Chapter 21 Lynley #2
My mouth drops open as I whirl around to face Grafton. “What have you done?”
His grin is crooked. “Gone completely overboard. And I have no regrets about it.”
I don’t know what kind of superhero assistant Grafton has, but she manages to get an air mattress and all the bedding I need delivered to the house within an hour.
Grafton’s the one who goes to the door, tipping the delivery driver before he comes back in, but I frown when I see two boxes at his feet.
“What…?”
His blue eyes are hot enough to melt ice as he locks them on me. “I’m not leaving you and the kids to spend the night here by yourselves, especially when Knox hasn’t organized the new security system yet.”
I open my mouth to argue, but it takes less than a second before I’m snapping it closed, a slow, creeping realization warming my blood. I want him to stay. It’s not about feeling unsafe, but just about not wanting him to leave yet.
My cheeks warm as the epiphany settles into my chest, my gaze dipping away from his. I know how he feels. He’s been really clear about that. But I’m not ready for him to know how far I’m actually leaning toward him.
It’s too soon. The words are a low chant in my mind, reminding me of the mess I’m still entangled in. But another side of me is desperate to take something just for me.
We set the beds up together; one in the primary suite, and the other in the living room, and then it’s an easy decision to get pizza delivered—especially considering the lack of anything in the kitchen.
Luckily, there is a rug in the trunk of my car, and we set up an impromptu picnic in the middle of the living room.
It doesn’t take long for the kids to warm up to Grafton.
Mase is already comfortable with him, sold on ice cream and the way Grafton talks to him like he’s an adult.
And now Ginny is spinning wild tales to him, her eyes sparking with excitement whenever she makes him laugh.
I think a lot of it comes down to him giving them his complete, undivided attention, listening avidly before asking questions.
He doesn’t try to control the conversation, and he has infinite patience when it takes Ginny several tries to get one sentence out in her rush.
Grafton told me he never reached the point of having children with anyone, but he would make a good father.
Mase is even more amazed as he watches him put away almost two pizzas, compared to just the half that Mase proudly demolished.
“How can you eat so much?” my son demands, eyeing him suspiciously, like he might be playing a trick and hiding the pizza somewhere other than his stomach.
“I’m a big boy,” he says wryly, and Mase’s gaze turns critical.
“You are,” he agrees carefully, shooting me a sly look. “Did you happen to eat vegetables growing up?”
I bite the inside of my cheek to hide my grin, even as Grafton says seriously, “I did. A lot of broccoli.”
Mase’s nose scrunches up comically before he grumbles, “Figures.”
Once the pizza has been eaten, the kids tromp back upstairs to explore their bedrooms. I sit back against the wall, and Grafton settles beside me, leaving only an inch of space between us.
“Knox got back to me,” he starts quietly. I tuck my legs into my chest, resting my cheek on my knees, watching him. “I called him on the way here and asked him to look into your sister and mother.”
My eyebrows lift. “That was quick.”
His cheek twitches. “I said the same, and his words were, ‘They’re basic bitches.’” He pauses a beat. “You don’t mind that I asked him to do it?”
I shake my head. “No. I know you’re looking out for me.” My eyes go to the doorway before I correct, “Looking out for us.” His eyes soften as I lean over, nudging my shoulder into his side.
“Caroline was taking monthly payments off Christopher—”
“We knew that.”
“Right. But she was also transferring a percentage to your mother each month.”
I close my eyes, sinking my teeth into my bottom lip, wishing I were more surprised. “My father had life insurance,” I whisper after a long minute. “He left her money when he died.”
Grafton wraps an arm around my shoulders, pulling me into his side. The touch is friendly, comforting. And even though my heart skips a beat, I appreciate it.
“According to the file Knox sent me, she’s got a gambling problem.” My eyes flare with shock, but he quickly adds, “Not casinos or anything like that. But the apps you can get on your phone. She’s burned through everything she had from your father, and she’s struggling to cover her bills.”
