35. Gracelyn
CHAPTER 35
GRACELYN
I cry the entire drive home.
For myself. For the relationship I left behind. For the future I had planned that’s never going to happen.
All the pent-up emotion of the last few days seeps out of my body, leaking down my face in streams of hot tears. My nose runs and mascara tracks down my cheeks, but I’m past caring. Somehow the release of all the tension and the bullshit feels strangely good.
Cathartic.
Still, my chest aches and my heart hurts at losing Mack. He’s a good man—the best man—but we don’t work. The two of us don’t make sense together. After spending time in his world and understanding where he comes from, I get it now.
His mother’s right.
He needs more, deserves better, than me. He’s Ulysses Fauntleroy McIntire the third, for fuck’s sake.
And I’m just Gracelyn Ann Reynolds the zero. I’m not even Anne with an ‘e.’ Just plain old Ann.
He could have any girl in the whole wide world. A beautiful girl like Tinsley or Jamie. Someone tall and thin, with great cheekbones and a perfect figure. A woman he’s proud to have on his arm, eager to show off to his friends and family.
Why would he pick someone like me? Short and curvy, with skin that mottles at every reaction like a freaking emotional chameleon. I’m cute enough, I guess, but I’m no international model or pageant winner.
I maybe could win Miss Congeniality. If a judge feels generous and you get bonus points for good hair.
Cranking the truck window down, I pop my arm out as I take the exit for Thunder Creek. The cool, fresh air of my hometown flows through the cab and I suck it in. Rolling past the familiar places—the local grocery, the drugstore, the Burger Basket—my body relaxes, the tension unraveling from my muscles.
Then I drive past my mom’s street—Mack’s street—and a sharp pang shoots through me, stabbing me in the chest.
I should have trusted my gut and not fallen for someone as great as Mack.
I knew I could get hurt and still my dumbass went for it.
Stupid, stupid Gracelyn.
Always wanting what she can’t have. Starting way back in grade school and I’ve never learned my damn lesson.
I’m average, regular. A seven on a good day, as Jamie oh-so-helpfully pointed out at the Homecoming dance.
Why do I always try to score the tens of the world?
Why would Mack squander his blessings on someone like me, as his mother so delicately put it?
The short answer: he shouldn’t.
I’m a big mistake, whether he wants to admit it or not.
I can’t let Mack throw away his shot at happiness, ruin his relationship with his family over me. I’m not worth it.
Pulling into my lot, I park Mack’s truck and cut the engine. I close my eyes and breathe in Mack’s lingering scent, the leather soft beneath me. Much as I love the man, I know I have to let him go.
A lone tear splashes onto my cheek, squeezing through my closed lids. How I have any tears left, I don’t know. My chest aches and I’m sad. So, so overwhelmingly sad.
Letting Mack go is the right thing to do.
Hauling my weary body from the truck, I wheel my suitcase up the walkway and unlock the door. I step inside my cozy little townhouse and make a beeline for the sofa, not bothering to turn on a light. Pulling the fuzzy blanket down from the back of the couch, I wrap the material tight around me. A warm, safe cocoon.
More tears leak from my eyes and I cry myself to sleep, feeling oh so sorry for myself.
* * *
The next thing I know, it’s dark outside and a loud pounding is coming from outside. I blink, heart racing as I regain consciousness.
“Gracelyn, it’s me. Open up.” Mack’s deep voice carries through the thin wood of the front door. “I know you’re home. Please. We need to talk.”
Unwinding myself from my blanket cocoon, I shuffle to the door and crack it open. And there’s Mack, still in his dress shirt and pants. He must have lost the blazer somewhere along the way. His hair’s disheveled and the tiny crinkles around his eyes are more pronounced, even in the dark.
“Hey.” I open the door wider, wiping the sleep from my eyes.
“Hey.” A quick flash of relief dances across his face. He shoves one hand in his pocket. “May I come in?”
I shrug. “Sure.”
I owe the man that much. Breaking up with the love of my life via a handwritten note left on the kitchen table isn’t very cool.
Mack slides past me into the townhouse and I catch a hint of his woodsy scent, the cologne I love so much. The smell almost undoes me, my resolve already weakening. Being near him like this is dangerous.
Also, my new reality.
Because how am I going to avoid him in a town as small as Thunder Creek? Especially when he lives next door to my mother and my job.
Shit.
Not only is this the most painful thing I’ve ever done, it’s also going to be damn near impossible.
Shutting the door, I shore up my resolve before turning around to face him.
“Gracelyn—” he says at the exact moment I say, “We need to break up.”
“What?” His face falls, a deep furrow in his brow.
“We. Need. To. Break. Up.” I say each word slowly, carefully, making sure he hears and understands the simple language.
“No.” He shakes his head, sandy waves flopping onto his forehead. “No, we don’t.”
“Yes.” I nod, wrapping my arms around my body to keep from reaching out and touching him. “Yes, we do. I’m not the right girl for you, Mack. That was pretty damn obvious this week.”
“No.” His lips press into a tight, thin line.
