Chapter 28
“Haul Out The Holly”
Greyson moaned as Wren worked the tension out of his neck.
Moving his father back home had been an ordeal.
There was the coordination of his care, the arrival of proper furniture and equipment, but above all, the biggest challenge was meeting his father’s unreachable standards.
The man refused any additional care outside of his home, and insisted he would die in true blue blood fashion, dressed in a suit, broker on hold, and a fresh cigar in his pocket.
“You know, they say it’s common for people to rally at the end.” Wren worked the tendons of his shoulders and neck. “It’s like autumn, when everything is crisp and at its brightest for one final hurrah.”
Maybe that’s what this was. They assumed the man was in the winter of his life, but he came out of that hospital like a tyrant, barking orders and making demands they scrambled to meet.
“Tomorrow he’s having his portrait done. We had to commission an artist from Connecticut to fly out.” Greyson dropped his voice to mimic his dad’s imperious tone. “Make sure you capture the defiance in my eyes. I’m not leaving without a fight.”
Wren chuckled, her fingers scraping deliciously over his scalp as he shut his eyes. The fireplace warmed his feet as his legs stretched across the floor, and he was perfectly comfortable sitting between her thighs as she rubbed the tension from his neck.
“It’s all about control. He wrote his own damn obituary and called it in to the New York Times, demanding they print it above the fold.”
Wren continued to massage his scalp as he vented.
“He’s hitting up the private reserve in the wine cellar, flying out members of his board for meetings, and dictating his memoir to some ghost writer that traveled here from California.”
“Shut your eyes and breathe in the lavender.” She placed a cold, padded mask over his face.
He breathed deep, letting the soothing scent seep into his sinuses. “You know, I’d never let anyone else do this to me.”
“I know.”
She massaged the joints between his knuckles. Rat pounced over his legs, playing with some of the cat toys Wren bought. Greyson leaned back, letting the soothing herbs work their magic.
“What oil are you using?”
“It’s a mixture of bergamot and ylang-ylang.”
“I like it.”
She massaged his back and shoulders for several more minutes, then moved Rat to the sofa and took the kitten’s place on his lap, looping her arms around his shoulders. When she brushed her lips to his, he lifted the mask.
“Feel better?”
“Much. Thank you.”
“Any time.” She moved to rise, but he caught her hips. “Stay. I haven’t held you like this all week.”
She smiled and settled her weight onto his lap. “Is that your way of telling me you missed me?”
“It’s my way of telling you I can’t breathe when we spend more than a few hours apart. And that I’m sorry.”
Her lips parted slightly. “Grey... we’ve been over this.”
Stroking a hand down her thick braid, he admired the intricate twists. “The thought of anyone else kissing you or touching you… I can’t handle it. Never could.”
“No one touches me but you, Grey.”
“Damn right.”
She sighed and kissed him. “Besides. You were right. I think part of me likes your territorial side. I love your attention, even when you’re in a mood.” She laughed.
“What’s so funny?”
“Nothing.”
“Tell me.”
She hesitated. “Once I...” She looked away, unable to finish her statement.
He caught her chin. “What?”
“It’s silly. I was just remembering when I showed Keith Doble my boobs just because I wanted you to find out.”
“So he’s dead.”
She swatted his arm. “He doesn’t even live here anymore.”
“You think I won’t travel?”
She looked away.
“I should have stayed.”
“Maybe we both needed space.”
“Why didn’t you date when I was away? I wasn’t around to stop you—”
“You’ve met your brothers, right? They’re just as bad. Besides, I didn’t want to date. I was too sad, worried you’d fall in love with some sea hag and never come back.”
“No escaping me now,” he rasped, toppling her to her back so he could kiss her properly. He pulled back and framed her face. “Will you come back with me?”
Her expression softened. “To your dad’s?”
“I know it’s a lot to ask—”
“Of course, I’ll go with you.”
Relief struck sharp, and he pulled her close for another hard kiss. “Thank you.”
Wren packed an overnight bag, and he carried it out to the truck. It had been twenty years since she’d slept over with him and his brothers. A teasing sense of nostalgia played at the frayed edges of his memory in a way that made him feel like a kid again.
“Remember upside-down days?” She must have been having similar memories.
Greyson smiled as he backed out of the lot. “Yeah.”
Upside-down days only happened when his dad was out of town on business. Haven used to come over with Wren and they would have breakfast for dinner then stay up all night watching old movies.
“This reminds me of that.” She held Rat on her lap with her little bag. “I brought my matching PJ set. I usually reserve them for a fancy sleep.”