My eyes burn, but I don’t let a single tear fall. “If she’d asked me, I would have helped her,” I say quietly. “I would’ve found a way to help her. Instead, she basically sold me out, and then told me it was my fault.”
“I’m sorry,” he murmurs. “I know something about shitty family members, but I wish you didn’t.”
“It’s not your fault.” I drag in a lungful of air, steadying myself. Needing the distraction, I shoot him a curious look. “You gonna tell me about your shitty family members?”
“I’ll tell you anything you wanna know.” He winks, his mouth curling up, and I believe him. “My parents are good people—hardworking. They had enough money to last them a lifetime. Maybe even longer…but they wouldn’t consider retiring until their bodies gave them no other choice.”
I smile, hearing the love he has for them in his voice. “Where are they now?”
“Living their best lives in Florida.” He chuckles. “I visit as often as I can.” He pauses, leveling a grin at me. “They’re gonna love you, you know.”
My cheeks warm under his stare. “I’m still married, and you’re talking about me meeting your parents,” I joke weakly.
“Just preparing you for our future.”
I like the way those words sound on his lips—our future. But I redirect us back to the safer subject. “They don’t sound like shitty family members.”
“No.” His brows draw low, his humor slipping away. “That would be my brother, Thatcher. He’s an entitled little shit, and his daughter isn’t much better.”
Something itches at my brain, a memory of dark hair and red lips flying through my mind. “You introduced me to her,” I say. “At Reynolds & Media. Angelica?”
“That’s right,” he admits, and something dark edges into his voice. “And there’s actually something I need to tell you.”
“That sounds ominous.” A weight settles in my stomach.
He reaches across his body with his free hand, tangling our fingers together and squeezing. I lean more heavily against him, his warmth soaking into my body. “One thing I’ll always give you is the truth, darling. Even when it absolutely sucks.”
I give him a wavering smile. “So, this is gonna suck, then?”
He doesn’t smile back, his thumb brushing along my skin. “Angelica claims she’s pregnant,” he says clearly, so there is no mistaking his words. “She’s saying it’s Christopher’s.”
My stomach roils, making me regret eating the greasy pizza. “Please tell me you’re kidding,” I plead weakly, but he only shakes his head slowly. “You said claims. Does that mean you think she’s lying?”
His expression darkens. “It means I wouldn’t put it past her. But this is a good thing, Lynley.”
The sound that escapes me is bitter. “How can this possibly be a good thing?”
“No judge in their right mind is going to give in to his demands with a possible pregnancy. It shows that the mediation he’s asking for is in bad faith, especially when his encounters”—he grimaces at the word—“with Angelica happened so recently. This, coupled with his hiding money, proves that he’s not trying to reconcile out of feelings for you or the kids. ”
I tug my hand from his, rubbing my fist against my chest. “I just want this to be over.”
“I know. And I’ll make sure it happens.” He squeezes my shoulders, his woodsy cologne filling my lungs. “Trust me for a little longer, okay?”
“Okay,” I whisper.
I pull the covers up to Ginny’s chin, smoothing them down before sitting on the edge of her bed. She gives me a tired smile, her brown eyes heavy. “Momma.”
“Hey, baby,” I murmur, tracing a finger down the slope of her nose. “How’re you doing?”
“I like my new bed. Is it going to come home with me?”
It’s the first time she’s asked since we got here, too excited about her new bedroom to worry. I knew it was only a temporary reprieve, but now isn’t the time to get into the thick of it.
“No.” I stroke a hand over her forehead. “This bed stays in this house.”
“Oh.” She frowns. “But there’s no couch or TV here.”
I chuckle, amused by her priorities. “How about we go shopping, then? You can help me pick out some new furniture.”
“I guess that would be okay. I wanna go see Daddy soon, though, okay?” She rolls onto her side, tucking her hands under her plump cheek. “I miss him.”
