Until Then (The Blue Collar Boys #1)

7. Greer

7

Greer

T he moment of impact happens so quickly. One minute we’re talking about our trip and the next . . .

Lights.

Noise.

Glass.

Silence.

His eyes look directly into mine.

“Hi, babe,” he says.

“Brian?”

“What are you doing back here?”

“Brian, we have to get out. Can you move? We have to get out. You have to get out.”

“No, Greer, you do.”

Jolting awake, I attempt to sit up in bed, but the dampness of my skin causes the fabric of my sheets and nightgown to cling uncomfortably. The struggle to untwist my gown does nothing to ease my chest’s panicked rising and falling. Finally free from the confines of fabric, I flop back onto my pillow, each breath shallow and jagged.

Focusing, I inhale deeply, hold it for a count of four, and release it for another count of four. I’ve never been so thankful for a breathing technique in my life; it’s saved me countless times over the last year. My therapist taught it to me as a way of dealing with my anxiety. Minutes pass as my heart rate slows and my breathing evens out. After a few more rounds, I feel rooted in the present.

Typically, by the end of the day, my body is ready for rest, but it’s like the instant my head hits the pillow, it stubbornly refuses to close its tabs, forcing me to lie there as the heavy, roaring silence fills my ears, suffocating me until I eventually drift off into a nightmare-induced sleep.

“I just want to sleep like a normal person,” I say, even though Brian won’t answer. “I haven’t had a nightmare since I moved into this house. I thought I was getting better.”

There’s no timeline.

Luke’s words from the other night echo in my mind. It’d be a lot less confusing and overwhelming if there were a timeline. I’d know exactly when I could stop being angry or sad. I’d know when the nightmares would end. I’d know if it was okay to be attracted to my neighbor.

Shaking off thoughts of Luke, I pull my legs out from my tangled sheets, the carpet soft beneath my feet. With a final calming breath, I glance over where the clock reads 7:00 a.m. A brief shock tumbles through me because I can’t remember the last time I’ve slept this late.

A rustling and groaning fills the air as Duke wakes. Rolling over in his bed, he meets my gaze with his sleepy eyes. With a few deliberate stretches, he rises slowly, then after taking a few steps, he settles at my feet. He’s grown accustomed to my early mornings and poor sleeping patterns. If I’m awake, he’s awake, faithfully following wherever I go.

I stretch my arms above my head, my nightgown rides up allowing the cool air to kiss my thighs. Summer is in full swing, but without keys to my classroom, I’ve got a whole lot of nothing on my to-do list. My phone vibrates from where it's charging on my bedside table.

Sutton : Morning, sunshine.

Sutton : I feel like you’re awake.

Sutton : You’re awake and just reading these, aren’t you?

Me : I’m awake.

Sutton : Good. Now, get out of bed. The world is waiting.

Me : Do you ever run out of energy?

“C’mon, old man bones,” I tell Duke, “let’s go make coffee.” He’s slow to rise, stretching his body before exiting our room. Growing up, our house was always filled with photos of our family adventures, a tradition I carried on when I got married. My empty walls glare back at me now, begging me to do something with them—anything—that might make this place feel like it's mine.

I reach for the can of coffee, taking comfort in the familiar, simple task of placing the coffee liner, measuring out an even scoop, pouring in fresh water, and feeling Luke’s hand in mine— wait, what? A sudden loud roaring sound startles me and my cup slips from my fingers, shattering on the floor.

“What the hell?” I try to clear my brain as I grab a broom from the pantry. The roaring continues, fading in and out. I scoop up the broken bits of glass, taking care not to slice my feet open, and toss them in the nearby trash can. Meanwhile, the noise has gotten louder as if it’s right on my back porch.

“Alright, what the—” I’m dumbstruck when I fling open my white curtains and spot Luke mowing my lawn. His broad shoulders strain through his shirt as he maneuvers the riding lawn mower back toward his house. Sweat dampens the fabric in the dip between his pecs.