“A fancy sleep?”
“Yeah, you know—when you wash the sheets and make the bed all fresh. It’s fancy.”
“So you make your pajamas match?”
“Well, it’s not like they’re coordinated with the bedding or anything that extreme. But I try to put some effort in.”
He chuckled. “Effort for who?”
“The bed, silly.”
“Right.”
When they pulled into his father’s garage beside his collection of antique cars, Greyson let the engine run, everything inside of him hesitating. This wasn’t home anymore. Hadn’t been for a very long time.
Wren placed a gentle hand on his arm. “You okay?”
“Yeah.” He sighed. “I keep having the resounding thought that I don’t want to do this. Then I remember I don’t have a choice.”
“Grey, you always have a choice. But sometimes the right choice is the hardest to make.”
He looked down at Rat and grinned at how comfy he looked curled up at the apex of her thighs. Lucky bastard. “Thanks again for coming here with me.”
“Of course.”
“Tomorrow, we’ll do something fun. Soren’s on Dad duty, so I’ve got the day off.”
“Tomorrow’s the Santa Fun Run. We could go into town and bet on the winners.”
“It’s on.”
He carried her bag into the house, surprised to find it silent. Logan appeared in the hall. “Hey Wren.”
She hugged Logan.
“How was he?” Greyson asked, peeking into the den to find his father resting in the adjustable bed.
“I think he tired himself out around the twelfth phone call.” Logan glanced at the floral bag in Grey’s hand. “You staying the night, Wren?”
“I am.”
His brother’s eyes lit up. “Like an old school upside-down day?”
She smiled. “Dig out the waffle maker.”
She made breakfast for dinner for him and his brothers just the way their moms used to. As foolish as it was to eat waffles for dinner while dressed in pajamas, the act healed something in them and Greyson felt a closeness to his brothers and Wren that he hadn’t experienced in years.
After his brothers left, Greyson led Wren to the second floor. The house staff worked quietly downstairs, as they did every night while his father slept. Any cause for alarm, and they’d come get him.
Greyson opened the door to his childhood bedroom and waved Wren inside.
She stepped over the threshold and scanned the walls, as if entering a museum, slow and reverent.
His heart thudded against his ribs. He could fix a busted engine in an ice storm, and drag a buck out of the woods with his bare hands, but watching Wren look around his teenage bedroom?
That disarmed him in ways he wasn’t prepared for.
The faint scent of cedar and damp earth filled the air. That coastal dampness never left Hideaway Harbor, no matter how much furniture polish the maids used. He liked it more than the briny air at sea, because it reminded him of home. Of Wren.
Fishing rods still hung in the corner like sentinels. Lures were framed in shadow boxes, and old tide charts were tacked beside a bulletin board full of yellowed concert tickets and scribbled notes.
Her fingers brushed the edge of the small desk he’d built by hand the summer after the accident. Watching her reverently trace the grain in the wood where he’d carved little fish symbols made him feel like she was caressing etchings along his soul.
“Grey...” She breathed his name, but it wasn’t a word so much as it was a feeling.
A lump formed in his throat as she turned to the bookcase and stilled.
She saw it. And he was going to own it.
“I couldn’t let them go,” he confessed.
Her eyes turned to him, then returned to the collection of treasures.
Top shelf, back corner, hidden, but not really.
The ribbon from the 4th of July sandcastle competition, which they won when they were young.
A tiny photo strip from the boardwalk arcade when their moms took them to the Jersey Shore—her laughing, him pretending to look cool.
A smooth heart-shaped stone she’d given him, just because.
Her old senior photo—the corners curled upward with time.
She traced a gentle finger over the silver tray holding the dried lily petals from his mom’s funeral. “You kept all this?”
“I kept the parts I wanted to remember,” he said quietly.
She pressed her lips together, eyes shiny, then studied the wall above the bed. Posters still hung from thumbtacks—old rock bands and a boat schematic he’d drawn when he was fifteen, dreaming about starting his own line of high-performance skiffs.
A soft laugh passed her lips. “I remember this.” She read the signed photograph of a local fisherman he’d idolized.
Pinned in the middle of all of it, right between the Eddie Vedder poster and a map of the Atlantic currents, was Wren’s senior prom photo. Except the part where Logan stood behind her had been folded back.
She turned and looked at him questioningly.
“I was jealous,” he admitted before she could ask. “It didn’t matter that he was my kid brother. You were mine.”
She didn’t say anything, but she took it all in.