Summary: Clayton Emerson has been battling with the aftermath of losing you and when faced with a hard decision he finds that maybe he waited too long.
Word Count: 5.5k
Warnings: age gap, mentions of child abuse, arranged marriages, cancer, car accident, swimming accident, death, sex, light gore/blood, alcohol, natural disasters, angst, yearning, divorce.
Author's Note: This part is told in Clayton’s POV and will get a little dark. I am also not an expert at the way the ocean works, this is purely for dramatics. So sorry in advance.
It had been bred into him, the mentality that everything in life was a series of transactions. Family, friendships, marriage, children, work. All of it. Emotions were an unnecessary human trait, 'a flaw in design' as his father had always told him every time he'd let his carefully crafted mask slip in front of him.
And love? Well that didn't exist.
He'd never seen any proof of it being real. His parents sure as hell didn't love each other, their marriage set in stone from birth. The same ideology that had been, literally, beat into him had been done so to them. A long line of family tradition.
He too was forced into an arranged marriage with a girl from one of the Native families on the island. A way to 'keep the peace', which was horseshit if you asked him. No love had blossomed from that union, Clayton Emerson too much like his father at that point.
Though not so much like his father that he laid a hand on his wife or the child they eventually had. No, he swore from the age of ten that he'd never stoop that low. But he would be lying if he said he didn't lash out verbally sometimes.
Clayton had also done something his father never would've done. He was loyal to his family. Never strayed, never seeked release with another party. He was too busy building up a career in politics and gathering funding for family housing that sex was rarely on the forefront of his mind.
They'd done it exactly four times in the twelve years they'd spent together. Once on their wedding night, another grossly outdated tradition, and three times trying for their son Kainalu. They never touched each other after that, it wasn't necessary once the 'Emerson Heir' had made his arrival.
As their son grew older and developed a rebellious streak, Clayton grew harsher. He hated not being in control of a situation, a trait he'd inherited from his father. He resorted to threats and using money and power to gain what he wanted. He knew how to work people like clay in his palms.
The fights between him and his wife also intensified until the explosion that resulted in her filing for divorce and moving in with her sister, Kainalu in toe.
He'd never admit it, but he felt relieved. Glad to be freed from the shackles of a marriage neither of them wanted. It felt like he could breath for the first time in his life. Glad that both his parents had passed, his mother from breast cancer and his father in a car accident a year later, and couldn't nag him about fucking things up.
His only regret was that him and his son's relationship turned completely sour. He'd tried to make amends, taking him out to do fun things during the weekends he was allotted. Let him stay up late playing video games, stocked the kitchen with all his favorites, even the stuff his ex never let him have usually.
Tried not to be so much like his parents but fuck was it hard when that was all he really knew.
Then one day, it was like something shifted within his son. Gone, almost anyway, was that rebellious streak and in came a young man wanting to take hold of his future. Kainalu had told him he wanted to be a life guard, to train with the North Shore Rescue unit. Apparently one of his friend's brother's had gone up and done the program and had been gushing about it on his visit back home.
Clayton wasn't so sure, the risk that would be. He'd always hoped his son would follow in his footsteps, continue the family line. But he knew that wasn't really his voice in his head but his father's.
A long conversation was had between him and his ex wife. But they'd agreed that Clayton would go with him, work on getting to know the community up there and maybe gain some votes for his mayoral election while Kainalu entered the program.
It was handy that Clayton's family owned a house and plot of land up there already. No need to look for housing for themselves for the duration of their stay. One less thing to worry about.
They'd set off, their journey up had been one of his favorite memories he'd ever had with his son. They seemed to have let go of any animosity between them and really let loose.
They belted out old 90s rock songs, ate junk food from gas stations along the way and took time to appreciate the scenery of the island. It was the most fun Clayton had ever had.
They'd settled into the house pretty quickly and things just fell into place. He found he liked the quietness of the north shore, still bustling but turned down compared to Honolulu.
He'd quickly won over the people in town and secured his mayoral position with ease and things were even going well with Kainalu's training. All was as he hoped it would be.
What he wasn't prepared for, was you.
