Page 51 of Strong Side

1. Beautiful Things - Acoustic - Benson Boone

33

444

Rockwell

Ipull in front of Clay’s apartment complex, and before I even have a chance to get out of the car, I watch him sprint inside.

I run up to a man who’s facing away from me, dressed in a suit—a very expensive suit. I round the man to face him, and I immediately recognize who I’m looking at. He’s practically a carbon copy of Clay, just with wrinkles around the eyes and gray in his hair. “Tell me what you did. Now!”

“Rockwell Campos. How good it is to see you.” He may look just like my Clay, but I can immediately tell he’s nothing more than a goddamn wolf in sheep’s clothing.

Disgust lines my face; this man radiates negativity. I drop my tone and practically growl, “What did you say to him?”

“Nothing that he didn’t need to hear. Rockwell, you need to get seri—”

Snarling, I throw my hand up in his face, cutting him off. I don’t want to hear anything this putrid man has to say. “You know what, it doesn’t even matter.” I look him up and down one more time as heat radiates through my body. “Clay may be a spitting image of you, but the man I’m falling for isnothinglike you. You disgust me. Clay’s soul isn’t dipped in tar, like yours.”

Not giving a shit what he has to say in return, I turn my back to him and jog into Clay’s apartment building; I quickly realize I haven’t been here yet and have no goddamn clue which apartment is his. There have to be hundreds of units in this damn high-rise.

I grab my phone out of my pocket and call the only person I can think of. Jax. He picks up on the first ring, and I ask in a panic, “What’s Clay’s apartment number?”

“Ohhhh, is this some kind of primal hunt thing? He may want to be chased longer… let me text him.”

What in the fuck is he talking about?

“Jax! Now. I don’t have time for this shit!”

“No kink-shaming here, Rockwell. It’s apartment 444.” Hearing the angel number brings tears to my eyes.Protection. That’s what I hope this apartment was for him—an escape from being under his father’s nose..

I hang up on Jax, pocket my phone, and start sprinting up the four flights of stairs. I run full speed down the hallway when I come to an abrupt stop at the site before me. The door to apartment 444 is wide open—Clay is lying unconscious on the floor.

1??“Clay!” I gather my bearings and take the last few strides to reach him. Dropping down to the floor I begin shaking him as I scream out his name. What the fuck happened between outside and now?

I check for his pulse, and his heart rate is beating a hundred miles a minute; that’s when it dawns on me…

He’s in a full-on panic attack.

Brought on by his piece of shit Father.

Adrenaline is pumping through my veins as I pick him up and throw him over my shoulder. After making sure I hear the door to his apartment close behind me, I take him down the hall, which I’m assuming leads me to his bedroom. I know my assumptions are correct when I see piles of clothes scattered throughout the room as I walk through the first open door. It’s not lost on me that this is not how I wanted to see his apartment for thefirst time.

I lay him down on the bed and start to strip him out of his clothes.

I whisper to him in the calmest tone I can manage, hoping something, anything, pulls him out of this, “Garotão,I have you.” I pull his shoes and socks off, along with his pants. “You’re safe now, Clay. Your Dad’s gone.” It’s taking everything in me to keep my anger at bay at the mention of his dad, but he doesn’t need that right now. He needs me to be calm and present.

Stripping out of my clothes as fast as possible, I head into the en suite bathroom to turn the shower on. Leaving the shower to warm up, I head back to Clay. I gently sit him up so I can start freeing him of his clothes. He is able to hold himself upright, and I realize that he’s starting to regain some semblance of consciousness. His breathing is still erratic, but at least we’re getting somewhere.

As we walk toward the bathroom, I continue to soothe, “Clay, I’m going to get us in the shower, okay?” I see his head nod slightly.

Together we step under the stream of hot water in his oversized shower. Grabbing his soap, I start to clean his body gently while praising and affirming his psyche, “You’re okay, Clay. Breathe for me. You’re doing so good. Just breathe.” He takes a shuddering breath and it kills me to see him have to fight these panic attacks allbecause of the person who raised him. The person he’s always supposed to be able to turn to for support. But he’s never had that. Every problem he’s ever faced, he’s had to face alone. Yet, despite all of that, Clayton Aldrich is a beacon of light. One that shines bright for everyone around him. “Come back to me, and we can bake all the cookies… I can’t live without you, Clay. You have to come back to me.”

I’m not brave enough to say this in English yet, so I take the coward’s way out knowing he won’t understand my confession, “Acho que estou me apaixonando por você.”

Fuck that felt good.

Right as the words leave my mouth his eyes pop open, and I swear there’s a slight curve to his lips. Maybe he finally put two and two together and the Portuguese makes him more aware that I’m here with him.

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