I’m frozen, entranced watching him drive the mower, knees splayed out due to his thick jean-clad thighs. Luke Bradley is built like a brick house with a wide chest, broad shoulders, and a trim torso. Today, he’s wearing his baseball cap backward.

I swallow past the lump in my throat. My fingers twitch and my body tingles as I’m pulled back to memories of the other night—his rough hand caressing my leg, my body coming alive when I caught him staring at me, and his grip when he held my hand. It felt like emerging from the dark and experiencing the world for the first time. But no one, aside from Brian, has ever made me feel like that.

It’s too early, I’m not supposed to feel those feelings or let someone touch me like that, except that’s all I seem to think about when I look at Luke. Mom’s advice comes back to me, and I realize suddenly they’re the same Luke voiced the other night. There’s no timeline.

“It would be a helluva lot easier if there were a timeline!” I shout at Luke through the glass. Shaking my head, I stomp onto my patio until I’m in his line of sight.

“Hey!” I yell, suddenly angry and prepared to unleash hell on him. “Luke!” I holler again, louder this time, even waving my arms above my head so he sees me. Duke thinks I’m playing and takes it as an opportunity to run circles around me, squeaking that damn hot dog toy.

“Not now, Duke. Luke!”

Suddenly, Luke’s eyes meet mine, and the engine cuts off.

“Greer?” His brow furrows. I’m sure he’s wondering why I’m out here in my nightgown hollering at him while Duke runs laps around me like a maniac.

“What are you doing?” I realize too late that I’m still yelling and drop my arms.

Time slows as he stands up on the mower, swings his leg back over the machine, and steps away from it. With the bottom hem of his shirt, he wipes at the sweat on his upper lip. A small sliver of his toned stomach catches my eye.

Huffing a breath, I bring my eyes back to his, and a damn smirk crosses his face. Because, of course, he catches me ogling him. He knows I like what I see.

“What’s up, G?” He stops short of my patio and tucks his thumbs into the pockets of his jeans.

“What are you doing?”

“Mowing the lawn.”

“I can see that. But why? It’s also really early. Are you trying to torture me?”

His chest rumbles with a laugh. “Definitely not trying to do that. But if I don’t get this done soon, it’ll be a jungle out here.”

“I know why people mow lawns. I’m not an idiot. I mean, why are you mowing my lawn?” I place my hands on my hips.

Luke drops his gaze to the ground in front of him, bringing a hand to grasp the back of his neck. “Because . . .”

“Because what, Luke?”

“I just thought maybe it would make things easier for you.” His gaze slowly makes its way back to my face.

I shake my head. “What do you mean?”

“I just,” he places his hands back in the pockets of his jeans. “I just thought with your leg and all that, mowing the lawn might be difficult for you. Plus, I was going to be mowing mine and a few other people’s today, so I figured why not.” With a shrug, he meets my eyes once more.

Every time we’ve talked before, he’s been nothing but calm and confident, but today he seems nervous or maybe that’s guilt I’m picking up on? But wait, why would he feel guilty? Besides mowing my law, he hasn’t overstepped—And then it hits me. Someone told him more about the accident.

My stomach drops because this right here is exactly why I don’t like people knowing the details of what happened. They always look at me differently and treat me like I’m not capable or about to shatter into a million pieces. I want people to see me for who I am and not what happened to me.

“My leg?”

“Well, yeah,” he gestures to my left leg, the various scars visible beneath my short nightgown. “I’m not blind, G. I see your scars, and I notice you limp sometimes when you play with Duke.”

“It’s getting better,” I say, crossing my arms.

“What happened to it?”

“Why bother asking when it’s clear someone already told you all about it.”

“Actually, I was there,” he blurts.

The words hang in the air between us.

“You . . . were . . . there ?” My breath catches as I drop my hands to my sides and fidget with the fabric of my nightgown.

Luke takes a deep breath, muttering to himself, “Fuck. This is not how I wanted to tell you.” He gestures to the gray wicker chairs on my back patio, and we sit. The air around us is still, as if nature itself is waiting on bated breath for what Luke will say.