The first sighting was when he'd come along to introduce himself to Kainalu's new unit. He selfishly had secured him a place on the squad despite his son not technically qualifying for the position. But he was a man who could pull strings and he would do anything to make sure his son was happy and settled.
You stood at the back but he'd seen you right away. You were sun-kissed and a little wet from having been in and out of the water all day. You'd had on cropped tank top, your breasts peaking out over the top, and pair of little shorts on that probably made your ass looks like heaven. He felt a stirring deep within him and it made him pause, eyes boring into yours.
And you had stared back, eyebrow lifting and a soft smile played on your lips. He could've sworn you had come to the same conclusion. This was the beginning of something. He wasn't sure what but the anticipation gnawed at him for weeks until your next encounter.
It was at a fundraising event the community was putting on to raise money for different charities throughout the town. Everyone was in attendance, the town square a bustling hub of people and chatter.
There was food trucks, business stalls, performances and a DJ. The weather had even behaved for them. It was an over all successful event.
Clayton found himself at one of the beer tents after things started to slow down. He'd been tugged left and right by various people and organizations, receiving several dozen congratulations and offers to work together in the future. He shot them all 'thank yous' and firm smiles and suggested they get in contact with his office so they could work something out.
What he needed now was a fucking drink.
He'd been sitting in comfortable silence for the first time all night, nursing a glass of bourbon, when suddenly you were there. Sitting two seats down and looking like a goddess among men.
He was totally staring, he knew he was. You knew he was. And just like you had that first time, you stared back. Curiosity and wonder clear as day on your face.
"Long day, Mayor Emerson?" The sound of your voice sent a bolt of lightening through him. The alto of your tone was low and soothing, like he could enter a state of deep zen just listening to you talk.
"That obvious?" He replied after collecting himself, taking a swig of his drink.
"You're staring off into the void and the choice of drink is very telling." You shot him a warm smile and his heart began thumping in his chest.
"I was hoping no one would notice."
"You're easy to notice." There was a double meaning there, he knew by the sparkle in your eyes.
Eventually you moved down so you sat next to him, the scent of ocean and vanilla consuming him as you entered his orbit.
The two of you talked for hours, heavy banter and perhaps even some light flirting. It felt good talking to you. He didn't think he had ever talked to anyone this much but you had a way of pulling things out of people. A safe place to settle into.
And from there it had felt like every encounter you had, you gravitated towards each other. It was innocent at first, anyone looking couldn't possibly mistake it for anything but two people sharing in a friendly, cordial conversation.
Clayton felt anything but friendly towards you though, being in your presence had grown more difficult the more it happened. He was starting to feel things foreign to him. He couldn't place what it was and it concerned him deeply.
He figured it was just lust, he'd gone so long without experiencing it or even engaging in sexual activity and having a pretty girl like you even looking at him with those warm, sparkling eyes was bound to mess with his head.
He had accepted that things would not leave the comfort of his head. He was used to bottling things up and putting on a mask. He could live with just imagining what he'd do to you, stroking himself to madness in the dark of his bedroom at night. He convinced himself that was enough for him.
It was a random Tuesday in June that you asked him if he wanted to have sex. You'd said it like you were commenting on the weather. So casual and like it wasn't a huge deal at all.
"Listen, it doesn't have to be like anything serious. Just sex. We're both single. I think you're attractive and I think you think I am too. I feel this tension between us and it's kind of eating me alive and maybe if it's also eating you alive then we should do something about it. No one has to even know." You rambled, your face growing redder with each word.
You were avoiding his eyes, something you rarely did unless you were nervous. His heart clenched, a small smile tugged at his mouth. He reached up and tucked a strand of hair that had fallen into your face as you animatedly spoke behind your ear, his finger tips trailing down the skin of your neck.
It had been so fucking easy to say yes to you. He would face the consequences later, battle with the idea that this was so fucking wrong another time. Right now, he just wanted to be lost in you.
It became an addiction, one time turned into two and then into a dozen. Each time he lost a part of himself to you. No matter how hard he tried to grasp at the pieces, to keep things emotionless and transactional, it was no use.
