Chapter 9
Ihad to be dreaming.
There was no way Hudson Gray had just asked me to give him time to change my mind on our marriage. Not when he was the epitome of a bachelor. Not when every woman who passed his line of sight was his next target—a fact I knew because I’d been forced to witness him in action for over a decade.
There was no unseeing that. No unhearing it.
It didn’t matter what he’d said this morning or this afternoon. It didn’t matter that I’d replayed those words a hundred times already, or that my traitorous heart wanted to believe—
A bitter sound bled from me when the only obvious explanation for Gray’s plea smacked me in the face. “Briggs put you up to this,” I whispered, suddenly so sure that Chloe had seen too much outside the coffee shop and then told Lainey, who’d told our boss.
“Except, he didn’t.”
“Don’t lie to me,” I snapped as embarrassment surged, all that confusion, longing, and doubt I’d been wrapped up in all day making for a volatile storm inside me.
But where I needed the safety of my anger, my throat had gone tight. Where I needed my fortifying armor, it felt like I was crumbling.
Gray’s brows drew together. “Monroe—”
“He just gave me two weeks off in hopes I’d change my mind about leaving, and now you’re here, trying to get me to agree to double that?”
Pale green eyes widened with something closely resembling disbelief and betrayal as a muscle feathered in Gray’s jaw. “That isn’t what’s happening,” he assured me, forcing a condescending sound from my lungs that was far too weak.
“You told me—you told me—you’d been on your way to see Briggs today.” One of my brows lifted in challenge. “You can’t tell me now that the two of you didn’t come up with this in an attempt to keep me here longer.”
His mouth parted only to quickly shut as if he’d just barely managed to hold back whatever he’d been about to say. Drawing in a slow breath, he released it with the words, “Mallory, please.”
My heart tripped over itself and my stomach felt all light and fuzzy at the two simple words.
I wanted to hate him for it.
“That isn’t a denial,” I finally said through clenched teeth.
“You don’t believe anything I say anymore anyway,” he shot back, a breath of a laugh leaving him.
“I can tell you that, yes, I talked to Briggs today.
And, yes, it was about you. But, considering his reminder that the two of us were still on desks, he never once mentioned that he gave you two weeks off.
“Don’t make any decisions right now,” he went on, his voice soft and pleading. “Just give us a month—or at least the same time you’re giving Briggs. Give us these two weeks.”
Tension mounted and swirled as we studied each other before I finally asked, “And what do you think these two weeks will change?”
Those clear green eyes darkened with a determined heat that only served to make my heart beat harder. But when Gray spoke, his voice was soft and resigned. “We’ll see.”
Once we finished eating, Gray had gathered up the trash and was standing at the entrance of the kitchen when he asked, “Can you tell me about it?”
I looked over to see him studying the wall there. More specifically: the paintings on the wall.
“What do you mean?” I asked warily, only then realizing that I’d forgotten he was in my space.
I wasn’t sure how one encounter had made me forget that, but it had.
Then again, maybe it was just because it was Gray.
“How long have you been painting?” he asked before blindly pointing toward the nook I was still sitting in. “And what’s the connection between this and that?”
I couldn’t see what he was looking at, but I doubted they matched in any way.
“There isn’t one.” When he glanced over his shoulder with a raised brow, I sighed and answered, “I’ve painted for as long as I can remember.
It was the only thing I did apart from my dad and brothers. It was what I did with my mom.”
Concern lined his eyes as he nodded in understanding. “Why were you keeping this from me?”
A scoff built in my chest because the idea of anyone knowing—even Gray—was absurd. “I would think that’s obvious.”
He made a face to let me know it wasn’t. “This is incredible,” he said when I didn’t explain. “You’re incredible. But why would you keep it from me?” he asked again, the question more pointed. More meaningful. “You’ve always shared everything with me.”
I shifted uncomfortably at the praise, and even more at the accusation and hurt in his words. My stare fell to the table as I thought of what to say, if anything.
He was right . . . painting aside, I’d always shared everything with him. He knew me better than anyone ever had. Honestly, now that Gray was in here, surrounded by it all, it didn’t feel like enough that I hadn’t wanted him to see one of my weaknesses, because that’s all this was.
But I guess when you’re raised to not have any weaknesses, it’s hard to reveal the ones you’ve always hidden—even if it’s to your best friend and the owner of your heart.
