Clay's Unwanted Blondie

Chapter 56

♥⁠╣CLAY╠⁠♥

PITY. The deadliest emotion ever created in man.

Even deadlier than anger and hey anger was potent. Anger drove men to wars, to kill, to burn the world.

But pity? Naah pity drove to anger. Pity drove to self-loathing. Pity drove to wavering self-confidence.

Pity volleyed between those brown eyes as she opened her lips to repeat the same words she thought he hadn't heard.

"The doc said we can take her home. She's fine, Clay"

She's fine and it's not your fault

He could read the remaining part of her words without breaking a sweat.

She was acting docile, maybe less than the spitfire who hated him because of what she saw, because of that pity lurking in her body convincing her that she could fix him when he didn't want her to.

She was never meant to see that.

She was never meant to cry or massage his wounds with that piteous gaze she carried for about fifteen minutes and twenty nine seconds.

"I'm glad she's fine. I'll say goodbye and leave"

Brooklyn's right hand was on her skirt-covered hip now, her eyes narrowing into slits at him.

"You really want me to say it? Clay I'm giving you the green light to take your daughter home. You can tuck her in bed if you want to"

See. Pity.

An hour ago, those eyes of hers were raging sulfur directing all the blame at him and now...they were just sad...for him and that ate him up more than the thought of how a big disappointment he was to Mia.

"Why?"

Tucking Mia in bed would have been hella satisfying.

Watching her sleep would have given him the calm he needed after a bad storm.

She rolled her eyes. This woman, the one who drew him from his demons, the one who witnessed him being vulnerable and in a catatonic state, rolled her eyes at him and believe it or not, rolling eyes were better than sympathetic ones.

"Do I need to give you a reason so that you can't tuck your daughter in bed? You know what, forget—"

The distance between them got swallowed by him in one stride.

Those big browns were already locked with his, those pink (colored red by some hideous lipstick of the sort) lips parting slightly at the proximity between them.

Her boobs screamed against the coat that fucker Clint Eastwood gave her and he had to remind himself this wasn't the place or time to steal kisses from her and getting a slap or worse as payback.

"Why are you being kind, Brooklyn? You hated my guts a few moments ago so...why?"

If she mentioned the bathroom scene, he would be crushed and he would still tuck Mia in bed like the good father she needed albeit with a heavy heart.

"I'm doing everything for my daughter. The last thing she needs is to see us fighting"

That was a good enough answer to stroll into Mia's room, listen to the doctor's instructions, carry her in his arms and leave the room with Brooklyn by his side. As she should have.

The scene at the waiting room was a huge bubble waiting to explode.

All their eyes were on him and by now he had swallowed everything his family dished out to him without a word.