Chapter 34
Thirty-Four
Faye
“Red,” he says carefully, arms extended, palms out.
As though he’s soothing a wild, panicked animal.
As though he’s afraid I’m going to turn and run after that scene I just witnessed.
And considering that Courtney is now banging on the door, her shrieks echoing through the wood, maybe he’s not far off.
She scares me, but more, I hate that he has to deal with her shit.
I don’t love the idea of having to deal with her either.
But I want Gray. I want him in my life, in my bed, in my arms.
Because I like him.
No, I love him.
Not the fantasy. The man.
Burnt banana bread and scorching hot kisses. Red cheeks when I read him the scenes he’s inspired and on camera winks and explaining the sport of shopping cart pushing.
So, yeah, I don’t look forward to squaring off—however that’s going to come—with Courtney, but I’m also not going to discount all the good Gray and I have together just because things might be complicated and messy. That’s not me. Or it’s not me any longer. Because…
That’s not the woman I’m going to be.
I’m not giving Gray up.
I just wonder…why it seems like he’s giving up on himself.
“It’s not what it looks like,” he murmurs as I’m processing my churning thoughts, the big feelings, as I’m registering his body language, the worry on his face, his slow careful movements toward me.
Why does he already think he’s lost me?
“I think it’s exactly what it looks like.” I step off the bottom stair and onto the floor, releasing my tight grip of the banister so I can walk toward him. My pulse is pounding in my ears, but not because I’m afraid.
Because I need to protect him as he’s protected me.
His arms drop, hands clenching into fists at his side. “Red, I didn’t know she’d be here—”
I’m close, close enough to wrap my arms around him, to hold him tight. “I know.”
He’s still, stiff.
“She snuck in through the garage.”
“I didn’t think you’d willingly let her in, honey.”
That has his arms lifting and wrapping around me in turn. But he’s still tense and his words are full of pain. “If I was a good man, I’d end this—leave you to your life that’s not filled with the shitstorm she’s going to bring.”
“Gray,” I whisper, my heart positively aching for him.
Then even more so when he keeps talking…and Courtney keeps banging and yelling.
“I know you probably think that”—a nod to the wooden door that’s being abused by his ex—“and the last few scenes were bad, but the truth is that you haven’t seen anything yet.
” He slides his hand up my back, fisting it in my hair.
He clenches the locks tightly after a particularly loud bang, as though they’re a lifeline keeping him grounded in the here and now.
And though the grip is fierce, it doesn’t hurt me.
Because I don’t think this man has it in him to hurt me.
He’ll bend over backward, take any amount of pain to stop someone else from enduring it.
And somehow he still thinks he isn’t good, isn’t worthy, isn’t enough.
“When Courtney gets something in her mind, she doesn’t give up.” He exhales, drops his hand. “And she doesn’t give a fuck who she has to hurt in the process of getting what she wants.”
“And that’s not your fault.”
He goes still again.
Tense.
Then he pulls out of my arms.
I hate the distance but let him pace away, not missing the edgy movements of his body, the jerky thrusts of his hand through his hair.
But, God, I want to hold him, to find the right words to make him understand, to make this better.
I’m a writer.
That should come easy.
But there’s no easy way to heal the wound inside him.
“Gray,” I say softly.
He stops pacing, but he doesn’t look at me. Instead, he stands there, hands fisted again, head tipped forward, gaze pointed at his toes. His big shoulders hitch up on a breath…then drop on his exhale.
“Will you…” I begin and his head lifts, his eyes finding mine. “Talk to me?”
Edgy is back in an instant. “About what?” he asks guardedly.
“About why you think you need to keep paying for something that isn’t your fault.”
He snorts, gaze flashing behind me as the banging continues. “It’s me who married her.”
“And”—I shift closer but stop short of touching him when his body goes stiff again—“you said you were both young, said you made a mistake. And clearly it’s one you’ve tried to rectify many times over.
So I guess”—I press my side to his—“I’m wondering why you have this need to keep punishing yourself for not being perfect? ”
“You don’t understand.”
“Then tell me.”
A muscle flickers in his jaw. “You don’t need to hear this shit. It’s over, and eventually she’ll get the message.”
Except…she’s still knocking.
And screaming.
“Let’s go up to bed,” he says, reaching for my hand. “I wanted to talk to you about the engineer who’s coming to look at your house.”
“We can talk about that,” I agree, allowing his fingers to wrap around mine. “But we also need to talk about the other thing too.”
Because I let his avoidance slide the other day.
But…I don’t think I can, don’t think I should.
Not if I want more, want to love every part of him.
“Red,” he warns.
It’s not a caution I heed as he draws me toward the stairs…and up them.
Not one I heed as I push my nerves aside and give him words that are too big, too soon…
“The only thing that scene did was make me fall in love with you.”
He falters on the treads, and maybe I shouldn’t have started this on the stairs—for the fall risk alone.
Though, since I’m committed now, I keep going.
“You’re not perfect, and neither am I. But, perfect or not, Courtney doesn’t define you—not back then, not now.
You’re Gray Roberts—captain of the Grizzlies, the man I fell in love with four years ago without knowing anything about you except that I liked the smile on your face and knew you had kind eyes and loved that you looked out for Mrs. Zander when she was ill. ”
He’s quiet for a long moment. Then he tugs my hand again, coaxing me up the rest of the stairs.
“I’m not sure Mrs. Zander actually was ill.”
“She wasn’t,” I says, lips twitching. “Something I know because she told everyone at Wine Club.”
Gray’s fingers convulse around mine.
Then he’s chuckling and the sound soothes the roughest edges of my worry.
I can do this.
I can help him see.
“I miss the old bat,” he murmurs as we walk into the bedroom.
“Me too,” I say softly. “She gave me all the good recon on you.”
“Oh? Like what?”
“Wouldn’t you want to know?”
“I would.” A beat. “That’s why I asked.” He wraps his arms around me, draws me flush against him, curved lips descending toward mine.
I know if he kisses me, I’ll be distracted by all that’s him and I won’t push this.
Then he’ll go internalizing all this hurt, this blame.
And who knows what kind of damage Courtney will cause in the meantime.
I need to tackle this head on.
For me.
And more importantly—
For Gray.
“I’ll tell if you do.”