He couldn't get enough of the shape of your breasts, the feeling of your hard and sensitive nipples in his mouth and the way in made you squirm. The taste of your pussy lingered on his tongue long after he'd finished lapping and sucking at your swollen clit. The euphoric sensation of your hot, wet heat clenching around his cock as he fucked into you firm and deep. The way you lost yourself in a state of pleasure when you'd ride him, dragging him over the edge with you. He didn't know how he could ever go back after experiencing you.
He knew he was well and truly fucked when he almost let it slip that he loved you during sex a few months into things. It hit him like a truck, rattling him to his core. He'd tried to keep his cool but the second you had departed for the night he let the feeling consume him.
It had gone too far. He had let things go beyond what he should have. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, reeling back in the revelation. Folded it up and locked it away in a deep part of his brain.
He didn't love you. Love didn't exist, especially not for someone like Clayton Emerson. You deserved more, better than he could ever give you. Plus you were young, you had a whole world of experiences still to have. Goals to achieve and people to meet. He had no real place in your life like that.
He couldn't even fathom the image of you ever returning the feelings. There was nothing there for you to love, to see the good in. He barely let down his walls with you anyway. It wasn't a possibility worth entertaining.
He had been such an ass to you at the appreciation dinner he hosted at his home the following evening.
The look of hurt that had played out on your face had nearly killed him. And the way you were clearly trying to avoid him at all costs even before you two had exchanged a single word made him feel like the world's biggest prick.
And fuck you had looked like a dream in that little black dress. The way it hugged all your curves so flawlessly. The open back made him want to trail kisses down the length of your spine. The plunge of the neck line showcasing your breasts just enough to make him almost start drooling in the middle of that room. You were every dream he'd ever had, right there and he couldn't do anything about it.
And then you had just…..disappeared. He'd nonchalantly wondered around the party trying to seek you out, to apologize for being such an ass and maybe try and get you to understand why. Maybe not the full story but enough of it.
He had started to text you but there was no response. You didn't pick up his calls either. That's when the panic started to set in, like a fire blazing through his body from his head down to his toes.
He'd waited for you to show up at the hotel you usually met at, he had a room permanently booked at a place a few towns over. But you never showed, never reached out. Just complete and utter silence and it had been the most excruciating thing he'd ever endured.
He didn't sleep that night, tossed and turned at the haunting feeling that he'd fucked up. That you'd grown tired of his bullshit and were ridding yourself of him for real this time. Every other time the two of you had tried to end things it never really felt like either of you meant it, like it was an empty promise. This felt different.
He should let you go, he knew it was the right thing to do. Being connected to him hadn't ever been a good idea but he was selfish enough to let himself get caught up in things, in you. Now was the perfect opportunity.
He couldn't remember how he'd gotten to your place of work. His hair a mess, his clothes from the night before wrinkled and out of place. He knew he probably looked absolutely insane, he could tell by the concerned looks on everyone's faces but he didn't care.
All he cared about was you. You were still avoiding him, standing at the back and looking somewhere behind him and pretending to listen to what he was saying. He didn't even really know what words were coming out of his mouth, anyway.
He'd cornered you in the parking lot as you were loading up the car for the day. And he'd done something he'd never done before, not with anyone. He'd let you in, just a tiny fraction. Admitting that he did feel emotions and cared for you. Maybe not in so many words but he hoped you caught on.
You had forgiven him quicker than he would've anticipated and definitely faster than he deserved but he was willing to take it if it meant you'd still want to be around him.
He made love to you that night, he could never bring himself to say the words but he used his body to get the point across. And you gave it right back to him.
Every slow, strong thrust into you was a silent confession, his eyes boring into yours begging you to realize how much you meant to him. He kissed every inch of skin he could get his mouth on, sucking and licking and marking your body so you'd remember who was there.
You were a goddess and he worshiped you until you were both tired and shaking and physically couldn't continue. That was the first night the two of you had fallen asleep together and woke in each other's arms the next morning.
That was how things had been for you since.
Clayton had thought that was the biggest storm you two would weather but he was so God damn wrong. He could look back at that time and laugh at how dramatic and absurd he'd been compared to now.