“Yes. Your family hated me, Mack. The way I look, how I act, where I come from and what I do. I’m not good enough for them.” My voice cracks and I drop my gaze to the ground, tears filling my eyes. “Or for you.”
“Stop, Gracelyn. Don’t even talk like that.” He steps forward, trying to wrap his arms around me, but I move out of reach. I don’t trust myself to touch him and not fall right back to where we were. Being this close to him physically hurts, and I’m not sure how long I can endure the pain.
“It’s true, Mack. You know it. Don’t deny the facts.”
“Gracelyn, I need you to hear me right now.” He inches forward and tips my chin up with his finger, forcing me to look him in the eyes. “You’re more than good enough for them. You’re better than them. In every way that matters. Your pure heart, the way you treat others, how much you love your family and friends. How much you love me. That’s what matters. All the other stuff is superficial bullshit.”
My lip quivers and the tears spill over, splashing onto my cheeks. I love Mack, more than anything, but I’ll never fit in with his family.
Swiping away the tears, I straighten my shoulders and stand tall. “I love you, too. But I’ll never fit in there, Mack. The family stuff is always going to be there. They hate me. I don’t want them to hate you too. For choosing me.” My voice drops to a whisper and Mack sighs.
“Gracelyn…”
He brushes his thumb across my wet cheek, and this time I let him wrap his strong arms around me. Bringing me close, I press my face to his chest and sob. Chest heaving, I let out all the disappointment and sorrow I have left.
This is goodbye and I want to savor every last second I have with Mack. His arms around me, holding me to him.
“Shh, baby. Don’t cry. Fuck them.” He kisses the top of my head, stroking my hair lightly.
“I can’t not care, Mack. Your parents, your sister. They matter. They’ll never accept me.”
“So what? I’m a grown-ass man. I don’t need Mommy and Daddy’s approval anymore. We can go to the courthouse on Monday and get married and no one could stop us.”
I tense in his arms.
Married?
“Or if you want to have a wedding, that’s fine too. We can have one right here in Thunder Creek. We don’t have to invite them. I. Don’t. Care.” He punctuates each word, his voice firm.
“Mack…” I lift my head, staring up at him. “You should care. They’re your family.”
“Maybe I should. But I don’t. If that’s how they’re going to treat the woman I love, I’d rather not be associated with them.”
Woman he loves.
I’m that woman. The woman Mack loves.
We’ve said those three little words before—lots of times now—but hearing him say it like that hits me deep in my soul.
“But what about holidays? When we have kids? Are you going to keep them away from their grandparents? I would love to believe life is as simple as you’re saying, but it’s not. I wouldn’t feel right cutting them off. From you or our future children.”
He frowns, lips pressed together so hard the flesh turns white. “We never need to see them on the holidays. And if we’re blessed with children, maybe they’ll come around and stop acting like assholes.”
I raise my brow. “Wouldn’t count on it.”
He scrubs a hand over his neck. “Yeah, you may be right about that. But we can cross that bridge when we get to it. All that matters right now is you and me and being together.”
I sigh, wanting to believe him. Buy into the fantasy he’s creating. Us against them, where we win every time.
“That’s not reality, Mack. Much as I want it to be true, that won’t work.”
“Why, Gracelyn? I’ve lived like that for the last ten years. Why should anything change now?”
“Because your mother and sister have a point. You’re Ulysses Fauntleroy McIntire the third. You deserve someone better than me.” I swallow hard over the painful truth.
“Shut up. Right the fuck now. There’s no one on this Earth that’s better than you, Gracelyn. You’re sassy and funny and kind. Beautiful and caring. It’s me who doesn’t deserve you. I’m just a washed-up old football player who builds stuff for a living. Nothing great.”
“Stop.” I bat at his chest. “You’re amazing and you freaking know it. Plus, you have a trust fund.”
“That you don’t give two rips about. You love me for me and that’s what matters.”
He does have a point.
I’ve never cared too much about money. As long as I can pay my bills, I’m happy.
“So what do you say? Will you please take me back?” Mack gazes down at me, his jade eyes pleading. I debate for a long second, rational me and emotional me feuding.
“Yes. I’ll take you back.”
Mack’s face breaks into a gigantic smile, wider than I’ve ever seen, and he picks me up and twirls me around the dark living room.
Wrapping my arms around his neck, I press my lips to his in a hot, slow kiss. I know we haven’t solved all our problems—and we probably never will. But for now, I’m choosing him and me and happiness.
After kissing for what seems like hours, he finally sets me down.
“You hungry?”
“Huh?”
“Are you hungry? My dad had the chef prepare a Thanksgiving dinner to go for us.”
My hand flutters to my chest. “Really?”
“Yeah. My dad’s on board with us. He really liked you.”
Well, that’s a start. “That’s so sweet. I liked him, too. How’d you get here, by the way?”
“Borrowed my dad’s Maserati.”
Of course he did.
“We can take it for a joyride later. Let’s eat. Now that I’ve got my girl back, I’m starving.”
My girl.
I could get used to the sound of that.