Chapter 17 #2
Almost two years had passed since the night we’d shared in New York.
It felt like a figment of my imagination, as if it had never happened.
We were different people now, changed by the harsh reality of life and the stark differences between us.
The adrenaline-fueled high of the Rembrandt heist facilitated that passionate encounter, and while I clung to that high, the excitement made the memory hazy.
It was like a scene from a film I couldn’t quite recall—from a life I’d forgotten to live and no longer felt real.
If only I’d stuck around long enough for the encore.
Betty poked at the tarp in the yard with the shovel, stepping up to lift a corner with a gloved hand.
She had a wide and ready stance, poised as if expecting more rats to leap out.
After making sure it was clear, she methodically smoothed out the blue plastic and assessed its condition.
I saw the moment she deemed it suitable enough to salvage; her whole body lurched into action.
Corner of the tarp in hand, she dragged it to the riverbank and left it at the edge of the water.
Brushing her loose bangs back with her forearm, she hiked back up the hill and into the shed, re-emerging soon after with a climbing rope in hand.
Fascinated by her cleverness, she secured the rope to the tarp’s grommets on one end and anchored it to a tree.
She tossed the tarp into the river, letting the rapids catch it and pull the rope taut.
I heard a sharp snap as the tree shook from the force.
She let the river do all the work of washing and scrubbing the tarp for her.
Smart girl; if she’d attempted to hold it and throw it in, she’d be halfway down the mountain by now, pulled by a drowning sail of blue tarp.
She watched it tumble over the river rocks for a few minutes, then gripped the edge and began pulling the water-drenched tarp out of the current. She put all her weight into each pull, feet slipping in the mud, working the cumbersome material until it draped over some clean rocks to dry.
Damn. That was hot.
She struggled to catch her breath as she climbed back up the bank.
Hands worked to pull off her gloves, and she made for her water bottle on the fence post. After breathing deeply a few times, she put her gloves down on a rail, then drank with a ravenous thirst, water running over her chin in her haste.
She wiped her mouth with her arm just as her chocolate-brown eyes met mine through the window.
Her gaze held mine in challenge, and she swallowed hard. With a flat expression, she raised her hand and flipped me off, unimpressed with my rapt attention. The bottle slammed down on the post, and she spun—her long, messy braid and wild bangs flying—stomping back toward the shed.
I grinned, a low, “Fu-uck,” rumbling from my chest.
I couldn’t help but notice how much she’d changed in the past few weeks.
Even though I knew she wasn’t thrilled with things, I’d catch her in private, cuddling Mr. Beans and then Villainy, and she seemed secretly content.
I knew our worlds didn’t fit, but she was convincing sometimes.
Dare I say she was secretly loving this.
Her face seemed softer, more relaxed with each new day.
There was more color in her cheeks from the cold, and a rosy tint on her nose.
I saw freckles I’d never noticed, things she’d concealed with makeup.
Her skin breathed for once, embracing the freedom from her usual products and taking on a natural radiance.
With each passing second, I craved her kiss more and more. I wanted to trace each freckle and chase away the chill on her cheeks with my lips.
But, hell, the confident version of me she’d known in New York felt scarce and hard to dredge up at times.
It’s like I forgot how to be that man in the fraught atmosphere she’d created.
The bold New York version of Gray didn’t fit anymore.
I couldn’t be harsh and teasing all the time, given all the things she was already struggling to manage, and with her spicy attitude, it’d be too much.
Adding my emotions to the mix just seemed wrong when she was already so overwhelmed and disoriented.
I understood what it felt like to have your entire world upended.
She needed me to soften so she could, too.
I stepped away from the window, the show over, moving to make myself another cup of coffee and start food for dinner.
I chuckled at the roles we were playing, feeling they were flipped from what one might consider traditional. Betty was no damsel in distress, even though danger seemed to find her like a heat-seeking missile. When it did, though, she rose to meet it without hesitation.
This grit would make her an exceptional mother one day. She’d be fiercely protective, strict in the right ways, and endlessly willing to help her children grow and prosper. Thinking about it made me hard. Family was such a dream of mine, and a dream I so badly wanted with her.
I was eager to take a supporting role as the father to our children and her sidekick, be the villain at her back in a fight, willing to protect my family this time around, and keep them safe. I could do that for her, and I would.