Clay's Unwanted Blondie

Chapter 29

♥⁠╣CLAY╠⁠♥

FOR WHAT WAS GUILT? The overbearing weight of knowing the truth and lying about it?

The weight of a lead anchor dropped on your heart that made it hard to breathe, to relax, to pretend like you were a good guy.

Fuck being a good guy, fuck being a good cop.

He had tried being the good cop, God knew, God saw it and yet everything came back biting him in the ass big time.

And noo, not just any ass biting but the type that left him ashamed, afraid and irritated.

And you know what was worse about guilt? Your conscience doing a back flip, trying to act like a saint by spewing the truth.

He couldn't...tell her the truth.

Couldn't tell her that he had tried fixing everything, that he had given Marta Sanchez a leeway to leave, to start a fresh, away from the girls, from Alistair but the damn woman, she just couldn't help it could she?

It was these type of women that started wars.
The type that thought they knew best.

Marta Sanchez had tried killing Alistair and herself too by running the old lout from the road but things didn't go to plan did they for her?

Alistair was alive albeit in the surgery room fighting for his life and she--Clay prayed she rot in prison for life, that she somehow caught a disease that killed her in an instant before Brooklyn got to visit her.

Wishing for someone's death was cold, even for him but what possibly could he have wished for as he witnessed the events playing right in front of him.

Brooklyn hadn't even realized it yet but she was holding his hand.

The correct term being, she had held his hand the minute the news of the accident hit her in his mother's kitchen and on the way here, he had driven to the hospital with no words but the occasional kisses to the back of her left hand and a slight massage to her hand knowing very well it wouldn't do a thing.

And now she was nervous against him, her face had lost the usual glean and her brown eyes God, the sight gutted him, her hair all over the place, her feelings all over the place, it was all too much because there was that voice that added guilt and more guilt to him, he felt shitty.

Zuko was right. He was shitty.

This woman standing next to him, dread clouding her features, sadness looming over her it ached him greatly, she didn't deserve this.

Worried sick about a father who wasn't really her father, feeling betrayed by a woman who tried to kill her and the cherry on top, the big fucking red cherry being the husband next to her who offered support when in fact he knew everything that would cripple her, that would shatter her, that would destroy her till she wished they weren't bound together by the golden bands on their fingers.

Calandria had been here a while ago, she too staring at the theater doors with angst before she disappeared down the hall to get something to eat.

She had been equally dejected, swollen eyes, puffy nose, glassy eyes, the whole indication she had been sobbing the minute she got the news.

Clay had exchanged pleasantries with her but she had merely gazed at him with sharp eyes.

Sharp eyes that communicated the message ' i don't like you' well and clear and for the first time since he met this woman, he just didn't care.

All his focus was on Brooklyn, how she was processing the news, how she was feeling, whether she needed anything.

A hug maybe? To sit down and carefully dissect everything? To cry it all out?