32. Grant
THIRTY-TWO
GRANT
The drugs in my garage.
Planted, professional, tucked into a toolbox I hadn't opened in six months, meaning someone had access to my garage. Meaning someone has a key or knows where I keep one.
This is not casual. This is someone building a case. Someone who intends to use me as the visible problem in whatever story Holcomb eventually tells.
After the night with Eli, I drive home and sit in my apartment and I don't use and I think.
The anger is clean. That's what people don't understand about me, the anger is not the problem. The anger is actually one of the most sober things I have. It's present, it's specific, it moves toward action.
What I can't have is the despair. The despair is the thing that leads to the old door.
I call Dave.
"Tell me," Dave says.
I tell him. All of it. The barn, the arm, the planted drugs, Hale's message through Eli, the accumulated pressure of three weeks of someone actively trying to undo everything I've built.
Dave listens.
When I'm done, he says: "You doing okay?"
"Yeah."
"You calling me at eleven PM."
"I'm doing okay and I'm calling you at eleven PM."
"Both those things can be true," he says. And I almost laugh, because that's what I told Nova three weeks ago.
"I'm angry," I say.
"That's clean."
"I know." I pause. "I'm also scared."
Dave waits.
"She's in this," I say. "Jessika. Her family. And someone is, the escalation is—" I stop. "If something happens to any of them because they're connected to me.”
"That's not a reason to pull back," Dave says. "That's your fear talking. It's logical fear, someone you love getting hurt because of you. But the answer isn't to remove yourself. The answer is to make sure the danger is addressed."
"We're working on that."
"Then keep working." A pause. "Grant. What does Jessika want?"
"She wants me to stay," I say.
"Then stay."
"She's going to say that even if it's not the right thing for her."
"She's old enough to know what she wants," Dave says. "A practicing attorney. I think she can assess what's right for herself."
I breathe.
"Yeah," I say.
"You've been the variable that gets subtracted," Dave says. "Every time things get complicated, you take yourself out of the equation. I've watched you do it."
“That's accurate."
"What happens if you stop subtracting yourself?"
I sit in the dark apartment with that.
"Things get complicated," I say.
"Things are already complicated," Dave says. "You staying doesn't make them more complicated. It makes them real. You get to be part of the real version of things."
I look at my cast arm resting on my knee.
"Okay," I say.
"Okay."
"Thanks, Dave."
"Any time." A pause. “Grant, you're not the problem anymore. You know that. I want to make sure you know that."
I close my eyes.
"Working on it," I say.
"Work harder."
I almost laugh.
"I'll call you tomorrow," I say.
"I'll be here," he says. And hangs up.
I sit in the quiet apartment for a while.
Then I drive back to the ranch.
It's late, almost midnight, and I park in the drive and text Jessika: You awake?
Her text comes back in about forty seconds: Yes.
I text: Can I come in?
She texts: The door's open.
I go inside.
She's in the kitchen with tea and the legal pad, she’s been working, and she looks up when I come in and doesn't say anything, just makes room at the table.
I sit down.
We sit in the kitchen together in the quiet of almost-midnight, and she pushes a mug of tea toward me, and I wrap my hands around it, and the warmth is very specific and very real.
"I found something," she says after a while. She slides a piece of paper toward me. "The AG's office called this afternoon. Brian Holt ran Meridian Industrial through their corporate registry."
I look at the paper.
"Cross-referencing the ownership structure," she says, "Meridian is partly held through a shell company called Briarwood Development."
I look at the paper.
The registered agent for Briarwood Development is listed as a law firm.
The founding member, listed in the original incorporation documents, is a name I recognize.
"Raymond ," I say.
My blood goes cold.
"Who is Raymond Blake?" Jessika asks carefully.
I set the paper down.
"He is," I say slowly, "my old friend.”
Both us us worn from the day. Nothing else needs to be said about it. We’ll talk about it tomorrow.
We sit at the kitchen table for a while longer, then she takes my hand and tangles it with hers. She looks deep into my eyes, pleading, begging, for some alone time without saying a word. No words needed right now. I understood.
I take her face in my hands and kiss her passionately, I need her just as much as she needs me. I take her hands and raise her into a standing position and I escort her to her room upstairs.
I pushed open the door to Jessika’s bedroom, the soft glow of her bedside lamp casting warm shadows across the rumpled sheets.
She left it unmade that morning, a silent invitation.
My heart hammered as she turned from the window, her silk robe slipping off one shoulder, revealing the smooth curve of her collarbone.
“Grant,” she whispered, her voice husky, eyes dark with the same need burning in my chest.
I crossed the room in two strides, pulling her against me.
Her body melted into mine, soft and warm, her breasts pressing firmly though the thin fabric.
I kissed her hard, tasting the faint sweetness of her lip gloss, my hands sliding down to grip her waist. She moaned into my mouth, fingers tangling in my hair, tugging me closer.
The robe fell away completely, pooling at her feet, leaving her naked, flawless skin, full breasts with dark nipples already peaked.
The gentle swell of her hips leading to the trimmed patch between her thighs.
“God, Jessika, you’re perfect,” I growled.
Lifting her effortlessly. Her legs wrapped around my waist as I carried her to bed, laying her down on the cool sheets.
I shed my shirt and jeans in seconds, my cock throbbing painfully hard as I crawled over her.
She reached down, wrapping her slender fingers around my shaft, stroking slowly from base to tip.
The sensation made me hiss, hips bucking instinctively.
I trailed kisses down her neck, sucking lightly at the pulse point, then lower to capture one nipple in my mouth.
I swirled my tongue, grazing with my teeth until she arched, gasping my name.
My hand dipped between her legs, finding her already slick and hot.
I circled her clit with my thumb, sliding two fingers into her tight heat.
She was so wet, clenching around me, her hips grinding against my palm.
“Please, Grant, I need you,” she whispered.
I couldn’t wait any longer. Positioning myself between her thighs, I rubbed the head of my cock along her folds, coating myself in her arousal.
Then I pushed in slowly, inch by inch, feeling her stretch around me.
Her nails dug into my back as she took all of me, her walls pulsing hot and velvety.
We both groaned at the fullness. I held her still for a moment, savoring it, buried deep inside her.
Then I started moving, long, deep thrusts that made the bed creak.
Her legs locked around me, heels digging into my ass, urging me faster.
I braced on one arm, the other hand kneading her tits, pinching her nipple as I pounded into her.
The sound of our skin slapping together filled the room, mixed with her breathy moans and my grunts.
She was so tight, so responsive, every thrust drawing fresh wetness that dripped down my balls.
I flipped us suddenly, pulling her on top.
She straddled me, sinking back down onto my cock with a shudder.
Her hands planted on my chest as she rode me, hips rolling in a rhythm that had me seeing stars.
Her breasts bounced with each movement, hair wild around her face.
I gripped her ass guiding her harder, thrusting up to meet her.
“Fuck, yes, just like that.” I panted.
She leaned froward, kissing me messily as her pace quickened.
I could feel her tightening, her breaths turning to whimpers.
I reached between us, rubbing her clit furiously.
She cried out, her body seizing as her orgasm hit, walls fluttering and squeezing my cock in waves.
The pressure was too much. I thrust up once, twice more, then exploded inside her, pushing hot jets deep as pleasure ripped through me.
We collapsed together, sweaty and tangled, her head on my chest as our breathing slowed. Her fingers traced circles on my skin, and I kissed her forehead, already wanting her again. In this bedroom, with her, everything else faded.