Romane von Jo Peters

Clara's POV "Oh fuck… fuck, fuck, fuck"The word left my mouth before I'd fully registered what I'd done. I was on my feet in the same motion, stumbling back a step, one hand flying to my lips like I could push the last thirty seconds back inside."I'm sorry." My voice came out strangled. "I'm so sorry, I…. that was completely…. I shouldn't have done that, I don't know what came over me…I need to go, I'm going to go….""Clara….""I'm sorry." I grabbed my bag from the bleacher seat and I walked or rather ran down the bleacher steps and across the court and through the side door and out into the car park, the light hitting me like an accusation, my heels loud and ridiculous on the tarmac as I fumbled in my bag for my keys."Clara, hey…wait up."His hand closed around my wrist, it was gentle, nothing like Joe's grip this morning."Hey." Cameron stepped around to face me, ducking his head slightly to find my eyes. "Chill. Talk to me. What just happened?"I laughed, it was a horrible, fra

Clara's POV I arrived ten minutes early and sat in the third row of the bleachers.The community centre court was smaller than Bryan's gymnasium, scuffed floors, faded three-point lines, a scoreboard with a broken digit that perpetually read 8 regardless of what anyone scored. A handful of other parents and observers dotted the bleachers. I had worn jeans again, and a soft navy top, and my hair down, and I had told myself twice in the car that this was nothing. It was just a friendly invitation, something to make me smile, like the message said.Cameron came through the side door at exactly three o'clock with nine fourth-graders trailing behind him like a comet tail, all noise and elbows and mismatched trainers, arguing already about who was going to be on whose team. He was in grey sweats and a white t-shirt and he had a basketball tucked under one arm, and he was laughing at something one of the kids had said before he'd even crossed the half-court line.I felt it the moment I saw

Clara's POV I slept in my guest room, I had stood outside our bedroom door for a long time after I came in from the bar last night, my hand on the handle, and simply could not make myself open it. So I turned around, walked down the hall, and curled up on the narrow guest bed still in my clothes, and spent the night thinking about Cameron. The glint in his eyes while I spoke about what I loved doing, he never for once interrupted me but even encouraged me to open up. He looked at me with so much concern when I couldn't even remember a day I did something that made me happy.Then he walked me to my car and called me beautiful, I can't remember the last time anyone ever referred to me as that.It was heavenly.I got up, went downstairs and started the coffee maker.I was standing at the kitchen counter watching the coffee drip, both hands wrapped around an empty mug for warmth, when I heard the front door.Joe looked like he'd slept on a plane, slightly rumpled and disheveled."Where

Clara's POV The gymnasium was so loud with sneakers shrieking against polished floors, parents on their feet, a buzzer that went off like a small explosion every few minutes. It was exactly the kind of noise I needed. Noise meant I didn't have to think.Emma found me in the bleachers before I even spotted her, appearing at my side with two paper cups of terrible hot chocolate and the kind of look on her face that told me she was choosing, with every fibre in her, not to ask questions.“Why the fuck won't you just leave that motherfucker and get a divorce?” Emma asked, peering at me closely.Emma, let's just drop it okay and focus on why we're here.*Ohh please, Clara, why do you keep punishing yourself? You're beautiful, you're smart, you've got your certificate, you fucking don't need that asshole.” “It's not as easy as you think, Emma. I don't want to have a broken home.”“Ughhh, that's bullshit girl. Anyways, let's enjoy my son's game and we'll discuss more on drinks.”******Aft

Clara's POV I heard them before I even got the front door fully open."Ride me, baby... yeah, just like that, that's good…"I stood still on the threshold, my keys still in my hand, the evening air still cool on my back. My brain did what it always does when confronted with something unbearable… it stalled. I tried to find another explanation for the sounds. A television left on. A phone call. Anything."Ahhh ….. just like that…."The moan that followed was low, guttural and thick with pleasure. It was my husband's voice, drenched in desire, a desire he had never, not once in four years of marriage, directed at me.I closed the front door quietly behind me and stood in the hallway of the home I had helped decorate, the home I had filled with throw pillows and scented candles and fresh flowers every Sunday, trying to convince myself it was a home. My heels were silent on the marble floor as I moved toward the staircase."You've got such a slick tongue, yes….ah, just like that, yes, j