Free Clash by C.A. Harms Page A

situation taking its place.
    “Dylan?” I reached out for him as he slipped his arms into his shirt. He stood before me fully dressed as I remained naked and slightly panicked by his current mood.
    “No, Payton. I’ve watched him strut around the house, acting all cocky that he was the one spending time with you. You may think his intentions were innocent, but I can guarantee you he had an ulterior motive.” Dylan was angry.
    I decided having this conversation while I was still naked was not in my best interest, so I followed his lead and began covering up. I suddenly felt vulnerable, and the urge to distance myself from Dylan became strong.
    The atmosphere had shifted tremendously and it left a strong ache in my chest.
    “I won’t share you,” Dylan whispered. It felt like a punch to the stomach.
    “And I’d never ask you to. How could you even think I would?” I didn’t wait for his response before yanking open the bedroom door, leaving him sitting on the end of my bed.
    When I rounded the corner into the kitchen, I nearly ran into Carter as he carried his new football gear toward the stairway. “Damn, Twig, we’ve got to stop meeting like this.” I knew he was playing around, but I wasn’t in the mood. “You okay?” he asked, losing all traces of humor.
    “I’m fine,” I replied as I brushed past him and continued toward the kitchen.
    I heard footsteps approaching from behind, and the last thing I wanted was to face Dylan right now. He had taken a perfectly innocent gesture of common courtesy and made it feel dirty.
    Karen looked over from her spot near the refrigerator and smiled. “I got some more of that ice cream you girls like so much, and a bag of Fritos.” Apparently she had not yet noticed the tension I could feel rolling off me. Dylan was right behind me, standing in the threshold with his arms crossed over his chest. He obviously hoped we would be able to carry on our conversation, but Karen was the perfect buffer.
    Just then the telephone rang and I jumped.
    I rounded the island in the center of the kitchen and began helping Karen put away the groceries, attempting to keep myself busy. She paused long enough to answer the phone because Dylan showed no signs of retrieving it.
    “Hello,” she said, tucking the phone between her shoulder and ear, holding it securely as she continued to load the food in the freezer. Her movements slowed until she stood frozen in place, her gaze shifting toward me.
    “Why are you calling here? Do you have any idea what you left her to deal with? The pain she suffered?” My stomach felt like it dropped to my feet. “You have a lot of nerve. Don’t call my home again.”
    She slammed the phone down and braced herself on the counter, attempting to maintain her composure. That familiar sense of fear shot through my body, one I hadn’t felt in years. It was the same fear that hit me when the letter from John arrived. It was still tucked away in my drawer.
    “Who was that?” I asked just as Dylan stepped up to my side and rubbed my back soothingly. The tension between us only moments ago faded.
    “John?” My voice shook with the name.
    Karen finally turned to face us and she gave me a look of pity I hated to see. I refused to be treated like a victim. “It wasn’t John,” she replied as she took a step closer, reaching out to take my hand in hers. “It was Maggie.”
    “What?” Words escaped me; I was blindsided. I hadn’t seen or heard from my mother in years. She never reached out to me, never came back to save me from the hate in which I was surrounded.
    “I don’t know what came over me. I’m sorry.” Karen was apologizing for defending me. This woman had been more of a mother to me than my own. She had protected me, and now she was saying she was sorry.
    “Thank you,” I whispered as I stepped forward and wrapped my arms around her. “For everything.”
    I spent two years with my therapist attempting to find the real Payton, the girl John