At first, he says nothing. Just sits silently with his hands steepled between his thighs, gaze fixed on the ground in front of him. Suddenly chilled, I tuck my legs beneath me, pulling my nightgown down to cover them.

“The night of the accident,” he finally says. “I was the captain on duty and the incident commander.”

My shoulders slump with an invisible weight. It’s one thing for people to know about the accident and have an unclear understanding of what really happened; it’s a whole other thing knowing Luke witnessed to the worst moment of my life.

“I didn’t realize it at first. Before you came over, Sutton and I were talking—”

“You were talking about me?” Agitation floods my system. I know people talk about me and what happened all the time, but I was kind of hoping things might be different with Sutton and even with Luke.

“Yes, we were, but—shit—this sounds worse than it actually is.” His hands slide over his face and around his neck before taking his ball cap off. There’s a slight curl to his hair that’s damp with sweat. He twists his hat in his hands. “I swear it’s not how it sounds. Sutton just mentioned that you and she went for coffee.”

I nod my head. “Yeah, we did.”

With a calm inhale, his eyes meet mine. “Anyway, Hunter came in and wanted to know what we were talking about. When Sutton told him your name, he was surprised I didn’t remember that we’d responded to the accident.”

“Hunter was there too?” I interrupt.

“Yes, he was one of the officers on scene.”

“So the other night at the bonfire, you all—what? Rehashed the whole scene?” I clench my fists, amazed at how a moment that irrevocably changed my life is now fodder for conversation.

“No, Greer. No. ” He hangs his head, shaking it back and forth. “He mentioned it, and it all came back to me.”

My spine straightens, and my shoulders tense. “Well, since you were there, you know what happened.”

“Actually, I don’t—” he pauses, rubbing his hands together before saying, “You know what? This is not how I expected to have this conversation.”

“I’m sure,” I quip, my voice sharper than intended. My heart and mind shut down, a cold wave of uneasiness settles around me.

“Listen, Greer,” he leans forward, arms stretching the sleeves of his shirt, and places his hand on my knee.

My cheeks flush from his invasion of my space. I’m not sure if I want to cry or throw up.

“When you’re ready to talk about that night, we can,” Luke says, his voice low and impatient. “If you never want to talk about that night, that’s fine too.”

“Okay, but . . .” His words echo in my head, distorting and merging with the sound of my racing heartbeat. It’s like the ground beneath me has crumbled, leaving me teetering on the edge of an abyss. “I wasn’t prepared for this.”

“Me either, but we’re neighbors. Friends even?” Another boyish shrug. “I see your leg bothers you.”

“You’re very observant.” Feigned sarcasm drips from each word. The grin on his stupid, handsome face pulls me back from the edge. This isn’t Luke’s fault, and, if anything, I’m glad this confession of sorts came out today and that he didn’t try to hide it from me for fear of hurting me.

“I’m already out here, and I’d like to do this for you. Please let me.”

“Who says I need your help?” My eyebrows raise in question.

“Well,” he clears his throat, taking his hand from my knee. I wish he’d put it back. “No one actually.”

“Look, Luke,” I untuck my feet and cross them at the ankles. His attention catches on the newly exposed skin. My stomach whooshes because I really like the way he looks at me, and I probably shouldn’t. “I appreciate it, but I’m not asking for you to be there for me in that way. I want—need—to learn how to help myself and do things on my own now.”

“Okay.” His voice is steady as he stands from the chair and puts his hat back on.

“Okay?” I mimic.

“Yep. I’m sorry for overstepping.”

“Apology accepted.” I nod and force a smile.

Taking a few backward steps, he reaches down to scratch Duke’s head, “I can’t promise it won’t happen again. It’s something I’m working on. But we’re friends and neighbors, so if you need me,”—he gestures to his house—“don't hesitate to ask. I’m right next door.”

Standing from my chair, I watch him return to his side of the yard. He glances back at me and rubs his hand over his mouth and down his neck. Without losing eye contact, he throws his legs over the mower and starts the engine. It’s not until he turns it back toward his side of the yard that he looks away.

