Chapter 24 #2
She brings her arms up to break the hold I have on her face, then she pushes me away and stands. “You’re right, you sound like a narcissistic asshole.”
“Answer me, Sav. Please.”
“I don’t know, okay?” Her voice is a broken scream that has no power behind it.
“Is that what you want to hear? I. Don’t.
Know. Riley was released from prison, work pressure was intense, things here were…
complicated. Then when you left, it felt like a piece of me broke, and it’s so ridiculous because we didn’t even like each other.
How could I miss someone who was actively recruiting me as his enemy? ”
She stomps to the window and presses her forehead to the glass while I attempt to control my breathing.
I was too weak to admit to myself that I was hurt by her—that I needed her—and she ended up harming herself.
“We’re idiots, Sav.”
She sniffs—it’s a fragmented laugh with no sound.
“You can’t take this on, Grey. I was damaged long before I met you. I know you’ll want to fix this, fix me, but it’s not your place and it’s not your responsibility. I’ll always carry this with me.”
Little clouds of condensation form on the window from her puffs of air.
“Some years will be better than others.” She sounds so tired. I want to demolish anything and everything that makes her feel like less than the perfect mess she was meant to be.
“But I don’t believe it’s something that will ever be cured.
” Sadness rolls off her in waves. “Yes, there are coping mechanisms, and new systems I can learn, but I’m the only one who can do anything about it.
If you’re only here because you need to fix someone, then we should stop whatever this is now before we ruin any chance of friendship between us. ”
I slip out of bed. “Oh, sweetheart. We’re already so much more than friends. I’m just biding my time until you see it.”
“That’s not—”
“I told you. I don’t want to fix you, just your demons. You’re more than what haunts you, Sav. You’re not broken, but like all of us, our past is full of wounds that never healed properly. Is it really so bad that I want to be the medicine that cures some of those cuts?”
“It’s not your job,” she growls, and it punches me in feelings I didn’t know I possessed.
“Was it Braxton’s job to teach Madi how to trust in love again?”
“That wasn’t the same thing, and you know it.”
“What I know is she was hurting, and he found a way to make her feel better. That’s all I want.” I step behind her and tug her back to my front. “I just want to make you feel better.”
“You give me whiplash.” She relaxes into my hold.
“Let me make you feel better.” I insert so much innuendo into my tone that it comes across cheesy, but she laughs, and it’s worth the slight humiliation.
“When did everything get so…intense?” Slowly, her shoulders unwind, her fists unclench, and her breathing evens out.
“Well, we started hate-fucking, met on a surrogacy app, got stuck together in a hurricane, hate-fucked again, realized maybe it wasn’t ever really hate-fucking, had some asshole try to blow up our lives in the media, got fake engaged, decided to have a real relationship, admitted some really hard truths, and now here we are. ”
Her chuckle loosens a knot in my chest.
“We did things all out of order,” I say.
“What happened to meet-cutes and dating? We went straight to the reality-TV version of romance.”
Resting my chin on top of her head, I hold her more tightly around the waist. “I have no idea what a meet-cute is, but dating I can do something about. Come on.”
I hold my hand out to hers, palm up, silently praying she’ll meet me halfway.
When her hand slides into mine, another one of my walls comes crumbling down, and I lead her from our room.
“Grey, it’s late,” she whispers when I gently nudge her onto a stool at the kitchen island. “We’re going to wake everyone up.”
“Then I suggest you be quiet.” Moving through the kitchen, I quickly grab what I need to make blueberry pancakes and bacon, then set it all on the counter.
Savvy sighs, and I can feel her irritation from across the room. “Is this going to be your thing now? Trying to feed me? Do you have a note on your phone about all the calories I’ve consumed?”
My stomach chooses that moment to shut her up with a loud growl. “I happen to be starving, so can you just sit back and try to enjoy our first official date?”
“A, you never asked me on a date. And B? It’s one in the freaking morning, Patch. This isn’t a date.”
I shrug. “I beg to differ.” I slip a plate of bacon into the microwave and set it for three minutes, then dump the pancake ingredients into a mixing bowl.
“This is your kind of date?” Her arms are crossed as she studies me.
“Actually.” I pause and really think about it. “Yeah, dating for me in the past has been a means to an end. Dinner, drinks, fuck.”
“So romantic.”
I whisk harder, then add a dash of cinnamon and vanilla before spraying a pan and dropping a ladleful of batter in.
“That’s the thing,” I say. My back is to her as I scatter blueberries through the half-cooked batter. “Romance never had anything to do with it.”
“And it does now?” This is the feisty woman who gave me no choice but to fall in love with her.
“You’re wearing my ring, Savannah. The only thing that matters is romance.”
Glancing over my shoulder, I catch how her thumb swings the diamond around her finger.
“So you’re an expert on romance now?”
It’s my turn to scoff. “Far from it. Before Braxton and Madi, the only healthy, loving relationships I’d ever seen were between a bunch of dudes and a kid.
Ace, Brax, Sage, and I? Yeah, that’s unbreakable love, but romance?
I’d never seen it in action until the moment I walked into that bar and saw Madi lose her ever-loving shit over my brother being auctioned off for charity. ”
A wide grin spreads across her face. “That wasn’t love, Grey. That was jealousy, pure and simple.”
“Sure,” I say with a shrug, then flip the pancake over.
“But that kind of jealousy stems from love—I saw it in both their faces. And it intrigued me enough that I spent the next few months watching their interactions. Somewhere between fucking you in pantries and carrying you through mud piles, I realized that’s what I wanted, not the mind-numbing meaningless dinner dates and unfulfilling fucks.
But late-night pancakes and pillow walls that never stood a chance. ”
“I think I liked you better when you grunted answers. This talkative side of you is unnerving,” she grumbles.
I place two pancakes on a plate and remove the bacon from the microwave.
From the cupboard, I grab the real maple syrup Madi hides from Pops—that old menace would probably drink the stuff straight from the bottle if she didn’t—and place it on the counter.
My palms spread flat against the cool granite, and I lean over the top of the plate I placed in the center.
“Now, the real question is, are you a dipper or a soaker?”
Savvy frowns. “What are you talking about?”
“There are two kinds of pancake eaters. Do you dip, or do you soak them in syrup?”
“Why does it matter?”
“Oh, it matters. Think of it this way. Dipping is like having nice, boring, vanilla sex. Soaking every inch of the cake is like the messiest, dirtiest, most hardcore fucking there is. And I already know how you like to fuck, so I’m wondering…do you dip, or do you soak?”
“You’re equating how I eat maple syrup as the basis for how I like sex?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
I can’t see my face, but I know the moment she catches the wickedness shining in my eyes. Her breath hitches, and the pulse in her neck flutters erratically.
I hold her gaze as I lift the plate and the syrup. “Because it’s time you made some new memories to eradicate your false belief system around food. Grab a glass of milk and silverware, then meet me in front of the fireplace.”
“Patch,” she grumbles.
Ignoring her, I walk out of the kitchen, knowing that I only have a few minutes to prepare for our first date.