11. Grace
11
GRACE
Maybe being insane is contagious. I don’t know who the woman smiling like an idiot at me through the reflection in the glass window of the elevator is, but I’m starting to think insanity is contagious and Ford has infected me. Not only did I have a great evening with him and Asher, but Friday, I asked Joe and Sarah to keep Asher for me today so I could go on this date. Part of me was hoping they’d have something to do so that I’d have to cancel with Ford. I needed someone to save me from myself.
They not only agreed to watch him, but they’re also keeping him for the night.
Now, I’m in an elevator with the man and sporting swollen lips—evidence of the mind-drugging kisses that Ford keeps giving me. My eyes are sparkling in a way I can’t remember them being before. I’m not sure I’ve ever been happy either. Heck, I’m pretty sure I’m edging the corners of freaking ecstatic.
Ford has his arms around my shoulders, with my body pulled into his. We’ve been upstairs at the café that’s on the rooftop enjoying a light snack. He’s told me all about his club and the men in it. I’ve heard stories of his daughter and grandbaby and seen a ton of pictures on his phone. I don’t know if Ford’s done it on purpose, but he’s also steered away from my past. As a result, the conversation has been light and fun. I’m enjoying it—even if part of me is waiting for a huge freaking anvil to fall on my head, killing me. I know that sounds dark, but I’m not the girl that good things happen to. The more time I spend with Ford, I’m starting to believe he is definitely all good, which means—for me—he is very bad.
I know it’s going to happen. I don’t know where or how, but somehow all that is wrong in my life will find a way to ruin my present. History has taught me that. I was born cursed. My grandmother told me so constantly. I’ve experienced too much not to believe she was right. The elevator dings before we make it back down to the lobby. Two people are standing, hand in hand, when the door opens.
One is a gorgeous redhead. Her hair is brighter—completely the opposite of mine. She’s laughing while looking up at the man with her. Her eyes are full of happiness and love. That’s not what grabs my attention, though. No, the man beside her, holding her close, is what makes that poisonous snake that stays coiled in my belly strike.
It can’t be him. Can it?
“Andrew?” I ask, quietly, straining to even get the word out. I feel Ford’s arm tighten around me, but I can’t make my gaze pull away from the man in front of me.
“Grace,” he says, his voice gruff, a little different from what I remember, yet definitely Andrew’s. The air in the small, contained space is thick. I think he must be in as much shock as I am. My body jerks against Ford’s protective stance when an alarm rings out around us. Andrew and the woman are standing in front of the doors, not letting them close. They step in, and maybe it’s my imagination, but I think Andrew would rather be shot than get inside. I definitely understand that feeling.
“Ford,” Andrew says. That feeling of something dropping over my head is gone, because here it is. Ford knows Andrew. Proof that I can’t be happy. My past won’t die. It’s always there.
Andrew and the woman continue to face us, their backs to the elevator doors. No one speaks. It’s about as awkward as awkward can get. Ford clears his throat. “We haven’t met. I’m Ford, and this is my woman, Grace,” he says. I feel his chin rest against the top of my head. I’m afraid to breathe, but I don’t miss the stamp of ownership he puts on me. Right now, I’m thankful for it—even knowing this can never work out. Ford and Andrew run in similar circles. He’ll find out I didn’t fit in Andrew’s life. That it was so bad the man completely ghosted me to get rid of me— after I gave him everything I had. That’s bad enough, but you put that with the fact I was married to Benny, and what I let him do to me …
There’s no way Ford will want me in his life once he has all the facts.
“I’m Sloane,” the woman says, and I don’t miss the way Andrew’s hand falls to her hip. It’s a move of his I remember well.
“Are you, well?” I ask, immediately wishing I could bang my head against the elevator wall. How lame of a question is that? My gaze darts to Sloane’s before going back to Andrew. I wish I could take the words back instantly.
“Yeah, um …” he trails off, obviously knowing I was talking to him. “Yes, now.”
I nod, unsure of what to say next. Andrew’s father told me he was a cripple, and that I was lucky to be cut me out of his life. I wanted to slap the man. That would never have mattered to me. I loved him. It’s clear there’s nothing wrong with Andrew, so maybe they were all lying to me. I was probably just a joke to everyone.
“When did you get in, Vector?” Ford asks, using his club name. They definitely know one another. Shit.
“Just now, really,” Andrew answers him, clearing his throat. “Cowboy said he was meeting the other Saint’s Outlaws at the table games, but we haven’t eaten, so we're going to grab dinner.”
“We’ll catch up later then,” Ford replies, and I panic at the thought of having to see either of them again.
Thankfully, the door opens, and they start to leave. I don’t move. I guess Ford understands because he stays with me.
The woman looks over her shoulder at me, delivering words I don’t want. “I hope we’ll get to talk later.”
“Yes,” I murmur with a tight smile, praying the exact opposite.