“C’mon, Duke,” I mumble. “I need coffee.”

The mower’s ruckus continues as I putter around my house. I don’t know what it is about Luke. He just appeared in my life and has somehow nestled himself under my skin.

Maybe I was too harsh on him?

I gravitate toward my back windows. My eyes track him as he goes back and forth across his lawn. Even from this distance, I zero in on his forearms and biceps straining as he maneuvers the machine. He pauses to wipe sweat from his brow and looks right at me.

“Shit!” Before I can look away, he juts his chin toward me and grins. Duke nudges my leg. “Yeah, I know.”

For the second time this morning, I fling open the sliding door, and make my way across the yard. He never breaks eye contact, and with each step tingles trickle down my spine. I stop directly in front of him.

“Hi,” I say.

“Good morning.”

“I’m sorry.”

“No need to apologize.” He reaches for my hand, and I reach back, the touch tentative at first, as if testing the waters.

“It’s weird knowing that you know and that you were there.”

“I know.” Inhale. Exhale.

“I broke my leg in several places and ruptured my spleen during the accident. I had a few surgeries to repair the injuries.” He pulls me closer until my knee bumps his. I don’t exactly understand this urge to tell him these things, but I continue anyway. “I graduated from rehab with flying colors, but the doctor says I will most likely always have occasional problems with my leg. I’m able to work out, and it’s stronger now. Yes, it causes me issues from time to time and probably always will.”

His rough thumb brushes back and forth over the back of my hand. Heat crawls up my arm, hairs standing on end.

“It’s not that I don’t appreciate your sort of offer to help.” I side-eye him, trying to ignore the buzzing in my ears. “I’d just like to do things for myself too. It’s always been”—my heart jumps to my throat—“Brian or Mom and Dad doing everything for me. I just . . .” My breathing accelerates.

“It’s okay, sweetheart. Just slow down.”

“I know everyone wants to help, but I don’t need their pity. And I’d just like to learn how to do some of this on my own. Even with my messed-up leg.” I suck in a deep breath. Duke brushes his head against the bare skin of my thigh. Luke has yet to take his eyes from mine.

I like the grin that appears on his face. “Would you like me to teach you?”

“Say what now?”

“You heard me. Would you like me to show you how to use the riding mower, and then you can mow the grass?”

His hand is warm against mine. Inching closer, I place my other hand on his knee. He closes his eyes as his lower lip disappears between his teeth. The action pulls me in and suddenly I don’t want to be angry or guilty or any other emotion.

I just want to feel.

I reach forward, sliding my hand along the rough stubble on his jaw and cup his cheek. His jaw clenches as my thumb pulls his lip from between his teeth with an audible pop.

“Greer?” His voice is low and husky. My eyes follow my own movements. My thumb gently traces the skin below his eyes. Goosebumps slither up my neck. His skin is sun-kissed, and he has grooves around his eyes. From anger? Laughter? I’m overcome with a need to know this man who draws me to him.

“Greer?” he repeats with a rough whisper, opening his eyes. They pull me into their depths, and I’m lost in swirls of autumn. I know the desire in his eyes matches mine.

“Yes?” I whisper, lowering my hand from his face, tucking it into my side.

“What do you want?” He casually releases my other hand with a gentle squeeze.

“Everything,” I tell him. Wait, what? “I mean, y-yes, I would love it if you showed me how to use this thing.”

“Okay, sweetheart.”

My cheeks burn, a flush moving down my neck to my chest.

“But,” he says, “even though you look beautiful, you might want to change out of your nightgown.”

I jolt, shaking my head to clear the fog. Looking down, I groan realizing I’ve come out here in my pajamas. Again. Will this man ever see me in anything else? Guilt lodges in my throat at the thought of wanting him to see more of me more often.

“Oh god, I’m—I don’t know what that was. I am so sorry.”

“Stop apologizing. Now, go get changed.”

Duke’s bark startles me. With a weak smile, I dash inside.

Inhale. Exhale. I remind myself again, thinking back to all the times Brian said the same words when I was speaking too fast or he could sense my rising anxieties.

