Chapter244 – We’re together
“How could I not?” Callum sighed. “You inherited your mother’s fragile constitution. If not for timely treatment when you were a child… Still, you must remain careful.”Atticus had done well. One day, when he was gone, he would be the one to protect her.
Just then, Atticus’s voice drifted in from behind. “Master, the room is ready.”
Callum frowned, rising to his feet. “That fast? I’ll check myself. If you’ve been careless, you’ll clean it again.”
But before he could take a step, Atticus’s next words froze him in place.
“I only prepared one room. Clarissa and I will be sharing.”
The old man stumbled as if struck. With a crash, the teacup he had just set down toppled to the floor, shattering into jagged pieces.
The silence that followed was suffocating.
Callum’s chest heaved as he stared at Atticus, eyes wide with disbelief. “What did you just say?”
Atticus’s gaze didn’t waver. He spoke evenly, deliberately. “I said, Clarissa and I—”
“Atticus!” Clarissa gasped, lunging to cover his mouth before he could finish. Her heart pounded wildly in her chest. Hadn’t he promised not to say it? What was he thinking?
She forced a brittle smile and stammered to Callum, “Grandpa, don’t listen to him. He’s just… joking around, I—”
“Girl, enough.”
The harshness in Callum’s voice cut her short. His eyes, sharp as blades, pinned Atticus in place. “Say it again, boy. You and her—what did you mean?” His voice trembled with fury.
Atticus gently pulled Clarissa’s hand from his lips. Her horrified, pleading eyes begged him to stop, but his voice came low and steady:
“Clarissa is my woman now. We’re together.”
The world seemed to collapse into stillness. Not even a breath stirred. Clarissa thought she could hear her own pulse in her ears.
Finally, Callum moved. Slowly, he reached for the heavy wooden stick leaning against the wall. The wood was worn smooth with age, but now it glinted dark under the light, menacing and solid.
“You little bastard,” he growled, his face contorted with rage. “I’ll beat you to death!”
“Grandpa, no!”
The stick cracked through the air, striking flesh with a sickening snap. Callum’s curses and Clarissa’s desperate cries tangled together in the night, over and over.
.......
It went on until dawn. Atticus never tried to run, never raised a hand in defense. He bore the blows in silence, his back splitting open under the strikes. By the time Callum’s second stick had splintered in half, Atticus was kneeling in the doorway, his body streaked with blood, his head bowed.
Callum raised his arm again, but Clarissa darted forward, throwing herself at his side. She grabbed his sleeve with both hands, her eyes brimming with tears. “Grandpa, please—stop hitting him! I’m begging you.”
Her voice cracked, raw with desperation. “If you want to blame someone, then blame me. This was my choice. Just… just don’t hurt him anymore. Please, let’s talk.”
Callum’s arm trembled. He looked down at her—his granddaughter, on her knees before him—and the rage in his chest fractured into sorrow. He let out a long, weary sigh. “Girl… how foolish you are.”
Her tears spilled over. “I know it’s wrong. I know. But I love him. I can’t turn back now.”
The old man’s jaw clenched, his eyes closing briefly as though in pain. Then he reached down, pulling her up by the arm. “Don’t ever kneel for a man. It’s disgraceful. Get up.”
But Clarissa clung to him stubbornly. “Not until you promise.”
Another sigh, this one heavier, older. “Fine. I won’t strike him again. But he kneels there until I say otherwise.”
Clarissa finally rose, her legs trembling. Callum pulled her behind him protectively, his expression hardening once more as he glared at Atticus.
“You will stay on your knees. Don’t you dare get up without my order.”
The words were like iron.
Then he turned, dragging Clarissa back inside the house.
She looked over her shoulder, eyes shining with worry as she watched Atticus.
Inside, Clarissa couldn’t help but glance again toward the doorway where Atticus still knelt.
Callum’s voice, dry and stern, cut through the silence. “Don’t look. A night on his knees won’t kill him.”
Clarissa flinched, turning back reluctantly. “Grandpa, please don’t be angry. Atticus and I—”
“When did it start?” Callum interrupted, his tone suddenly cold and steady.
Clarissa hesitated, then lowered her head, answering softly, “About… half a year ago.”
His eyes narrowed. “That long? Then you’ve also…”
Her cheeks flushed hot, and after a pause she gave the smallest nod. “It was an accident at first, but…”
“Enough.” Callum rubbed his temple, his anger mixing with disbelief. “That damned boy… how dare he—”
Seeing his chest heave, Clarissa hurried to pour tea, pressing the cup into his hands. “Grandpa, don’t work yourself up. Drink, please.”
He took a few sips, the tightness in his chest easing. Clarissa stepped closer, gently massaging his sternum, coaxing his breathing to steady.
When he finally calmed, she spoke again, her voice careful. “I know it’s not what you wanted for me. But Atticus isn’t like other men. You’ve watched him grow—he’s steadier, stronger than most. He protects me.”
Callum slammed the table, making her jump. “Protects you? If he hadn’t blurted it out tonight, were you ever planning to tell me?”
Clarissa quickly slid down beside him, tugging at his sleeve like a child pleading forgiveness. “I wanted to wait for the right moment. I never thought he’d… be so blunt. If you want to punish him, then punish him. Beat him, scold him—I won’t stop you. But don’t stay angry at me, Grandpa. Please?”