"I love you." It clanged through him even now. Days after he'd told you to leave and you'd stormed out like a tornado.
He swore the look of devastation and humiliation on your face would follow him around like a specter to his grave. He didn't linger too long on the fact that you'd looked at him with total abhorrence when you spat that you never wanted to see him and again and that you would ruin him.
Little did you know you already had. Long before that night. And he didn't care if you told the whole town, didn't care if you marched him naked through the streets screaming 'shame' at him. He would have deserved every minute of it.
Life had adopted a feeling of dullness. Once where there was light and a kernel of hope, there was now a void so dark and depth-less that Clayton wasn't sure there was a way out.
He wrestled with the option of going to your house, despite your threat and desire to never see him again, and beg on his knees for you to please hear him out. Or to respect your space and let you go.
In the end he decided you were better off without him.
Three months passed before he saw you again. And he wished more than anything that he had decide to go home that night after work.
He'd had a long day at the office. Stacks of paperwork, left to collect dust, needed to be addressed. Back to back meetings and no room to breathe or eat. He was running off of caffeine and shear determination to work himself into the ground.
He decided to stop by one of the local bars for a drink and a change of scenery. He knew people would be too drunk or preoccupied to take notice of him. He'd been cooped up in the house when he wasn't working, trying to avoid the possibility of running into you.
It figures that you would show up at the one place he chose on the one night he decided to be bold.
You were there with some friends, a few he recognized from the North Shore unit. You had on a flowy sundress, the print so reminiscent of his Hawaiian shirt that it made his heart pinch and crack.
His mind wandered back to that night, before hell had frozen over. How breathtaking you looked while he pumped into you, his shirt hanging off your shoulders. He swore he could spend forever with you just like that. Too bad he'd completely lost any chance of that becoming his reality.
He froze when he noticed his son sitting next to you, sitting close and whispering something in your ear. His arm was draped over the back of your chair and Clayton's eardrums started to ring at the way you laughed at whatever he had said.
It was when you shifted your head to whisper your response back in Kainalu's ear, your breasts pressing forward toward him, that Clayton's vision had gone red. There was a sudden sharp sting in the palm of his hand and he looked down and saw shattered glass and a river of red streaming down his forearm.
"Shit. Shit. Shit." He cursed, stumbling out of his chair, which had fallen back and clattered on the ground in a loud thud. He looked around for anything he could use to stop the flow of blood.
"Dad? You alright?" Clayton closed his eyes, took a deep breath before he turned to look at his son. He almost whimpered when he saw you there over Kainalu's shoulder, eyes wide with concern.
"I'm fine. Just a little accident." He said through gritted teeth, silently begging for the ground to open up and swallow him whole.
"That doesn't look like a little accident, your look like you're gonna bleed out."
"Don't be dramatic, I'm fine. Go back to your friends." He snapped, he hadn't meant to be so harsh but given the situation he found himself in, he felt it was a valid reaction.
There was a sudden sound of something tearing and then there you were. In his space, gently taking his hand in yours. His heart thudded violently against his chest as he watched you inspect the wound. There didn't seem to be any glass embedded in the cut thankfully, so you made quick work binding the wound.
He realized you had torn a strip from your dress and his heart fluttered. You stayed silent during the entire interaction, eyes never lifting to meet his again. You were a woman with a mission.
But he couldn't look away from you, his eyes almost rolling to the back of his head as the familiar scent of ocean and vanilla and something boozy wafted over him. In another life, in a more secluded place, he would've dipped his head down and pressed a kiss against the bare skin of your shoulder. Then he would've made a trail up the length of your neck, up to your cheeks and finally your lips.
He didn't mean to lean in closer, the image in his brain clouding his better judgment. He pulled back the second your body tensed up and it felt like a bucket of cold water had been dumped over his head.
You finished your work and before he could utter a weak 'thank you', you had turned on your heels and walked away back to your table. He knew he probably looked like a kicked puppy the way he was staring after you, his mouth set in a deep frown. It took him too long to notice his son was still standing there with a look of curiosity and concern on his face.
"I take it you're good then?" Kainalu said after a beat, clearing his throat and shifting awkwardly on his feet.