As I’m throwing on my cutoff jeans, T-shirt, and sneakers, my phone buzzes from the nightstand.

Sutton : I have no showings today. Want to get brunch?

Sutton : Please. Don’t make me be a lonely goose today.

Me : Whatever energy drink that runs through your veins, give me some, will ya?

Her messages ping in one after the other, making me laugh. Ever since we had coffee together, my days have been filled with strings of texts from Sutton. She’ll send a text or meme or GIF about literally anything. I’ve begun to anticipate the alert from my phone signaling a new message. I’m not sure if it’s her incessant texting or some other wizardry, but it’s been easy opening up to her, telling her pieces of our life and even hinting at the details of the accident.

Sutton has yet to shy away from anything I’ve told her, and she’s never left me hanging. I knew I was lonely, but I hadn’t realized how desperate I was for a friend until Sutton found me. And I think maybe she was too.

Sutton : No magical energy potion here. Just me.

Sutton : So, brunch?

Me : I can’t.

A smile breaks across my face as I think of Luke outside, waiting for me. A lightness fills my chest. Usually, when I talk about my past, it’s hard and overwhelming, but somehow, with Luke, it feels good. It feels right. The conversation we just had was probably the most honest I’ve been with anyone aside from my therapist lately. Sure, Mom and Dad are incredibly supportive, but I sometimes feel bad burdening them with my grief while they have their own to deal with. It’s not every day Death almost claims your daughter and rips her life to shreds.

Gemma tries to connect with me, but she lives thousands of miles away. As much as I’d love for us to have a close sisterly bond, it’s just not in our cards. Even with Sutton, I know I’m holding back. I’m afraid if anyone sees all of my scars they’ll leave me too.

Sutton : Why? :(

Me : Luke is teaching me to use the riding lawn mower.

Sutton : Why would you want him to do that?

Me : Because using a regular mower would take forever. Plus, he offered, and I embarrassed myself so . . .

Sutton : What? How did you embarrass yourself?

Me : I temporarily lost my ability to think, and my hands might have done a little walkin’.

Sutton : G, this isn’t a Shania Twain song. I need details!

My face flushes, remembering the way his skin felt under my palm. “God, Brian, what’s going on with me.”

I’ve only known the touch of one man. Memories of Brian’s skin on mine, his hands on my body have played in my daydreams often since I lost him. My own hands have mapped and brought pleasure to my body with the memories. Missing his touch, his kiss, his weight.

Now there’s Luke.

He reaches for me without thought, holding my hand, caressing my arm. I shiver at the memory of his hand grasping my ankle. Every time our skin meets, electricity zips from the contact and shoots out the top of my head. But that electricity also feels tainted with guilt because I like the way Luke's hands feel on me, and I like the way it feels to reach for him.

“How dare I feel tempted to do new things? How can I live a life when you can’t?”

Sutton : Girl, I don’t know what’s going on, but you better be prepared to spill all details.

Me : Of course. Later though?

Sutton : Ground Up at 11:00. Tell my bro I say hi.

Sutton : Gah, I’m dying in anticipation. Can't you give me one teeny-tiny detail?

Me : I gotta go now. Pray for my grass.

Sutton : Ah, the queen of avoidance.

The queen of avoidance? I grab a ball cap and throw my hair up into it. I don’t avoid things, do I? Hell, I’m pretty sure I’ve done my due diligence starting therapy a few weeks after the funeral.

I know at first I was an iron vault, struggling to tell myself the story, let alone say it aloud to others. Every time Muriel and I had a session, I’d try to talk, but the words would become trapped. Unwilling to be said. Over time, it became less difficult. I ripped open every scar, laying my bits and pieces out for a complete stranger to figure out.

I thought my scars had healed and faded, but maybe not?

“G!” Luke shouts from the yard. “Get a move on, girl!”

When I reemerge from the house, he’s waiting for me with a bright smile. Inhaling deeply, I bury my racing thoughts away. I’ll deal with them eventually, but today is not that day.