When I heard Gray walking back toward me, I admitted, “It isn’t a practical skill. It doesn’t serve to help build character or strengthen me or protect anyone.” I gently lifted a shoulder as I reached out to trace the grains in the wood. “And it’s a waste of time.”
“Your dad?” he assumed, as if he knew my dad at all. Then again, Gray had heard me quote my dad plenty throughout the years.
I nodded but didn’t respond otherwise.
Dropping to a crouch in front of me, he gave me that smile that had always felt like mine because I’d never seen him offer it to anyone else. Soft and easy, his dimples just barely whispering a hello. “As always, I’m happy to be the one to tell you, your dad’s the worst.”
A humming confirmation rose in my throat because I’d become well aware of this throughout my time with the team.
But I forced myself not to let Gray’s words lead me back down the road I’d already been on multiple times today.
I didn’t need the jarring reminder that my entire family was beyond dysfunctional—me included.
“And this?” Gray continued, gesturing to the adjoining walls near us and following the movement with his eyes before focusing on me. “Monroe, that’s talent you shouldn’t be ashamed of.”
“Okay, enough about that,” I said, needing to move on from something that had always felt like a deep, dark secret. Something that had always been a release and had brought so much shame. “Are you leaving yet?”
He hesitated for a moment before saying, “I don’t think so,” and rising to his full height.
“And why not?” I asked as I stood to follow when he started toward my living room.
He abruptly turned, bringing us inches apart and causing that energy between us to pulse. “Because I only have two weeks,” he said softly. “So, no, Peach. I’m not leaving.”
I swayed a little when he continued toward my living room before straightening my spine and asking, “Then is your plan to hole up here for the full two weeks?”
“And if it is?” he challenged as he dropped onto the sectional, his expression shifting from that arrogant tease to open shock when he landed on the soft surface.
“What is—did I just fall into a cloud?” he asked, almost sounding like he was talking to himself until he added, “And why do you have a couch big enough for twelve people if no one’s allowed here?”
My eyes rolled as I followed him into the room and sat on an oversized, plush chair. I liked comfortable furniture.
He eyed me for long moments before meaningfully looking at the massive sectional. “You’re right . . . you definitely wouldn’t have fit on here.”
“Shut up,” I whispered, the words coming out on a reluctant laugh.
That soft smile—my smile—tugged at his mouth before he relaxed against the cushions. “Yes.” At my questioning hum, he explained, “I’m gonna hole up here for the next two weeks because I’ve decided I’m never leaving this couch.”
“It is a pretty great couch,” I admitted instead of firing back with something about how he needed to leave.
I knew he would . . . eventually.
“What were you planning on doing?” he asked. “Other than dating preppy Davis.”
I studied the narrowing of his eyes and the darkness that passed through them at the statement he’d added on like an afterthought, then finally shrugged. “Start looking for jobs.”
Just like that, panic replaced everything else before he managed an unaffected nod. “Would you stay here? In Texas?”
“Where else would I go?”
“I don’t know, Mallory, I wouldn’t have thought you’d leave Shadow at all,” he countered just as quickly.
I don’t want to leave Shadow.
I forced back the thought and the emotion that came with it and asked, “Does it matter if I get a job somewhere else? And what does it matter if I leave Shadow?” Venom laced the last question.
“You said yourself that you were going to do whatever it took to make sure I didn’t lose my job, even if it meant you did.
” I gestured to him before letting my hand slap onto my thigh.
“Which means, you would’ve been gone. So, what does it matter? ”
He seemed to consider the best way to word his response before answering, “Because if I step away from Shadow, I won’t actually go anywhere.
” He lifted a shoulder, then sat forward so his hands were clasped between his knees and his pale eyes were faraway.
“My family’s close, so I see them often, and this is where I belong.
But you?” His jaw shifted irritably before that stare snapped to me.
“I have a feeling if it’s you, you’re not just gonna step away from Shadow, you’re gonna leave. ”
My lungs strained and my heart did terrible, reckless things as I waited to see if he would finish that thought. When he didn’t, I prompted, “That doesn’t answer my question.”
Gray’s stare didn’t waver as he studied me for interminable seconds. “It matters because you’d be breaking up our team.”
Of course.
Of course he’s only worried about what it would do to our team.