"Yeah, son, all good." It couldn't be farther from the truth but he forced a stiff smile anyway.
The last thing he saw on his way out of the bar, after cleaning himself up as best he could and leaving a hefty tip as an apology for the mess and disruption, was Kainalu's hand on your lower back. Once again whispering something in your ear that drew out a fit of giggles.
Clayton had half a hope he didn't wake up the next morning.
But he had woken up and did every morning after that, the scene from the bar playing over and over again and sending him into total agony. He tried to make sense of it all, why of all people you could choose would it be his son?
It wasn't that Kainalu was a bad choice. If it was any other girl he'd be thrilled. But there was too much history between the two of you, too much to come to light and make for a catastrophic end for all parties involved. Plus, you made it clear you never wanted to see him again. Being with Kainalu would guarantee interacting with each other from time to time.
But the way you had come up to him, handled him with so much care despite not uttering a word, when you didn't have to left him in an even deeper pit of confusion. Those hadn't been the actions of someone who wished to pretend he didn't exist. His heart skipped a beat at the hope that slipped it's way in. He shut it down immediately.
Knock. Knock.
His head whipped up to see his son standing on the other side of the the kitchen island, his brow raised. "You're alive."
"Why wouldn't I be?"
"I tried calling you to tell you I was stopping by like four times and you didn't respond." Clayton looked around for his phone, patting down the pockets but came up empty.
"Must've misplaced it. Sorry." The uneasy look on Kainalu's face grew more severe. "Everything okay?"
What Clayton wasn't prepared for was his son to flat out ask what the deal between you and him was.
"Excuse me?" Acting defensive had been his first instinct but he feared that might've made him look more guilty.
"There just felt like some weird tension between you two at the bar the other night and any time I'd ask about it, she would get all weird and dismissive. I figured it really was nothing but then I started thinking about it."
"Thinking about what, exactly?" He felt like his stomach was going to fall out of his ass due to the anticipation of where this conversation was about to go.
"You two always seemed so friendly before. I'd catch you off talking for hours it seemed. Like I'd leave for awhile and come back and you two would still be at it. Then I started to notice you both would leave around the same time and the next time I'd see either of you, you acted like you'd won the lottery,"
"Then there was that random day you showed up at my job and I'd never seen you look like that in my entire life. You've always been the most put together person, aside from Grandma and Grandpa obviously. But it looked like someone jumped you before you'd even walked in. And you couldn't keep your eyes off of her for more than a few seconds at a time. But then the next day everything seemed back to normal, better even."
Clayton wasn't sure if he was breathing the entire time his son spoke, laying out all these moment he was sure had gone unnoticed or could've been written off for something else entirely. His ability to form words had been ripped from him, all he could do was stare off into a void somewhere past his son's shoulder.
"She's been different lately. Like she's been on autopilot. She rarely comes out anymore, that night we ran into you had been her first outing in months. And you? You've regressed back into your old self, maybe even worse than before. So I'll ask again, what's the deal with you two?"
He found himself at a crossroads, to tell him the truth or to brush it off like he had read things wrong. That his bad mood and the way things had affected you weren't in cahoots. And fuck just hearing any tidbit about how you were doing pulled at his heart strings.
"Dad?" The sound of Kainalu's pleading tone brought him back to reality.
"I-I….." He tried, his voice like gravel. "W-we were, yes. We were seeing each other."
It was like a weight off of his chest, though one he wasn't sure if he was quite ready to be relieved of. The thought that the truth had been spoken into the universe for the first time was terrifying, unease gnawed at him not knowing what his son would do with the information now in his palms.
"What happened?" He was calm as he spoke, his eyes boring into his father's and Clayton couldn't stop the words now that he'd started.
"She told me she loved me and I-I told her to leave. I regretted it immediately b-but there was no stopping her once I'd r-rejected her." His heart clenched as the memory flashed across his mind.
"Did you reach out to her after that? Tell her you regretted it?" Kainalu cocked a brow, his face now fighting off a look of judgment.
"Trust me, she never wants to speak to me again. She made that very clear."
