Chapter 25 Braxton #2
“Yeah,” he agrees quietly, looking around the bullpen, his voice dropping in volume. “Whoever is responsible, they’ve gone quiet. Everyone seems ready to accept that they’ve just moved on, maybe to another town, but…” He trails off, frustration flashing across his face.
“You don’t think that?”
Nick shakes his head, the movement sharp. “I don’t think that, but I can’t tell you why. I’ve just got this feeling—”
“And you’re using this case to distract yourself from everything else going on.”
Nick opens his mouth, like he might protest, but then shrugs. “I guess.” The look he shoots at me is almost apologetic, but it’s not him who owes any kind of apology.
I stare at him. “Let’s go get some breakfast.”
“I can’t—”
“Yes, you can,” I counter, standing up, sliding the chair back into place at the other desk. “Come on. We’ll get out of here, eat, and then you can come back with a clear head.”
Nick frowns, checking the time. “Haven’t you just got off shift?”
“Yep,” I agree easily. “And I’m hungry. Let’s go.”
He hesitates for another beat. “You know what? Fuck it.” He stands up, grabbing his coat and pulling it on. “Maybe something sugary will be enough to get my brain firing on all cylinders.”
“I was thinking eggs over sugar,” I mutter dryly, “but whatever.”
In respect for Nick’s sweet tooth, we decide to head to the local bakery over the diner or somewhere else, walking the few blocks it takes for us to get to Frothy Cakes.
The place is busy, but considering it’s the best place in town to grab coffee, that’s not surprising—especially this time of morning, when everyone’s desperate for a caffeine fix before they start work for the day.
The staff are efficient, and it only takes a few minutes before we’re up at the register.
Nick orders first, and then I nudge him aside and place mine, pulling out my wallet.
The girl behind the counter reads out the total just as Jamie, the bakery’s owner, pushes through the kitchen door.
She’s carrying a tray piled with golden-brown pastries, still looking warm and fresh from the oven.
The scent of hot apples and brown sugar wafts over to me, and my mouth pools with saliva. “Add two strudels to my order, please,” I tell the server, catching Jamie’s smug grin from the corner of my eye. “And I reserve the right to come back for more.”
She pauses in her task of stacking the pastries in the display case. “It’s a marketing tactic,” she confides gleefully, like she’s sharing state secrets. “Bake them at the perfect time, and the smell does all the selling for me.”
I shake my head, telling her honestly, “Don’t care what tactics you use. As long as it ends up in my stomach, I’m happy.”
Jamie laughs, plating up the strudels and Nick’s blueberry muffin as I pay, sliding them over the counter to us. “Here you go. Norielle will bring your coffees over in just a sec.”
“Thanks, Jamie. Nori,” Nick murmurs distractedly, muffin in hand and already half turned away, searching for an empty table.
I stuff some cash into the tip jar, returning Norielle’s grateful smile, and head after him.
He’s managed to find a free one in the back corner.
When I get there, he’s tearing bits off his muffin, popping them into his mouth.
His brown eyes are distracted, distant, and I know it can’t just be this case that’s fucking him over. I drop into the seat across from him, asking, “How’s everything with your family?”
“Mom and Dad have been bickering a lot, and I’ve just been…avoiding them, I guess.” Nick shakes his head wearily. “Paisley still hasn’t come home.” He looks away, a pensive look in his eyes. “I don’t feel like I really know her anymore. She’s not the same girl I grew up with, you know?”
“Because of the professor?” I clarify.
He lifts a shoulder. “And you. I keep remembering everything that happened on Christmas, everything Paisley said. If you didn’t know better, it sounded almost friendly. But…”
I nod. “It was a carefully constructed attack.” Self-recrimination fills me, mixing with anger that sits like concrete.
“She was wrong. But I was the one in a committed relationship…” I blink, correcting, “Not just committed, man. Gracie and I were buying a house together.” The sweetness of the pastry is washed away with the bitterness of the words, but Norielle appears, setting our coffees down in front of us.
I thank her, immediately picking up my drink and swallowing a mouthful, wincing as the too-hot liquid slides over my tongue.
Nick’s watching me with a puzzled look as he sips his own coffee. But this is a truth I’ve been forcing myself to face. I can’t keep acting like I was a passive participant in what went down, not when none of it would have been possible without—
“I let Paisley in, made her think our history was more important than my relationship with Gracie. It doesn’t excuse her actions, but…
” Nick doesn’t say a word, watching me quietly like he knows I need to get this out.
“The day I went to Ashland for my first counseling session, Gracie called me. She was worried and didn’t want me to be alone.
I couldn’t bear the idea of her seeing me like that.
I…I didn’t want her to see me as weak, I guess, or that I couldn’t handle the shit I was dealing with.
” I let out a choked laugh. “It seems so stupid now, but it was my choice to become a firefighter, you know? And letting her see the darkest side of that…”
“I get it,” Nick says. “But Gracie knew who you were when she got into a relationship with you. She knew what you do.”
“There’s a difference between knowing and seeing the realities of it.
” I finish off my strudel, more for something to do with my hands than anything else.
“I know how it sounds, and even now, I can’t put my thought process into words.
