Defying the Odds (13 page)

“None yet.”
The guy shrugged. “But we always find ’
em
eventually. A hospital visit, utilities, cell phone bill—everyone’s traceable.”

Melody wanted to smack her forehead. The damn utilities—of course she was easy to find. She was officially terrible at being underground—but she was learning.

“Is there any way y’all can call me if you find him?” Melody asked hopefully. “I know that’s a big imposition, but I do have the restraining order I can show to your boss. I don’t
wanna
know any of his personal information. I don’t care where he is or what he’s doing. I just need to know if he gets those papers with my address on them.”

“Fine.”
He looked uncomfortable, like a man who just got dragged into the middle of a nasty argument. “You got a number I can call you at?”

Melody breathed a sigh of relief, knowing this would buy her a little time. She wouldn’t have to go into a new town jobless, broke, and living out of her truck like she had been when she got to Garnet. “Thank you.”

She turned and went back inside, quickly writing down her home number and the number to Hal’s Diner. Melody sat down on the bed after he left, feeling dazed and disoriented from the pain in her chest.

To distract herself, she looked at the papers, discovering she owned a vacation home in South Carolina she never knew about. It should have been shocking, but it wasn’t. Justin had ruined her credit years ago. He liked to live above his means.
Fancy cars, fancy clothes, and apparently a vacation home in South Carolina that was likely used during supposed business trips.

The paperwork said he’d bought it four years ago when they were still married. She supposed someone believed she was on board with the purchase, but they didn’t know Justin had a collection of false power-of-attorney forms that gave him the authority to do whatever the hell he wanted with her life and her credit. The notaries had just believed his bullshit and signed away her life for a wink and a smile. Justin was a smooth talker and one of those handsome, charming men no one would believe was capable of wrong.

Melody gazed at the papers on the bed, her bottom lip quivering as she thought about the friends she’d made in Garnet and the little cottage she was starting to make a home. She thought about Clay and how perfect and beautiful life felt when they were together. She knew she could never, ever tell him about this because if Justin showed up, Clay would either end up dead or in prison.

Justin was too fixated on owning her.

Clay was too determined to keep her safe.

A fight between them would end with one of them dead, and Melody couldn’t bear to think about either scenario. Not because she was particularly fussed over Justin dying; she just didn’t want to see Clay’s life ruined because of it.

She loved Clay too much to let him get involved in her mess.

Tears streamed down her cheeks, and she buried her face in her hands when the first sob burst out of her. She loved Clay, but she couldn’t keep him. To protect both of them she was going to have to disappear in a few weeks with nothing but her memories and her broken heart. She could only hope Clay wouldn’t hurt as badly as she was. It felt like someone had thrust a knife into the center of her chest and twisted the blade.

She’d experienced a lot of pain in her thirty-two years. She’d mourned the loss of freedom, passion, and innocence, but not once had she been forced into the horrible position of dropping true love like a hot coal at the very moment she realized it was real and pure.

The loss of it felt like more than she could endure.

Melody had thought it many times before, but this time she knew for sure: life was officially unfair.

* * * *

“You smell
real
pretty.”

Clay jammed his elbow back into the center of Wyatt’s chest, deliberately using extra strength to prove his point. “Get the fuck off me.”

Wyatt wheezed and laughed as he rolled off Clay to lay sprawled out on the mat next to him. Big, broad, and powerfully built, Wyatt’s bare chest glistened with sweat as he clutched at it and fought to find his breath. “For getting laid last night…you’re sure ornery today.”

Clay rolled onto his back and lied. “I didn’t get laid last night.”

“Right.”
Wyatt snorted. “You never came home, and you show up today smelling like flowers and strawberries.”

“
It’s
cucumber melon,” Clay corrected, feeling his cheeks heat. “It’s unisex.”

Wyatt howled, his hand still splayed over his muscular chest as he rolled on his side and laughed at Clay’s expense.

“
Ya
keep snickering and I’m
gonna
forget Tony put a stop to cage sparring with you,” Clay warned him with a dark scowl. “You
wanna
spend the day in Mercy General, Sheriff?”

“Bring it on,” Wyatt
said,
his smile still wide and teasing. “I can take you, Powerhouse. I got money riding on this fight. I was throwing the cage fights to keep your confidence up and your brain working regular.”

“I thought betting in Garnet was illegal.”

“Good thing I got a sheriff in my pocket.”

“Are you really betting on the fight?” Clay asked because Wyatt said it often enough he was starting to believe it.

Wyatt gave him a stony-eyed stare, his smile gone.
“Maybe.”

“That’s the same look you use in poker.”

Wyatt frowned. “So?”

“You’re terrible at poker,” Clay reminded him. “Why’d you always say you’re betting on the fights when you and
me
both know you
ain’t
doing any such thing.”

Wyatt rolled onto his back and then sprang to his feet, showing off amazing agility and martial arts skill. He ran his fingers through his hair and avoided Clay’s eyes as he said, “It’s better than saying I’m worried and I don’t want you to get too hurt,
ain’t
it?”

Clay considered the confession as he looked up at Wyatt, whose face showed deep concern. Finally he nodded in agreement. “Yeah, that’s definitely better. Go back to that; it was working.”