His son sighed, shoulders dipping. He came around the counter so he stood only a foot away, his hands coming up to grip Clayton's shoulders. He gave him a small jostle, dipping his head so he could look his father in the eyes as he said his parting words.
"Dad, I know you don't have much good experience with women, especially ones from my generation, but usually when they say 'don't chase me' that usually means they want you to chase them."
Clayton stewed over those words for days after, not quite sure what he should do with them. Wasn't it too late now? It had been months since that night, surely if he went to you now you would close the door on him. Reject him the way he had rejected you. Perhaps truly keep your word and ruin him.
But he couldn't help wonder if maybe you'd already chosen to forgive him and were just waiting for him to realize. To stand in front of you and not hold back, to let you in completely and not hide who he was. Allow himself to be loved despite his flaws and the darkness of his past.
All of that dwelling and pondering was put to the side with the Tsunami warning that had sounded at 5AM one Thursday morning. Clayton had just managed to fall asleep a few hours before when his phone blew up with the notification. He stumbled out of bed in a daze, typing out a text to his assistant to gather everyone and get them to the office, including the North Shore rescue unit.
Within the next hour chaos had fully descended. Computers were tracking position of the storm, units were being sent out to make sure no early risers had decided they wanted to get some quiet beach time in. Alerts were sent out to evacuate on foot and head to higher ground, phones were ringing off the hook and Clayton felt like a rope being used in a game of tug of war.
He'd only managed to get a quick glimpse of you before you were sent out on patrol, his heart racing at the thought of you out there and so close to danger. He knew you could handle yourself, you were smart and good at what you did. But he couldn't seem to shake the feeling of dread that now weighed down on him.
Hours passed now with no sign of the tsunami veering off course. It still seemed to be heading towards them but they were making good time in getting people to safety and for that Clayton was glad.
That feeling didn't last long before his son came stumbling in an hour later, out of breath and a look of horror on his face.
"Kai, what's wrong?" He was there, grabbing onto his son's shoulder's to steady him. It took a moment for Kainalu to catch his breath enough to find the words.
"I-It all happened s-so fast." The feeling of dread slowly started creeping up on him again as his son continued. "There were people in the water, we tried telling them to get out but they wouldn't listen."
That's when Clayton remembered Kainalu and you had been put on patrol together. He looked past his son to the door way, praying to whatever powers may be that you'd be standing there. Except you weren't, the door way remained empty. His eyes found his son's again, a look of sorrow and terror stared back at him and Clayton swore he'd never get out of his head.
"She went in after them and they managed to get out. But neither of us noticed the cross sea in the water." No. No. No.
"Where is she?" His voice was so weak, the sound just above a whisper and trembling.
"The w-waves swept her under. She didn't come b-back up."
Clayton fell to his knees, fingers laced through his curls. Violent sobs wracked through him, all the words he'd likely never get to say to you flashed through his mind. He could barely make out the string of apologies coming from his son, or the feeling of Kainalu's body coming over him to shield him from prying eyes.
The last thing Clayton saw behind his closed eyes was the slow stretch of your smile and the ringing of your laughter in his ears before everything went dark.
sammy bryant who comes home after a long day, bones tired and boots heavy against the hardwood as he searches you out.
he finds you in the kitchen, elbow deep in soapy bottle parts and tiny utensils, wearing thick pink rubber gloves he knew you wore to protect your pretty little manicured hands because god forbid anything came between you and a french tip.
there was something about the picture painted before him that had his veins burning hotter, heart beating against his ribs hard enough to ricochet into his ears. the visions of blood spilling onto cracked pavement, the cries of childless mothers and motherless children whose faces burned in his brain every time he closed his eyes dulled to a whisper as his gaze fell upon you.
his house, his woman, proof of his child you’d grown from scratch inside you etched into every surface—safe and sound wrapped in walls he’d raise hellfire to protect. the sweet smile lighting up your face as you turn from the sink to greet him as he saunters towards you, twirls a stray strand of hair framing the face he’d kill for, die for.
a greeting dies on your tongue when he slides a firm hand over your jaw, puckering your lips with fingertips splayed wide across your cheeks as he brings your face to his.
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