Once Upon a Stream ● dreamwastaken

chapter 31

It finally felt like what Bad had told me was true—Clay needed me.

Though, I knew I needed him just as much. I loved how I felt when I was with him, the person he brought out of me. I never wanted to stop feeling that, but I knew I would.

There was one day left in Orlando, one day left with Clay. The mere thought made my heart sink, made me go quiet with sadness, and Clay noticed.

He reached over the center console, taking one of my shaking hands. "Lani, what's wrong?"

He had offered to drive me back to the hotel himself, which Brook couldn't help but coo over. What she didn't know was that he needed a break from her and Rye.

I shook my head, fighting tears.

"Please, talk to me." His voice cracked, his worry evident.

"I'm afraid . . ."

"Of what?"

"Of being alone."

His shoulders relaxed, but his grip on my hand tightened. "You aren't, not even close."

"Even when I move and start all over in another city?"

"Especially then." He pulled to a red light, and when he turned to look at me, his eyes were fierce. Their green rings were piercing, reflecting his deepest emotions. "You'll have me and Nick, not to mention the rest of our stupid crew. Nala, you'll have me."

"I'll have you," I echoed, the words calming me yet exciting me at the same time.

Clay smiled, and I saw it all—I wasn't the only one who felt it. Two days with him, watching him smile and feeling his hand in mine, and I knew it was real.

In that moment, the fear melted away, replaced by a burning excitement for the future. And the burning urge to tell him what I'd been truly afraid of. To tell him that I didn't know love until I met him.

"Clay, I have to tell you something."

His focus returned to the road, but his smile didn't falter. "I do, too."

My heart skipped a beat.

"But I have a question first."

"Yeah?" I covered the nervous crack in my voice with a cough, which Clay saw right through and chuckled.

"Why did you love Rye?"

His question took me aback. I almost shut down the conversation there, but the genuine curiosity in his voice made me pause. There wasn't a hint of malice or judgment; he simply wanted to know.

And I couldn't deny him an answer, even if it wasn't simple.

"I guess because he's everything I miss about myself, from before my dad died and before . . . before the worst day of my life." I spoke through the beginnings of tears, fear from that night and of his reaction hitting at the same time. I'd never openly told him how messed up I was—one of the biggest reasons I clung to Rye, and Brook.

The warmth of his hand traveled up my arm, encouraging me to continue.

I breathed in deeply, staring out into the night. "The night of senior prom—well, the afterparty anyway—I drank too much. Rye wanted me to play beer pong with him, and since I did whatever he asked back then, I agreed. We played at least six rounds and many beer bottles later, I found myself in one of the guest rooms . . . and I wasn't alone."

His grip grew rigid, telling me he already knew where this was going.

"The details are foggy, but I remember the fear vividly. I remember trying to fight but ultimately being powerless against him." I shuddered at the memory, feeling his hands in place of Clay's.