Page 3 of Clay

Run? Hide? Pretend I don’t see him?

But I can’t move. I’m pinned there, caught in the weight of his stare, and all the old feelings come rushing back—love, anger, hurt, longing—tangled up in a knot I’ve spent years trying to unravel.

I thought I was over him. I told myself I was. But one look, and I’m nineteen again, standing in the rain outside his trailer, begging him to explain why he’d thrown it all away.

“Dylan?” Chris’s voice is softer now, worried. “You okay? Who is that guy?”

I swallow hard, forcing the words out past the lump in my throat. “Clay. Clay Damon.”

His eyes go wide again, because of course he knows the name. Chris was there when it all fell apart, when I cried myself sick for weeks after he was gone, when I swore I’d never let anyone in like that again. “Wait.TheClay? Holy crap, Dylan, he’s?—”

“Back,” I finish for him, my voice barely above a whisper. “He’sback.”

He’s still looking at me, and now he’s turning—away from the counter, toward our booth. My stomach flips, and I grip the edge of the table like it’s the only thing keeping me upright.

Is he coming over here?

What the hell am I supposed to say? “Hey, long time no see, sorry you broke my heart and disappeared”? Or maybe, “Nice jacket, still got that bad boy thing going, huh?”

My brain’s a mess, scrambling for something, anything, that doesn’t sound pathetic or desperate or like I’ve been waiting for this moment since the day he left.

But then Jenny calls out his order—coffee, black, to-go—and he breaks eye contact, turning back to her. I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding, relief and disappointment crashing together in a wave that leaves me dizzy.

He’s not coming over.

Notyet.

Clay grabs the cup, tosses a few bills on the counter with a nod, and heads for the door. One last glance my way—quick, almost like he didn’t mean to—and then he’s gone, the bell jingling behind him as the night swallows him up.

“Dylan,” Chris says, leaning across the table, his voice low and urgent. “What the hell was that? You looked like you were about to pass out. Or throw up. Or both.”

“I don’t know,” I admit, my hands shaking as I reach for my coffee. It’s cold now, bitter on my tongue, but I sip it anyway, just to have something to do. “I didn’t expect… I mean, I didn’t think he’d be here. Not after everything. I thought he’d stay gone.”

“Is he out for good?” Chris asks, his brows knitting together. “Like, out-out? No parole, no strings?”

“I guess so.” I stare at the spot where he stood, the ghost of him still lingering in the air. “I didn’t keep up with it. Didn’t want to. After he went away, I just… I had to move on. Or try to.”

Chris nods, chewing his lip like he’s piecing it together. “Well, he’s hot as hell, I’ll give him that. Prison didn’t hurt him in that regard. If anything, he looks better—rougher, you know? Like he’s been through some shit and came out the other side.”

“Chris,” I groan, burying my face in my hands. But he’s not wrong. He’s different—harder, maybe, with lines on his face that weren’t there before—but still Clay. Still the guy who used to make my heart race with a single smile, who’d pull me close on his bike and tell me we’d ride out of this town together someday.

If Clay was a Daddy before, then he’s giving even more Daddy vibes now - way more, in fact.

“What are you gonna do?” Chris presses, his voice cutting through my haze. “If he’s back, you’re gonna run into him again. Willow Creek’s too small to avoid it. You can’t hide in your house forever.”

“I don’t know,” I say again, and it’s the truth. I don’t know if I want to run toward him or away from him. I don’t know if I can handle the past crashing into my present like this, stirring up all the dust I’ve tried to sweep under the rug.

All I know is that seeing Clay again woke something up inside me—something raw and restless I thought I’d buried deep.

The diner’s quiet now, just the soft hum of the fridge and the tick of the clock on the wall.

I glance at it—almost midnight.

It’s nearly time to go home. I might still get some work done on my novel, do some edits, tidy my place up a bit… who am I kidding?

With Clay on my mind, there’s only one thing I’ll be doing when I do leave and go home…

Chapter 2

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