21. Grady
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Grady
Marina disappears down the hall for the bathroom, and I hope she’s okay. Earlier at the G&G and the dock, she seemed confident, hopeful, and excited. But here, even before Colin’s dick move, it’s like we took a wrong turn, evident in her uncertainty and wine-guzzling. It’s a family game night—she should enjoy this more than anyone.
As soon as I think it, the realization burns through me like wildfire—I’m a fucking idiot. This must be excruciating for her so soon after the accident. I destroy her chances for a family and then bash her over the head with mine to make sure she knows what she’s missing. I must have an advanced degree in being an asshole for how expertly I’m accomplishing it.
Appetite gone, I dump my plate in the sink between Elena and Mom as they theorize how much money Ashe must’ve put down on the expensive home.
“Does that matter?” I ask. “The entitled prick made that decision without her. What does that tell you?”
I’m unsure what shocks them most—that I volunteered an opinion or what I said. I don’t stay for more conversation, though I hear words like “controlling” and “awfully close to Cora” as I venture down the dimly lit hallway.
Marina’s cane catches on the doorjamb when she exits the bathroom, making her tumble into my arms. Her cane falls, and so does her plastered-on smile.
I say, “You okay?” as she says, “I’m okay.”
“Want to get out of here?” I blurt over her breathless, “I’m a little tired.”
We both take a breath, chuckling at talking over each other. Her grip on my forearms tightens as my hands gently rest at her sides like middle schoolers about to slow dance for the first time.
She doesn’t need my help, but she’s not letting go. I’m close enough to catch the sweetness of the wine on her breath and wonder about the softness of her lips as she lightly nibbles her bottom one.
“There you go again, catching me,” she says softly.
Her words yank me back to that day when she stumbled from her wrecked car, ripped the knife out of her body, and fell into my arms. Here we are again, two feathers caught in the wind.
“I’ll always catch you.”
My promise brings a smile to her face, but a pinch to her brow, too. She’s sad, and my words only make it worse, somehow.
“I love your family,” she says, “but can we go? I don’t want to be rude or unsociable?—”
“Why the hell not? I am all the time. They’re used to it.”
She laughs, hands slipping to my biceps. “They make allowances for you. I still care what they think. I care what you think, too.”
She hesitantly says the last part, and her words hang there, mixing with the warmth collecting in the small space between us. The ends of her long hair dangle, tickling my forearm. Heat rises with my quickening heartbeat—it’s been an age since I’ve been this close to a woman. It’s been even longer since I remember goosebumps over someone’s delicate touch. Or felt twinges of anticipation and hope, staring into someone’s eyes. All those things are happening with her. She is sunlight, peeking slowly through the window, waking me from my self-induced coma, and begging me back to life.
She is too young for me, too beautiful, too goddamned nice. My guilt and her losses render our situation too fucked up for anything beyond friendship. I know this.
And yet, our proximity pushes me into thoughts beyond friendship. I want to say fuck it and dive into her like I did at the lake after losing my fishing rod. Go deep, searching her. Get lost in her. Let her have all of me. My rough hands massaging those sore hips. The aching pressure of my affection sending her against the wall just to feel all of her on me. Lips tangled with mine, hot, and breathy. Clothes off to make an exploration of every single freckle. I’d fucking worship her.
I doubt she’s known real attention or release, full-bodied and mind-shattering—not because of her age but because of the selfish prick she almost married. Maybe he’d “let” her get hers, but never would’ve prioritized it. Not like I would. Not like she deserves.
Not that I deserve a chance with her.
Damn it, Grady. Focus.
Her breath hits my cheek, and I fixate on her eyes. Her widened pupils bring selfish satisfaction. “Who would dare call The Marnie Strange rude or unsociable?”
She laughs. “There’s a first time for everything. Like you calling me Marnie. That might be a first... Not sure I like it as much, coming from you.”
“I’ll stick with Marina, then.”
“Tell me, Grady. Are you trying to stand out, or do you see me differently than everyone else?”
“Both.”
Her lips curve into a pleased smile, and I can’t help but offer one, too.
“Are you a couple now?” Marigold’s voice carries down the quiet hallway, forcing our hands away from each other.
“Damn, Marigold,” I huff. “Don’t sneak up.”
“It looked like you were going to kiss,” she points out, sounding confused.
“We weren’t going to kiss. We’re just friends, and I’m an old man, and it’s none of your business.”
Marina glances at her feet, looking almost disappointed. I pick up her cane and return it to her.
“The hallway belongs to everyone,” Marigold explains weakly.
“You’re right.” I rake a hand over my head. “We were talking. Friends talk.”
“It’s just… you’re less shadowy today.”
I feel less shadowy today, not that I’ll admit it aloud. Even to Marigold. My head droops, wondering how to end this line of questioning without confusing her or making her feel bad.
Marina gives me a curious look as if registering my shadow level. Then, she turns to my sister with a brimming smile. “That’s because I’m his sunshiny nemesis, determined to get him to lighten up .”