He gave her a sharp look. “You call that not stopping? The moment I raised a stick, you cried like the sky was falling.”
Her lips parted, guilt flickering across her face, but she forced herself to stay defiant. “I wasn’t worried for him. I was worried for you. You were so red, so out of breath—I thought you’d collapse. How could I not be scared?”
That earned the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth. “You sharp-tongued girl…” He exhaled, shaking his head. “What worries me is you—and him.”
His voice softened, though the lines of disapproval lingered.
Seeing his resolve wavering, Clarissa leaned in, seizing the chance. “Grandpa, hasn’t life been better with him around? He cooks for me, gives me medicine, even you said I look healthier than last year. If I get sick, he’s there. He takes care of me the way no one else ever has.”
Callum huffed, though his tone held more resignation than fury. “And you say you don’t care about him? You’re practically singing his praises.”
She grinned faintly, emboldened, and shook his hand like a spoiled child. “Grandpa…”
He finally gave in with a weary sigh. “Ah, girls… they grow up, and the home never holds them. Your mother was the same.”
Clarissa pressed closer, her voice sweet. “That’s not true. I’ll always stay by your side. You’re my most important family.”
“And what about that Atticus?” he challenged.
She smiled slyly. “He can come second. You’ll always be first.”
That, at last, made Callum’s shoulders ease. He muttered under his breath, “Big talker…”
Her eyes lit up. “So you agree then?”
“The rice is already cooked,” he said gruffly. “What use is there in objecting now?”
Her face flushed with joy. She threw her arms around him, whispering, “Thank you, Grandpa. You’re the best.”
He chuckled helplessly, patting her back. “Silly girl.”
Then his tone turned firm again. “Go rest. As for him—leave him to me. Being my grandson-in-law won’t be easy. And whatever you hear these next few days, you are not to interfere.”
Clarissa bit her lip. She knew this was the greatest concession he could offer.
As she withdrew, her heart prayed silently. Atticus, please… hold on. You’re truly on your own this time.
Late that night, when Callum’s breathing finally settled into the heavy rhythm of sleep, Clarissa quietly slipped out the window.
Her bare feet barely touched the ground as she hurried to the front door—only to freeze when she saw him.
Atticus was still there, kneeling. Even with his body broken and bloodied, his back remained straight, rigid as a pine.
Clarissa’s heart clenched painfully. She rushed forward, whispering, “Atticus, are you alright?”
He gave a crooked smile. “It’s nothing. This kind of wound won’t kill me.”
Only now, in the dark, did she see the truth. His shirt clung to torn flesh, soaked with blood. The sight nearly made her sick with grief. “Nothing? You’re bleeding everywhere. I’ll sneak inside, find medicine—”
She started to rise, but his hand shot out, catching her wrist.
Before she could react, he tugged her down into his arms.
“Atticus?” she gasped, struggling weakly. “What are you doing? Let me go—”
His embrace only tightened. His voice was low, burning in her ear. “Clarissa, as long as I have you, I can bear anything. No matter what Phoenix says, no matter how furious Grandpa gets—I’ll make them accept us. I’ll prove that no one can love you, protect you, cherish you more than I do. Trust me.”
Her throat tightened. Her eyes stung with tears. “Yes,” she whispered. “I believe you.”
He smiled against her hair. “Then go back. Leave the rest to me.”
“But…”
“Don’t worry. Grandpa’s angry, but he won’t kill me. Just stay out of it—it only makes things worse.”
Still, her gaze lingered on the blood trailing down his back, pooling at his knees. “At least… let me clean your wounds. They’re still bleeding.”
Atticus chuckled softly. “It’s fine. Just scratches. If you really care…”
He tilted his head, and before she could read the meaning in his eyes, his mouth was on hers.
Her eyes flew wide in shock, but his lips pressed harder, parting hers with heat and urgency. For a heartbeat she struggled, but then the taste of him overwhelmed her, his tongue coaxing hers, and her resistance melted into a dizzy surrender.
When he finally drew back, she was breathless, trembling, collapsed against his chest.
“You… you’re impossible,” she stammered, lips swollen from his kiss. “Now’s not the time for this—”
Atticus’s gaze dropped to her mouth, darker than the night around them. He traced her lip with his thumb, and the way it bloomed red under his touch made his voice turn hoarse. “I wanted you in my arms tonight. Since I can’t, I’ll get this little favor in advance. Better than any medicine.”
Her cheeks flamed, anger and desire tangling in her chest. She shoved at him weakly. “You bastard. I should never have come.”
He caught her easily, pulling her close again, his smile infuriatingly calm. “Silly Clarissa. Grandpa would notice if you smuggled me medicine.”
Her lashes lowered, her voice dropping to a whisper. “I’ll try to calm him down tomorrow. Just—don’t provoke him like that again. I thought I’d lose you today.”
He only smirked, reckless and certain. “If the beating was coming, better to take it now. Sooner or later, he’ll have no choice but to give you to me.”
“You—!” She glared up at him, but the edge of dawn was already staining the sky. Reluctantly, he released her hand.
“Go,” he murmured. “Before we’re caught.”
Clarissa bit her lip, lingering one last moment before slipping back toward the house.