No matter what Christopher has done, I will never interfere in his relationship with the kids. But that doesn’t mean the words don’t taste like ash in my mouth as I tell her, “I know, baby. I bet he misses you too.” I lean down, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “Sweet dreams, Ginny. I love you.”
“Love you, Momma.”
Her eyes are already drifting closed as I flip on the night-light—one that projects colorful stars onto the ceiling—and my breath catches at Grafton’s thoughtfulness. With one last look at Ginny, I ease the door closed and head for Mase’s room, but slow down when I hear the low murmur of voices.
“...with my friend for a sleepover, and his dad took us to the baseball field.” His voice lowers, and I picture his scowl as he adds, “My dad’s never taken me to the baseball field.”
“Maybe we could go sometime,” Grafton suggests. “I’m not any good at baseball, but I’m sure you can teach me some moves.”
There’s a long pause. “I think I’d be okay with that.”
“What happened after you went to the field with your friend?”
“Well, we were walking back to the car afterward, and I saw my dad. He was standing on the sidewalk, and I thought it was weird because I heard him telling my mom he was working all weekend.” The more words that spill out, the more upset Mase grows.
Everything in me demands that I step through the door and yank my boy into my arms, but something holds me back.
“I don’t know who she was, but he had his arm around her. ”
“Like, in a hug?” Grafton asks quietly.
“I guess, but…it made my stomach feel funny. And then he kissed her the same way he kisses my mom.”
“It’s okay, Mase,” Grafton reassures him softly. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“I did,” he says, and his voice is choked like he’s fighting off tears. “I did. I knew it was wrong. I knew it. But I never told my mom.”
“This isn’t your fault, Mase.” The words are firm but gentle. I press trembling fingers against my mouth, trapping all the sounds inside. “You’re just a kid, trying to protect your mom.”
“When you see something wrong, you’re supposed to tell,” my son argues stubbornly. “I knew it was wrong, but I didn’t tell.”
“Why didn’t you?” Grafton asks simply.
“I knew it’d make Mom sad. I don’t know how I knew, but I just did. And I didn’t want her to be sad.” There’s a shaky inhale of air. “But now she’s sad anyway.”
“Come here, kid.” There’s a rustle of movement, and I can’t stop myself from stepping forward, peeking around the edge of the door.
He is kneeling next to Mase’s bed, while my son sits on the edge.
Grafton’s holding him in a tight hug, my son’s face pressed to his shoulder and his cheeks wet with tears.
His shoulders are shaking with the force of his emotions, and my heart cracks.
This was never supposed to be his burden to carry, and knowing he’s been just trying to protect me this whole time…
“Is my dad bad?” Mase whispers brokenly. “Am I bad?”
“He’s not bad,” Grafton tells him firmly.
“He just made a bad choice. And you? No. You might not have told your mom straight away, but sometimes we hold on to truths that might hurt someone, even when we know we shouldn’t.
There’s no shame in trying to protect the people we love.
You’re not bad for wanting to look after your mom, Mase.
And the way you’re feeling now? It’s because you’re a good person. Through and through.”
There’s a long pause, but Mase stops trembling, his body leaning heavily against Grafton’s. I try to remember the last time Christopher hugged him, and come up blank, which only sharpens the pain beating at me.
“Do you love my mom?” Mase suddenly asks, and my eyes lift to Grafton’s face, finding his stare already locked on me. My breath stalls in my throat, eyes widening with alarm, but he doesn’t blink, refusing to let me look away.
“We’re friends, your mom and me,” he tells my son quietly, his attention never moving from me. “But I think I could love her.” My eyes flare with surprise at his candor, but then he shoots me a wide smile before looking back down at Mase. “Bet I could love you and your sister, too.”
“Huh,” Mase murmurs, his brow knitting in thought. “That might be alright.”
“Is that because of your new bedroom?” Grafton teases, and my son lets out a sweet giggle.
“Maybe. And the playground outside, too.”