Chapter 32
Chapter thirty-two
Greyson
The three of us stared after Paisley for a minute before Juliet made a move to rise from the table. “I should—”
“Let me,” I cut in, standing.
She eyed me, uncertainty lingering in every glance. Myles leaned over and whispered something to her, which made her relax into her chair. “Okay.”
I nodded my thanks to Myles and slipped down the hall to the back door.
Much as I loved Juliet, sometimes I needed her to let me handle things with Paisley.
A hard line to walk when Paisley didn’t remember our relationship as well as hers with Juliet.
My sister hadn’t overstepped, but if we were going to mend the space between us, she couldn’t be the first one jumping in to save Paisley.
When I slipped out the screen door, Paisley was hugging herself, barefoot and face upturned to the sinking sun while Rosie nosed her way around the fence perimeter.
The stair squeaked, and Paisley sighed.
“I’m fine, Jules, you don’t—oh.” She blinked up at me as I paused beside her. “I didn’t think you . . .” She chewed her bottom lip and let the unfinished sentence hang between us.
“You okay?” I asked quietly.
Paisley shrugged. “Those memories feel closer these days. Downfalls of forgetting I’m not twenty-one, I guess.” She crossed her arms in a protective stance again, like it could defend her from the haunting memories.
I wanted to hug her. Sweep her up in my arms and promise to keep the monsters away. But I didn’t think she’d welcome the gesture presently, so I waited. “Why did you think I was Juliet?”
“Because she’s nosy.” Paisley shot me a look. “Guess it must be a family trait.”
I chuckled. “Satterfields love big and love deep. Nosiness factors into that, I’m afraid.”
Her lips curved in a faint smile. “It’s nice having people care.” She sheltered her eyes from the glare of the sunset and watched Rosie circle once, twice, then move on trying to find the perfect spot to do her business.
“Did I tell you about my childhood?” Paisley asked at last, dropping her hand.
“Quite a bit.” I hooked my thumbs into my jeans pockets. “Do you want to talk about it?”
“My mom sucked as a mother,” she blurted out.
“My dad was out of the picture by the time I was four. I don’t really remember him.
Mom said he cheated on her and left us.” She laughed bitterly.
“Love—if it could be called that—was Mom’s weakness.
She hated that he’d left us. She couldn’t cope without him. ”
“That’s why she turned to the alcohol?” I asked quietly, even though I knew the answer.
She nodded. “Most of the money we had went to booze. The school meal program was the only consistent food I got. She fooled CPS for a while until the neighbours called when she hadn’t been home in three days, leaving me all alone, and I went to get groceries.
I used to save all the money I found on the ground or left behind in vending machines.
It was never quite enough but added up to a gallon of milk here and a loaf of bread there. ”
Paisley fiddled with her wedding ring. Knowing she hadn’t taken it off eased some of the tension in my chest. “I meant what I said. It was harder to live with a guilty conscience than the pit in my stomach. And even back then my conscience had a strong kick. But sometimes . . .” She sniffed.
“I promised myself I would never be like my mother. Love would never become my weakness. I wouldn’t ever let myself be put in a position for a man to hurt me.
” The words came out as a broken whisper.
“I didn’t want to need anyone like that. ”
Paisley lifted her beautiful big eyes to meet mine. The timidity, the unsurety, the fear on full display. “But somehow I think I did.”
She was speaking from hurt, from fear, from trying to solve the puzzle of her conflicting timeline, but the words still stung.
She must have sensed it because she reached out and grabbed my hand. The touch was an electric jolt to my heart. She hadn’t been the first to initiate touch since the accident, except unconsciously in the hotel room, but I let her lace her fingers in mine, clinging to me like a lifeline.
“But I also think . . . I think you’re different,” Paisley whispered, looking up at me again. Hopeful. Expectant. Yet hesitant. “I don’t know how or why, but . . .”
“I am,” I said hoarsely. “And I’d like the chance to prove that to you.”
“How?”
“We’ll date. Get to know each other again,” I said quietly. It was what I’d been doing in my own way already—pursuing her—but now she was on the same page.
She scrunched her nose. “You’d do that?”
Lifting our entwined hands to my lips, I gently brushed kisses over her knuckles, loving the wide-eyed expression on her face. “Love, I’d do anything for you. We’re in this together.”
Tears sparkled in her eyes, and I tugged her towards me, holding her close. Her arms slid around my waist, and she laid her head on my chest. She might not love me, but she did at least feel safe with me. And for a woman like Paisley, that was the most important first step.
I rested my chin on her hair, inhaling the soft strawberry scent. I’d show her just how much I loved her. And once she fell in love with me again, I’d marry her a second time, if she’d have me.