Chapter 16
Gracyn
Me: We need to talk about Cooper.
S taring at the unsent text, my thumb hovers over the screen. Imagining Brooks doing something reckless, something that could destroy his life just for me, is insane. What the hell am I doing? Common sense hits me smack in the head, and I erase the text before sending it. If he had anything to do with it, putting it in writing isn’t smart.
My phone buzzes in my hand, startling me. It’s a New York number, but I don’t recognize it.
“Hello,” I answer.
“Is Gracyn there?” It’s a young girl’s voice.
I hold my breath, hoping and praying it’s not who I think it is. “This is her.”
“Hi, Gracyn. This is Presley.”
Shit.
Shit.
All the shit.
“Hiiii.” I drag the word out, trying to sound casual while my mind races. Brooks can’t be okay with this. “Is everything okay?”
“Yep,” she chirps. “My daddy left for a work trip. But I found your number on his phone. I wanted to tell you how happy I am that you’re my new mom.”
The air vanishes from my lungs. Nooo. No. No. No. No. This isn’t happening.
“My dad told me it was a mistake, but he’s wrong. He really likes you. And so do I.”
Her words hit me like a freight train, and I struggle to find something, anything , to say that won’t make this situation worse.
Who am I kidding?
This can’t get any worse.
“Um … hmm … well, first off, I like you too, Presley. But sometimes, adults do things that shouldn’t have happened. Your dad and I made a terrible decision.”
“No. Don’t say that,” she cries. “You two can make it work. I know you can!”
“ Presley, my mom is waiting for us,” I overhear a woman’s voice in the background say. “ Are you on the phone? Who are you on the phone with?”
The sound of shuffling follows, and then a woman’s voice. “Hello. Who is this?”
Panicking, I hang up and stare at the phone, expecting whoever it was to call back. After a few minutes of deafening silence, the weight of it all crashes down on me. I crumple, bending at the waist and leaning against the counter, tears streaming down my cheeks. Our simple mess just spiraled into a full-blown catastrophe.
Kids are resilient.
She’ll forget about me by next week.
I focus on those words because I’m having a hard time believing it. Where the hell was the warning from Brooks that she found out?
I fumble for my phone, finding his number with trembling fingers. I press call, my heart racing as I try to figure out what to say. Honestly, what’s there to say? Maybe that’s why he didn’t call. He didn’t want to bother me with a situation I have no control over. The call goes straight to voicemail, and I hang up without leaving a message.
The entire afternoon slips away as I pace around, waiting for Brooks to call. He knows I called. He has to. Presley’s innocent, hopeful words haunt me: “ I’m happy you’re my new mom .”
In a moment of desperation, I call my mom. I wanted to keep her out of my screw-up, but she always knows what to do.
“This is horrible,” I sob into the phone after telling her what happened.
“I know you’re a party to the problem, but you can’t fix this.” I hear her words. I’ve thought of them myself , but they’ve yet to release this knot in my chest. “But you’re right, she will move on quick. Little girls focus on what’s in front of them, not what’s behind them. It’ll be okay, hun. You didn’t ruin a child’s life.”
It feels like it.
A couple of sharp knocks at the door reverberate through the apartment, likely Charli, irritated that I’ve been ignoring her texts all day. I don’t have the energy to deal with my real life.
Just the fake one.
“Mom, I’ll call you later after I talk to Brooks. Charli is here. Love you,” I say, making my way to the door. I swipe away the tears staining my cheeks before peering through the peephole. I do a double take. Definitely not a blond with her iconic red lips. When I open the door, Brooks is in a defensive stance, his lips pressed in a hard line and his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his jeans.
“Brooks,” I stammer, confused why he’s here. “I guess we need to talk.”
He stares at me, and his jaw tics. I step aside and push the door open wider. Without a word, he strides past me, his anger trailing behind him like a storm cloud. The air is heavy, suffocating, as he brushes past me, his forceful presence enough to knock me off balance. He must have found out that Presley had called, but why didn’t he pick up his phone?
As soon as I shut the door and turn around, he’s towering over me. I take a step back until my back meets the wooden door with a thud. Brooks’s thunderous expression is mere inches from my face.
“Who the hell are you?” His voice is sharp, slicing through the air like a knife.
I stare at him in disbelief. I’m caught off guard by his abrasiveness. “What are you talking about?” I manage.
“Don’t play games with me, Gracyn,” he growls, planting both hands on the wall, caging me in. “I won’t ask again. What do you want with me?”
It takes a few beats for the cylinders in my brain to restart, but the second they do, alarm bells blare. Cooper and how he was found fill my head. My dad was right—Brooks isn’t the man I thought he was.
Panic swells in my chest as I feel trapped. “Move, Brooks,” I demand.
His solid, unmoving body overshadows mine in height and weight.
“No,” he spits out, his voice laced with venom.
Terrified, I duck under his arm and run, grabbing the first thing within reach.