Everything was just kind of hazy, you know?
It still is, in a way. But it was always my choice to shut Gracie out. I see that now.”
Nick sips his coffee, his brows knitted together. When he lowers the drink, he asks, “Why Paisley? Why not talk to me? Someone at the station? Your parents? Literally anyone but her.” There’s no real accusation in his voice, just bewilderment.
“I don’t know,” I confess. “I honestly don’t know, Nick. She was there, I guess, but that sounds like a cop-out.”
“After Paisley left, you never talked about her. Not about what happened that day, or her never reaching out to you. I figured you moved on, but on Thanksgiving…”
My palms are sweating, and I drop them to my thighs, scrubbing them against my pants.
“I don’t harbor any feelings for her,” I say.
“When she turned me down, I was embarrassed and hurt—especially when I knew she had feelings for me, too. She never made a secret of that. But I only got mad when she iced me out because she promised that shit wouldn’t change between us. ”
“You’re saying your ego was bruised?” Nick surmises, and my cheeks heat.
“I suppose that’s one way of looking at it,” I say grudgingly.
“But I didn’t harbor feelings for her. What I feel for Gracie…
” I shake my head, words failing me. “I haven’t given Paisley a second thought in years, but Thanksgiving…
I was shocked, man. I didn’t expect her to be there, and she was acting like the past four years never happened.
” I chuckle weakly, eyes sliding away from his.
“This makes me feel like even more of an asshole, but—”
“You liked her paying attention to you,” Nick cuts in. “It soothed the rejection from years ago.”
I wrinkle my nose. “Well, shit. It sounds even worse coming from you.” I huff out an unamused laugh.
“I was confused as hell, man, trying to process Allison’s death.
And then Paisley was just there, and it felt so easy between us, that friendship slotting back into place, like she’d never left.
There was a lot less pressure than with Gracie, you know?
I didn’t have anything to lose with Paisley. ”
“Except you did.”
“Except I did,” I agree. I sit back, fidgeting with the knife on my empty plate. “I never imagined that my actions would have such far-reaching consequences. Not just to me and Gracie, but our friendship”—I gesture between us—“as well as our families. Mom won’t even consider talking to your mom.”
Nick finishes his coffee, his serious eyes sliding around the bakery, never settling anywhere, but taking everything in.
“Mom is acting like Paisley is just misunderstood. That she didn’t do anything wrong.
” He shakes his head. “I don’t know whether she actually believes that, or she’s just desperate for Paisley to come home. ”
“Do you think Paisley is just misunderstood?” I ask quietly.
Nick’s jaw goes tight. “I think my sister is more aware of her actions than anyone else, even when she pretends she’s not.
” He leans forward, saying in a hushed whisper, “She was sleeping with a married man for years, Braxton. That wasn’t an accident.
It was a choice.” I’m not sure what to tell him, but Nick’s talking again, “This case…It seemed easier to bury myself in it and ignore everything else.” He looks at me, his jaw tight.
“I’m sorry that my sister fucked with your relationship. ”
My smile is sad and strained. “The only person responsible for fucking up my relationship is me.”
Fifteen minutes later, we’re talked out, and Nick is back behind his desk while I’m waiting for my truck to warm up before heading down the main street of town. My eyes automatically track toward Blossom Boutique, knowing I won’t see the person I want to, but unable to help myself.
But something’s different today, the world slowing to a crawl, electricity arcing down my spine.
My foot eases off the accelerator, staring intently into the glass windows of the florist, catching a glimpse of long honey-brown hair.
I blink, and it’s gone, the glare from the sun’s reflection burning my eyes.
I check my mirrors, but there’s no one behind me, so I keep my speed the same, turning back just as the door to the florist opens and she steps out.
I would know her anywhere—thick hair falling over her shoulders, longer than I remember.
She’s wearing a black coat and tight jeans.
I can only see her profile as she looks over her shoulder into the door, her hand on the handle to keep it open.
And then a hand, large and distinctly masculine, lands on the door above her head, pushing it open further.
Another hand lands on her back, nudging her forward and out onto the sidewalk.
Gracie.
My Gracie.
My heart surges into my throat, unable to tear my eyes away from her, even when my vision wavers.
It’s been over two months since I laid eyes on her, the day I devastated her with my lies, allowing another woman to prove she had some kind of hold on me.
Months since I felt like a weight wasn’t pressing down on my chest, threatening to completely crush me.
I beg her silently to turn around, to give me her eyes, a chanting taking up in my head.
Gracie’s here. She’s back. She’s here. She—
The man steps out of the florist after her, casually looping an arm around Gracie’s shoulders, pulling her into him with a familiarity that kills me.
She tilts her head back as he says something to her, and she laughs.
I can’t hear her from here, not with my windows up and the heater blasting, but it’s in my head all the same.
A quick glance in my mirror shows a car coming up behind me, and I press my foot down, moving past the couple on the sidewalk. I watch them for as long as I can, but then they’re gone, leaving me blinking furiously, trying to clear the blurriness from my eyes and focus on the road ahead.
Gracie’s back.
Gracie’s back, and she’s not alone.