27. Marnie
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Marnie
The swamp is surprisingly lovely. The morning light hits the still water, reflecting the perfect blue sky. Dragonflies skitter over the surface like Hungry Hungry Hippos , snatching up bugs. Cattails and overgrown grasses line the banks, lazily waving hello to the Spanish moss high in the trees overhead. A white heron regally prances along the opposite bank while algae-covered turtles sun on a broken log perched in the shallow water.
I take another breath, deciding this could be my spot. The boys have their little place to get away. Why shouldn’t I?
Who knew a swamp could be so beautiful?
“I’m sorry about the other night,” I say. “At my door… I’m sorry for being insensitive. With my appearance and especially my thoughtless jokes. I selfishly forgot how that day was traumatic for you, too.”
He shuts his eyes tightly like he’s trying to block the image. “What did we say about apologies?”
Warmth spreads from head to toe at the sound of his low, raspy voice— this after I promised myself no more naughty thoughts about Grady Tripp.
No frowns. No fears. No tears. No imaginary sexcapades with Grady Tripp.
Tacking on that last rule felt necessary after the other night. I hide a breathy shudder, remembering his intense gaze, that sexy voice telling me never to open the door like that again, and his obvious frustration, seeing me so bare. The what-ifs kept me awake for hours. What if he’d come in? What if he’d lightened up and extended our banter to include why I shouldn’t open the door that way? What if he’d just kissed me out of my robe like I suspected he wanted to? He did want to, right?
It’s nice to still have that effect on someone, nice that I haven’t been rendered completely sexless and unattractive over this. Nicer still that it’s him, slowly restoring my scarred ego, piece by broken piece, with every intense stare.
Still, I need the rule. Fantasizing about Grady could easily lead to falling for him, and that’s a risk my heart can’t afford to take. Moving on to someone else is frightening enough without preexisting obstacles to claw over. His guilt, for one thing. My situation, for another.
This one thing will make loving me a challenge, as if it’s not hard enough to find someone to love me in the first place. Every chance after, for me, comes with a caveat, a disclosure, and an inevitable question. Am I enough?
Easier and less painful than dealing with the inevitable rejection, never asking again. I’m okay being single. Alone has been my vibe for so long that it seems natural. Joining Ashe’s family always felt impossible, even when the walk down the aisle was all that stood between me and having a family. Maybe that’s my story—Marnie Strange, friend to all, family to none.
Eeesh.
Grady stares me down, waiting.
“Yes, I know what we said. But that was then. This is now. And I need to say I’m sorry.”
His veiny, tattooed arms unfurl from his chest and hang limply at his sides. God, when did arms get so sexy?
“I never answer my door that way,” I go on. “I thought it’d be Marigold, but it was you , and something about you and what we went through together makes me, I don’t know, feel like we’re beyond that now. Beyond pleasantries and decorum and normal stuff.”
I scoff and wince, knowing I’m not explaining this well. “I’m too comfortable with you, I guess. But more than how I answered, I regret joking about that day. In some ways, what you went through was worse. You had to think and act and wait…”
My voice trails off like I’ve expended my oxygen with the memory. I wonder what that was like for him—the waiting. “…and I’m sorry for making light of what must’ve been terrifying for you.”
“We’re beyond it, you’re right,” he says. “It’s like we started a book together but skipped to the tenth chapter.”
“More like twentieth,” I smirk.
“It was terrifying.” He glances from me to the stagnant water surrounding us, the herons and ibises pecking along the shores, the cattails swaying in the light breeze. “It’s almost worse now because I know you. It kills me to think that you could’ve been lost.”
“But I’m not lost. I’m here.”
“I’m forever grateful for that. And it means you get a free pass. As many as you want. You have nothing to apologize for. And honestly, I love that we’re beyond fucking pleasantries and basics. I hate that shit.”
“Me, too.” A laugh rolls out, bringing my hand to his strong arm like a magnet. “So, we’re good?”
“Always.” He drapes his hand over mine and holds it between us, oblivious to how this might play into my fantasy files later. Marnie, stop. “Still, I worry about you. What happened hits me every day like a freight train. I don’t think it’s hit you yet. Not fully.”
My brow pinches, but I laugh him off, pulling my hand free from his. “That’s because I stay off the tracks, Grady.”
“Yeah, that’s what I used to do, too. But you can’t avoid it forever. It’s not healthy.”
A scoff takes the place of my usual smile. “Agree to disagree? I’m not avoiding anything. I’m moving on. Kicking ass and taking names.” I motion to the new smoking porch, where the guys still arrange their spots while Wren dutifully assists. “What should I be doing, huh? Should I be at home? Throwing darts at a corkboard with Ashe’s picture on it? Or crocheting little knit hats for babies I’ll never have?”
I cover my mouth with my hand, shocked and immediately regretful that such a thing came out. What is it about this man that crumbles my carefully constructed barriers? My mouth is set to unfiltered gushing whenever he’s around.
With a gentle touch, he shifts my hand away from my mouth, easing me closer. “It’s okay. There’s nothing you can’t say to me. Remember what I said to you? I want it branded on your brain.”
My thoughts swirl with his words, the ones I know he means. I’m here, Marina. Whatever you are. Whatever you need. Whenever you’re ready to fall apart.