Marigold’s lips twitch with a smirk. “He needs to lighten up.”
“Exactly.” Marina meets Marigold in the hall. “Grady’s taking me home, but let’s do a game night soon. Will you let me know when you’re free?”
“Thursday.”
“Thursday, then. Can you drop her off around seven?”
“She has a car,” I report, “when she feels comfortable driving it.”
“I’ll drive. I’ve been to Marnie’s place, so I know where I’m going.”
“Purr-fect.” Marina giggles, prompting Marigold to do the same.
Marina rounds the room, beaming with friendliness—a different woman than the one who scurried into the bathroom. She’s even nice to Colin, though his sheepish look assures me that Mom and Elena had words with him in our absence.
She moves slowly to the car, her cane crunching against the driveway. “You aren’t an old man, Grady.”
Exhaustion laces her words like she’s almost too worn out to say them.
Starting the engine, my shoulders slump. Before I can defend my statement, she speaks again.
“But, I understand why you might feel like one,” she says. “You’re the go-to guy for everything—I know what that’s like. Do you ever just stop and hang out with them?”
“They want me to hang out. I don’t have the time or patience for it.” I pull out onto the main road and head to her place, which isn’t far but feels a world away.
“Why are you their go-to guy for everything?”
“That’s the curse of being the oldest, taking care of the others. But it’s more than that… Dad wanted me to take over the farm when I left school, but my ex-wife, Emma, wanted the city. Emma didn’t work out. Neither did the city. A week after I came back home, I found Dad in the barn in cardiac arrest. He would’ve died if I hadn’t been there. So, now, I’m always there.”
Her nod draws my eye, but she doesn’t say anything for a moment.
“ There , but not present,” she decides. “That’s a ginormous amount of pressure to put on yourself.”
I turn onto Seagrove’s Main Street, hands tightening on the steering wheel. “I fucked up my marriage. Nearly lost Dad. I refuse to let anything else slip through my fingers.”
“So, you catch everyone. Who catches you?”
I don’t have an answer.
“No wonder you’re exhausted.”
“I’m okay. I have nothing to complain about.” My eyes cut to her, sitting sideways in the passenger seat. “You do, though. Want to vent? About the house?”
She groans. “I’ve nothing to complain about, either. What’s the point?”
“Might feel good to tap into some rage, scream into the void, and exercise creative cursing.”
She laughs. “How very pirate-like.”
“Don’t knock it until you try it. You can’t be everybody’s sweetheart all the time. That would be exhausting.”
“Eh, I’m an endless fountain of energy… usually. You’ll see.”
“Can’t wait,” I say. “What’re you doing tomorrow? Working?”
“No, but crafting my resignation letter is on my list.”
“What? No dramatic take-this-job-and-shove-it thing?” I whine. “Come on, Marina. Pirates don’t craft resignation letters.”
“I’ll make it snarky,” she whines, making her cuter than usual.
“Snark is good. I have some time tomorrow. How about I help you with errands or whatever you need? The mall, grocery shopping, anything.”
“Oh, Grady, you want to paint the town red with errands?” she teases as I turn onto her road. “Do you get a lot of dates like this?”
“Um, date?” I glance at her coy expression, surprised by the word. She’s just teasing, Grady. “Not a date. Just friends, spending a Sunday together.”
“Something tells me you wouldn’t normally do errands on a Sunday.”
“No, I’d usually fish on my dock with my dogs, and I’ll still do that… after errands,” I say, pulling up to her house.
She considers my offer, nibbling her bottom lip again. “Grady, want to know what makes me sadder than finding out about the house?”
“What?”
The porch light gleams in her eyes as she turns to me. “Becoming another chore for you.”
“That’s not what I meant,” I quickly defend. “I wouldn’t offer if I didn’t want to.”
“Whatever this is between us, I like it. I like you ,” she says, “but we shouldn’t spend time together if I’m another item on your to-do list.”
I shake my head, pissed for sounding that way and even angrier with myself that there’s truth in it. I have turned her into another chore, though she means more than that. Uncomfortably more. I grip the steering wheel, twisting it in my hands. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”
A soft smile later, she reaches for the door. She’s on the top step of the porch when I stop her.
“Wait, please,” I call, jumping out of the truck.
She turns on the porch, planting her smile weakly, like she no longer has the energy to keep it up. At the bottom step, I take her in unsurely. I should be driving away with my Sunday open and my conscience somewhat cleared.
Instead, I say, “I like you, too.”
Her tired smile widens. “Wow, Grouchy Tripp. Did that hurt?”
“A little,” I chuckle. “I want to spend Sunday with you doing errands. Truth. ”
“In that case,” she says slowly, “errands sound nice.”
“Ten too early?”
She scoffs. “Only for vampires. I’ll be ready.”
“Good night, Marina.”
“Good night, Tripp Grady Tripp.”