Chapter 30: The Woman My heart Yearns For

Chapter 30: The Woman My heart Yearns For
Clark’s POV

The sound of my palm connecting with her cheek echoed louder than I expected.

For half a second, the world froze.

Sarah’s head turned slightly from the impact, her eyes wide…not in anger, not yet but in disbelief. Then a tear slipped free. Just one. Silent. Traitorous.

Something twisted painfully in my chest.

Regret came fast. Sharp. Unwelcome.

But I was a man.

And men didn’t let emotions make decisions for them. Not when everything else was already falling apart.

I clenched my jaw and forced the guilt down. I was already fighting battles outside these walls… coaches breathing down my neck, contracts slipping through my fingers, my name whispered with pity instead of respect. I didn’t need another fucking war at home.

This house was supposed to be my safe haven.

Not another battlefield.

“You will never touch my mother again,” I said, my voice steadier than I felt. “Is that clear?”

She stared at me then. Really stared.

Anger burned behind her tears. But beneath that… something else.

Pain.

That look punched me harder than her words ever could.

She didn’t argue. Didn’t scream. She simply turned and stormed out, her footsteps sharp against the floor until the door slammed behind her.

The silence that followed was suffocating.

I exhaled hard, dragging a hand through my hair. My chest felt tight. Heavy.

“Son…” my mother started softly, reaching for my arm.

I stepped away.

Not now.

I didn’t want explanations. Didn’t want justifications. Didn’t want to hear who was right or wrong.

I just wanted out.

I grabbed my keys and walked out of the house without looking back.

The afternoon sun hit my face, but it did nothing to warm me. I stood there for a moment, staring at my car like it might give me answers.

Where the hell do you go when your own home feels like a trap?

Only one place came to mind.

Her.

The woman from the bar.

I still didn’t know her name.

Three months. Three damn months, and she still lived in my head like she’d signed a lease.

I got into my beat-up car and drove, letting muscle memory guide me to the bar tucked between two forgettable buildings downtown. It was too early for crowds, which was perfect. I didn’t want noise. Didn’t want people.

I wanted to forget.

The bartender didn’t ask questions. Just poured.

I drank fast. Too fast. Whiskey burned down my throat, dulling the edges of my thoughts. Another glass followed. Then another.

Images blurred together… Sarah’s tear, my mother’s teary face, the sound of that slap replaying whether I wanted it to or not.

By the time the room started to tilt slightly, I was halfway gone.

“Fancy always running into you like this?”

The voice cut through the haze like a blade.

I stilled.

Slowly…very slowly…I turned.

And there she was.

For a moment, my brain struggled to catch up. Like it needed time to accept that she was real and not another cruel trick of my imagination.

She looked… unreal.

Her hair fell differently now, softer, framing her face in a way that made my chest tighten. She wore confidence like it was stitched into her skin…effortless, unbothered, dangerous. The kind of beauty that didn’t ask for attention but stole it anyway.

My jaw actually dropped.

I didn’t even try to stop it.

She smiled, amused, eyes flicking over me with that same knowing spark that had haunted me since the night we met.

Damn.

In my head, I catalogued everything like a man starving at a feast.

The curve of her lips.

The way her eyes shone under the bar lights.

How she carried herself like she owned every room she walked into.

She was gorgeous.

No…she was devastating.

I realized I’d been staring too long when she raised a brow, her smile turning teasing.

“Did I interrupt something?” she asked lightly.

I swallowed. “No. I mean…yes. I mean… I’m sorry.. I didn’t expect to see you.”

She laughed softly and took the seat beside me, crossing her legs with infuriating ease. “Funny. I was thinking the same thing.”

My heart thudded harder than it should have.

I couldn’t stop looking at her. I didn't want to. My mind was already betraying me, pushing aside everything else… my wife, my mother, the mess waiting for me back home.

All I could think was how unfair it was that she looked this good.

How unfair it was that she existed at all.

She leaned closer, her perfume faint but intoxicating. “Rough day?”

“You could say that,” I muttered, lifting my glass.

She watched me for a beat, then signaled the bartender. “Another for him. And one for me.”

I stared at her, still dazed.

This woman… this stranger… had a way of making the world narrow down to just her.

As she lifted her glass and met my gaze, I realized something terrifying.

I was already in trouble.

Because as I sat there, half drunk and completely undone, all I could think about was how beautiful she looked… and how easily she had taken up residence in my head.

Rent free.