Clay's Unwanted Blondie

Chapter 30

๑⁠˙⁠❥⁠˙BROOKE ˙⁠❥⁠˙⁠๑

CRYING WAS EASY, you thought of a character they killed in your favorite movie, bam! You cried.

Heartbreak? Death of a beloved? Bam, you cried.

The hard part however was trying to stop crying. The harder you tried, the more the tears came, the more your eyes hurt and the more your throat constricted, it became harder to breathe.

Like you were being torn apart by an unseen force and you couldn't stop it.

Any person in her position should have been crying. God, her sister—Brooke shouldn't have left her sister all alone in that hospital, crying her lungs out but in all honesty she needed time to process.

And Brooke's way of processing shit was this-crying, trying to stop crying then crying again.

Betrayal hurt and it sure stung as hell.

Marta of all people? The Marta that wouldn't hurt a fly, the Marta that had a heart bigger than anyone she knew, the woman who she looked up to as a mother.

Marta had her reasons ofcourse she did but Brooklyn felt so betrayed it didn't matter anymore.

"I just—i'm trying to understand. I really am", she cried and the man beneath her, the man who'd caressed her hair since they got here didn't say a thing.

She appreciated that of him. She was processing things alone but at the same time with a shoulder to cry on.

And Clay Cervantes' shoulder was firm, understanding, cozy, offered her the kind of peace she hadn't tasted since the whole 'your father might or might not make it' news.

She was mumbling things, crying more and he was there, listening, soothing every worry away with a firm hug, a kiss to her cheek, to her forehead, to the top of her head.

Eventually she did fall asleep and with Clay there everything felt alright.

Clay Cervantes was alright.

Spears of orange slapped her eye lids and even without opening her eyes, she knew it was dawn and with dawn came the answers.

The news that would either make this a good morning or a bad one.

She lazily fluttered her swollen eye lids open, welcoming the sharp pain that was the effects of crying at midnight without taking a break, then for a minute she hugged Clay's navy comforter as if it was a magic cape that would give her strength to endure the day.

Her back rested on the head board and it took a minute to actually see Clay leaning against the doorway that led to the balcony.

His back muscles flexed as he breathed in and out with a coffee mug in his left hand.

The sun hit him in the right places so much that he looked like a Greek God straight from Olympus, bulky, sculptured from his broad shoulders to his lean torso, his morning hair all wacky.

God, he was handsome.

She could have stayed like this admiring half naked man and actually wanting coffee because of the sight in front of her. But that wasn't possible.

Not right now.

"Clay?" She called, her voice groggy.

Clay turned around, arms crossed across his chest.

His blue eyes held hers warmly and there was a small smile forming on his lips.

"How'd you sleep?"

He was stalling.