missed her. He missed both of them.

His cell rang, making him jump. “Jesus,” he groaned, picking it up.

He recognized the number, knew it was the one Mike’s son had texted his picture to. For a moment he considered not answering it, but then he thought about Mike that day, about how Mike had his back, at least back then. Maybe he owed it to Mike to make sure the kid was okay.

“Hello.”

“You’ll be happy to know everything is fucked!” his slurred voice came through the line.

“Where are you?” Clay found himself asking.

“Why do you care? You hate my father and you think I was trying to trick you! Bet you’re happy that his car’s fucked and will take thousands to fix! That I’m stuck in this town in a shitty-ass motel with a letter I can’t deliver!”

“Are you drunk?” Clay asked. Christ, the kid was a disaster.

“Yes. I’m twenty-five. I’m allowed to drink. You met me in a bar, remember? You were going to have sex with me.”

Clay winced. He couldn’t believe he’d almost fucked Mike’s son.

“Ugh. I’m hanging up. I don’t know why I called you.”

“Where are you?” Clay asked him again.

“Walking…somewhere…from the bar to the motel. There was no one to hook up with at the bar. Is that why you went to Raleigh? Never mind. I don’t care.”

Clay cursed when the line went dead. “Fuck.” He shoved off the chair where he’d fallen asleep. He couldn’t just leave the kid drunk and wandering around town. No matter what happened between him and Mike, he couldn’t do that. Especially when what went down with Mike was Clay’s fault.

He pushed his feet into shoes. “I’ll be back, Dakota,” he told his dog before jumping into his truck and heading into downtown Bailey Springs.

It didn’t take him long to find a stumbling, feisty, brown-haired, ball of trouble walking down the road. Clay pulled his truck to the side and jumped out.

“Hey! Get over here. I’ll give you a ride.”

He turned, pinning Clay with his blue eyes. “Will you read the letter?” The kid looked at him, and there was something in his eyes as they softened that nearly stole Clay’s breath. It wasn’t something that reminded him of Mike or the past, but something very close to what he saw every time he looked in the mirror. Loneliness. Sadness. Fear.

Still…still, he couldn’t do it. “No. Get in the fucking truck.”

“No.” He began to walk away, and Clay went after him.

“I’m trying to be nice here.”

“Be nice by reading the letter. My dad deserves it.” Then he just kept walking, ignoring Clay.

“Jesus, will you stop throwing a fucking temper tantrum and stop?” Clay’s shoes crunched in the gravel as he stalked after the kid. Part of him wanted to turn around and march back to his truck, drive away, and never see him again. He wasn’t Clay’s responsibility. He didn’t owe it to anyone to take a damn letter Mike had written for him. If he’d wanted to apologize so bad, he’d had twenty-seven years to do it.

Turn around, walk away, he told himself, but then he thought about his old friend, and that damn look he’d just seen in the boy’s eyes, and he couldn’t make himself walk away.

“Did you hear me?” Clay asked, reaching for him, but before he could make any type of contact, the younger man whipped around, fire and anger and that damn loneliness clouding his expression.

“Temper tantrum? Fuck you, Clayton! You don’t know what it’s like to spend your whole goddamned life feeling like a failure! You don’t know what it’s like to screw up time and time again. If there’s a way to fuck up any given situation, I sure as hell find it. You don’t know what it’s like to have one person who always has your back yet you feel like you’re constantly letting them down.” The overhead streetlight glinted in his eyes.

“Kid,” Clay replied, not sure what he really had to say.