HER | ✓

⍣Eight⍣

Clayton rubbed his eyes as he walked downstairs to meet his family for breakfast. Farah and George kept him up most the night with their endless laughter. The walls, lacking in insulation, were thin enough he could almost hear everything.

"I smell bacon," he sang to keep up his moral. No one else was in the room yet. Internally, he sighed. Just a few minutes to pretend everything was alright would do. It wasn't like the girl he loved was upstairs in his brothers arms or that he cussed out his father at dinner. Everything was normal. Fine and dandy. 

"Good morning Clay." Martha smiled. Resting one hand on his shoulder, she smacked a quick kiss on his cheek.

"Good morning to you too ma." Clayton returned the kiss. "What are you making?" He eyed the stove. Nothing was there.

"Bacon, egg and hash brown casserole."

"Mmm... you shouldn't have." He held his stomach. "When will it be done?"

"Here shortly, go get dressed," she said eying his wrinkled pajamas. She didn't have to tell him to get dressed. He was a grown man. Rolling his eyes, he walked upstairs and threw on the usual white t-shirt and jeans. 

Everyone woke and filled the kitchen. When he returned he avoided eye contact and conversation, making a straight shot for the coffee maker. He procrastinated his greeting, flicking through various different coffee creamers. Good lord Martha had a lot. Cinnamon. Pumpkin spice. Vanilla. White chocolate. Should he continue reading them all?

Finally he settled on one, tore it open and stirred it in until it turned a sandy brown. George and Farah were watching him but when he turned around Farah averted her eyes. He found it strange and took a sip.

George spoke first. "I want to apologize on dads behalf for last night." His eyes remained steady on Clayton.

"You and ma both," Clayton replied with a shrug. "It's nothing new, you know how it is." He leaned against the sink and massaged the cup between his hands.

"Doesn't make it right," George countered.

"Is anything ever right?" Clayton questioned. His eyes slid over Farah, who still refused eye contact, and Charlotte, who sat sipping her orange juice. George nodded and raised his glass in agreement.

⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆

Everyone settled in for breakfast and ate their meal. Clayton wouldn't speak, or look in his father's direction. Not a soul talked, creating tension thick enough that if someone breathed too deep they'd choke on it.

The atmosphere lightened when Harry left to tend the animals in the barn. Clayton felt he could breath easier without the swirling pit of anger in his chest and he helped wash dishes when everyone cleared out.

George walked back in as he dried off his hands. "Well that was the most intense breakfast I've ever had." He looked at the ceiling squinting his left eye. "Actually I think that was more intense than the breakfast I had with Farah's mom and aunt." George made eye contact again. "And that was not a fun breakfast." He shook his head as if wanting to forget the memory and walked to the fridge pouring himself another glass of orange juice.

"What happened?" Clayton's curiosity got the best of him.

George shook his head as he placed the jug back. "I'd rather not talk about it." He shivered and looked grim. "Lets just say they don't really like me."

This peeked Clayton's interest. He stood straighter and asked, "What could you have done to make them not like you? I mean look at you, you're an idol." The latter didn't ring true to him but he knew it rang true to most.

"There's a lot you don't know." George squinted from behind his cup.

Right before he could ask what George meant he heard footsteps approaching the kitchen. They turned their heads in anticipation and Farah walked in fixing an earring in her ear. "George, I need to go to the store." She froze when she saw Clayton but quickly fixed her composure.

George moved from the counter. "The store? Why do you need to go the store?"

"Did I hear something about a store?" Martha yelled from the other room, her light footsteps followed her question.

Farah looked uncomfortable. "Yeah, I need to go to the store for... um... you know." She blushed, turning fifty shades of pink.

Martha appeared behind her. "If you're going, could you pick me up a few things I need for dinner tonight?"

Seems like ma let her hostility go, Clayton assumed. He wrung the towel in his hands as he spectated the scene in front of him.

Farah swiveled and nodded. "Yeah, I can." Her voice was quiet. So quiet, he almost didn't hear her. She glanced back at George, playing with the necklace hanging low on her neck. "So can you take me?"

George grimaced and scratched the back of his head as he gazed out the window. Before he could say anything she spoke again.

"You know I don't drive in snow."

He sighed long and heavy. "I know you don't, but I'm not sure my car will make it now. The snow keeps getting thicker."

She was growing uneasy. Clayton could tell by the way her hands fiddled with the necklace more and more. He didn't know what he was doing but he opened his mouth.

"I'll take her," he told George and set the towel down. "My truck's four wheel drive and I've got lots of experience driving in snow. Chances of us getting stuck are slim."

George's shoulders slackened in relief. "Well there you are." He smiled. "Clayton will take you." 

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AN: Oh! Oh! Oh! I'm so excited to be writing this book. With each chapter I write, the more excited I get. You know that feeling of pride in your chest and you get these tears in your eyes? Yep, that's me. No shame. I'm always wanting to come back and write the next chapter.

Anyways, finally! Finally! We are getting a present day Fayton chapter (good ship name?). What do you think is going to happen? Share your thoughts and don't forget to vote. But remember I'm happy to have you on board!

•Thanks for reading!•