“A sweet sentiment,” I allow, diplomatically. “For sure. But honestly, Grady, minus that one exception you witnessed at the hospital, I don’t do falling apart. Or neediness, generally. It’s just not who I am. I’ve been alone for over a decade, and, if anyone’s counting, years before that, so I’m sorry, but falling apart isn’t?—”
He steps closer, cutting me off. “You’re not alone anymore.”
I suck in a gasp along with my leftover words, my entire body alighting with shock over his abruptness and, at the same time, his almost mystical gentleness. His closeness isn’t intimidating but tender, reminding me of that day and the comfort I took in a stranger holding my hand.
I nod, unable to deny him anything, not with his soul-penetrating stare.
“Good.” He says in that gravelly voice of his. If that weren’t enough to make my heartbeat thump at exorbitant speeds, he reaches up, fingers grazing my forehead as he tucks a wayward lock of hair behind my ear. My toes curl in my shoes, and my entire body lights up at his touch.
“Anytime for anything still stands, Marina. Always.”
The loud clang of a wind chime draws our attention to the bank, where Christie stands awkwardly on a lawn chair to hang the decoration on a tree branch near the smoking shed.
I stumble backward. “Um, wow. An emotional roller coaster ride on the Grady Tripp Express is better than coffee.”
He chuckles, stuffing his hands in the pockets of his jeans. “Happy to be of service... and I want to help, so what can I do?”
It surprises us both how quickly my finger wags between us. “Oh, no, Grady. It’s your day off. I want you on your dock with your dogs, fishing. Besides, they’re like putty in my hands now. I need to see how long I can drive the momentum, and I need you to relax, huh?”
He shuffles on his feet, seeming almost disappointed that I’m not putting him to work. A beat passes as we both take in a hawk diving for something in the brush—a mouse that wriggles free from his beak midair, lucky little guy. The hawk fails to find him again and retreats to his tree branch perch for other opportunities.
“How do you do it?” Before I ask the inevitable follow-up, he goes on, “How do you keep smiling through all the bullshit?”
“I have this little thing I say to myself that helps me through tough times. I’ve recited it since I was fifteen, and it’s the only thing that has stayed with me through it all. Don’t you have a mantra or something that guides you?”
He blanches but recovers with, “Don’t get involved.”
I laugh. “That sounds like you. You aren’t practicing it, though.”
“Yes, I am, just not with you. Rules don’t apply to you. You’re my one exception.”
I swallow the lump lodged in my throat.
“What’s yours?” he asks.
“No frowns. No fears. No tears.” I decide not to tack on the recent addition of No Grady sexcapades for obvious reasons.
He nods lightly, seeming to absorb it. “Those are natural human necessities, Marina. You can’t fight them.”
“Oh, I can. I do, mostly,” I say, heavy with assurance.
“Well, that’s dysfunctional, not that it surprises me. You hide behind that charming smile of yours?—”
“You think my smile’s charming?” I ask, cooing and smiling wider.
He chuckles. “I also called you dysfunctional.”
“Well, I try to focus on the positives, Grady,” I smirk.
“Seriously, Marina. Frowns, fears, and tears are okay. Necessary, even.”
“Not for me.” I huff. It’s rare for me to feel annoyed, but the niggling sensation grows the longer he dissects me with his ice-cutting eyes. It’s like he wants me to fall apart. Would that bring him some strange satisfaction? What good would falling apart do, anyway?
“When you’re ready,” he says, many heartbeats later. “I promise. I will catch you.”
“Oh, Grady Tripp, one accident doesn’t mean a lifelong commitment.”
“I want to be here,” he shrugs. He steps closer again. “So, forget no frowns, fears, or tears. The next time you’re pushing yourself through a mess, just think… Whatever I am, Grady’s got me.”
I break free of his intense stare, fixating on the water where the green algae and lily pads mix with blue sky reflections. Tears well in my ducts again, like they, too, are begging to satisfy Grady Tripp. Not today, tears. Not today.
“Hmm,” I chuckle, “mine was catchier. Besides, if that’s true, stop asking to help out and ask me to hang out instead. Marigold had fun with me. You might, too.”
The idea transforms him into Grouchy Tripp in a flash. His grimace snuffs out all our earlier sparks like a bucket of ice-cold water. Ouch.
“Um, I don’t know if?—”
“Nevermind. Dumb idea,” I say, waving my hand between us. “Now, you’ve got fish to catch, and I have worker bees to wrangle?—”
“No, wait. The other night, you said something about your next place having a peephole. What did you mean? Your next place?”
My head tilts in a silent sigh. Since my conversation with Peter Pike about my future tenancy, I’ve busily pushed that problem out of my mind. I can’t think about moving now. I can’t.
Smiling, always smiling, I bring a hand to Grady’s shoulders, squeezing gently. “There are those impressive shoulders again, trying to carry everything. Relax, Grady.”
He shadows me as I leave the pier, stepping over worn boards and dodging mud patches along the swamp bank. Near the store’s side, Christie and Roy argue about hanging a pin-up calendar of scantily clad women inside the smoker’s porch—a nice diversion from Grady’s rejection. I’m officially bothered—he wants to be there for me, but draws the line at hanging out? That’s fine—I won’t make the mistake of asking again.
Grady veers toward the parking lot without a goodbye, and it’s a relief watching him go.