Wyatt
laughed,
his smile bright once more. “Then you better get your ass up and get back to training, ’cause I
ain’t
losing a bunch of money just ’cause you’re lazy.”

Clay rolled back and then sprang to his feet the same as Wyatt had. Hours of this and he was starting to get tired of the abuse. He didn’t want to spar with Wyatt. He wanted to see Melody.

He glanced at his watch and raised his eyebrows thoughtfully. “You
wanna
take a shower and then go grab lunch?”

“No, I don’t,” Wyatt said in disbelief. “I had to hire an extra deputy and take a pay cut to be your training partner. Not to mention the night shift I’m on. So guess what, Clay ‘Powerhouse’ Powers,
that’s
what we’re doing. We’re
gonna
train, and you’re
gonna
be fucking happy ’bout it.”

“I pay you to be my training partner. You make twice as much off me as you lost in the pay cut.”

“Yeah, but I’d be doing it even if you weren’t paying me,” Wyatt said, giving Clay a look of insult. “Now stop thinking about your
piece of pie
and get your head in the cage before you come back to that pretty waitress in a body bag.”

Clay glared, feeling irritated that Wyatt was right. Rather than complain, Clay jumped at him. He threw his shoulder into Wyatt’s chest and knocked him off his feet. The two of them started grappling. Fists and kicks were reserved for the equipment after the last cage match that ended with stitches, so all he could do was pin Wyatt enough times to work off the frustration.

* * * *

Muscles aching, freshly showered, Clay was starving and ready for lunch. He put his UFC hat on and walked out of the locker room ahead of Wyatt, who always took longer. Wyatt was going into work after lunch and needed to be in uniform. Plus the asshole was vain as could be. He always fussed with his hair, and the bastard had the nerve to give Clay shit about some cucumber-scented body wash?

“Clay.”

He turned around, the smile dying on his lips when he looked at Melody. She was put together for work, with her usual blue and white uniform. Her hair was back up, her glasses on, but her face was flushed, her eyes puffy and red. It was obvious she’d been crying.

Clay rushed to her and instinctively grabbed her waist. He pulled her close, studying her face in concern. “What happened?”

Melody buried her face against his chest rather than look at him. One hand reached up to run over his pectoral muscles, her open palm stopping to rest over the place where his heart was beating wildly out of control.

“Tell me,” he pressed, his hand sliding up to rub her back.

She lifted her head, her eyes swimming pools of green beneath her glasses. Her face scrunched up, and she bit her bottom lip against a sob. Clay wanted to push, but he let her take a shuddering breath and waited patiently until Melody finally tilted her head and whispered, “I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to be sorry.”

She nodded, tears streaming down her face. “Yes, I do.”

“What is it?”

“We can’t—” She squeaked. Her hand covered her mouth, and her eyes closed tight against the pain that was so palpable Clay could taste it in the air around them. “W-we can’t be together anymore.”

Clay gaped, his heart plummeting into his stomach. “What?”

“I told you I was broken,” she whispered as she lowered her head and wiped at her cheeks. “You should’ve listened.”

“You’re not broken, Mel.” He rubbed her back again, hoping to God this was just cold feet. He studied her face streaming with tears, red and blotchy; she was still beautiful to him. “I think you’re amazing.”

“Oh no
no
no
.”
She shook her head frantically, another sob bursting out of her. “Don’t do that. Please don’t do that.”

“Don’t do what?” Clay tried and failed to keep the gruffness out of his voice, because he was suddenly very scared Melody was slipping through his fingers. “What am I doing wrong? Why’s this happening?”

“You’re being sweet. Please don’t be sweet,” she
begged,
her desperation apparent. “It makes it so much harder.”

“You don’t have to do this,” he told her, the wild panic freezing in his chest and settling there like it planned to stay awhile. He gripped her hip harder, pulling her tighter against him. “Whatever this is, we can figure it out.”

“No, we can’t.” She reached into her apron, pulled out a small stack of bills, and pushed it against his chest. “You left this on the nightstand.”

“It’s yours,” he said, feeling his eyes sting in a way they hadn’t since he was young and homeless. “I left it for you in case the truck—”

“I know and I appreciate it, but it
ain’t
right.” She pushed the money against his chest insistently. “I want you to take it back. I don’t deserve it.”

“Please take it,” he pleaded, his face hurting from the effort it took to hold his emotions. “Take the money. I want you to have it.”

She bit her lip and then leaned down, pushing the money into his pocket while he stood there frozen and horrified.

“I wish it could be different.” She sighed in a soft, anguished voice that bled with longing. “I wish it more than anything, Clay, and I’m
so
sorry it can’t.”

“I don’t accept this,” he snapped because everything about this felt wrong. “Something happened, and I
wanna
know what it is. I
deserve
to know.”

She turned to leave rather than answer him, which only deepened his suspicion. He wasn’t just going to sit back and watch her walk out of his life. He reached out and grabbed her arm, not willing to let it go at this. Melody flinched violently in reaction to his hold. Her knees bent; her eyes opened, wide and terrified.

Clay let go of her like he’d been burned, having a horrible realization. “You’re scared of me?”

“I’m sorry,” she said rather than argue
,
her face still scrunched up against entirely breaking down. “I have to go now. Please don’t request my section at Hal’s.”