An umbrella.
I lunge for it, gripping its smooth handle as if it was going to save my life. What on earth am I going to do with an umbrella? It’ll have to do . My hands tremble as I whip around to face him, pointing the metal tip inches from his body. His face is redder than a tomato, with a vein in his forehead about to pop.
“You should leave,” I rasp, my voice shaking with adrenaline as I throw open the door. Breathless and seething with rage, he glares at me before storming out. “You want to talk to me?” I yell out after he crosses the threshold and is a safe distance away from me. “Ask me questions? Then don’t come back until you’ve calmed down and not act like an escaped gorilla.”
I slam the door and lock it, twisting the deadbolt into place. My breath comes in quick gasps as I lean my forehead against the wood, clutching the umbrella in a death grip.
Fuming, I push off the door and pace the entire length of the living room. Who does he think he is, barging into my home and demanding to know who I am ? Who the hell does he think I am? Two weeks ago, he sure the hell didn’t care who I was when I was in his bed. Well, I’m not one to let a man hurt me, that’s for damn sure.
Not now. Not ever.
His daughter knows. The entire world knows. He can be mad at that. But I’ll be damned if he casts me as the villain in this story. It takes two to tango.
And I don’t even remember dancing!
Thirty minutes later, my phone buzzes. I squeeze it tight in my fist, still grappling with my emotions, when I see it’s him. Nope. Not ready to talk yet. I hit ignore. It buzzes once. This time with a text.
Brooks: I’m sorry.
A bitter laugh escapes me. Sorry? He comes in hot and heavy, boxing me in and talking crazy, and then expecting a simple sorry will magically fix everything?
The phone buzzes again.
Brooks: Can I come up?
I scoff, typing out an immediate response.
Me: No
I close my eyes and press the phone to my temple, knowing we can’t leave it like this. But there is no way in hell I’m about to be alone with him right now. Where is somewhere close to people? Somewhere public, somewhere safe. I let him stew a bit longer before texting again.
Me: Meet me at the community park in an hour. It’s right down the street.
When I arrive at the park, I scan the area until I spot Brooks, sitting on a bench with his head in his hands, hunched over. I blow out a long-winded sigh, not sure there’s been enough time for me to stop wanting to jam my thumbs into his eyeballs.
I glance around at all the kids playing at the playground not too far from the bench. Maybe this wasn’t the best place to meet.
I chew on my bottom lip before forcing myself to walk toward him. One conversation. That’s all.
I take a seat on the opposite end of the bench, leaving plenty of space between us. An invisible barrier that I hope he respects. He looks up, and our eyes meet. I shake my head at the remorse in his expression, annoyed with myself for sympathizing with him.
He wrings his hands. “I’m so sorry,” he says, voice raw, thick with regret. He rubs his hands over his face, struggling to meet my eyes. He pauses, his throat bobbing as he swallows hard. “I’ve never talked to a woman like that before.”
“And you’ll never do it again,” I assert, leaving no room for misinterpretation.
He closes his eyes and tilts his head upward, releasing a slow, shaky breath. “Did you … did you already know who I was in the coffee shop?” His voice cracks as he wrestles with whatever is inside his head.
What kind of question is that? “No.”
He turns his intense gaze on me, like he’s weighing every syllable I’ve spoken. “I know who your father is.”
Most people who mention my father are referring to Bart Carmichael. But Brooks is not talking about Bart. He’s talking about Raymond. But what does that have to do with him?
“And?” I say, throwing my hands up. “You’re not the only one. It’s not exactly a well-kept secret.”
“Do you work for Raymond?”
For a moment, all I can do is stare at him, confused. Why does that matter? “I worked as a bartender at one of his casino’s nightclubs for four years. But I quit last month.” I blink, waiting for his response. His silence grates on me, so I press further. “What is it you believe I do for him, Brooks?”
“Our fathers are acquaintances,” he murmurs.
My brows shoot up. Is that why Ray didn’t want me with Brooks? “Wait, is your dad Ray’s accountant or something?”
He twists his body toward me, draping his arm across the back of the bench, and picks at a splinter in the wood for a few moments before asking, “You really don’t know?”
I squeeze the bridge of my nose, trying to quell my irritation. “This is insane. Raymond’s furious at me for choosing you. You’re furious with me for … I’ve yet to find out. Why is everyone mad at me? The only thing I did was fall for a smooth talker that talked me into marrying him. For which I still can’t remember.” I let out a sarcastic laugh as I realize something. “It’s somewhat amusing, however, that you both arrived at the same conclusion. He thought you were a plant. A Trojan horse . And you thought the same thing. But for the love of God, will someone please tell me why?”
His fingers mess with the splintered wood again. “I just… I’ve been burned before by a woman, and it turned my world upside down. I swore off women after her. And then you came into my life like a tornado, turning it upside down, again.” Presley’s mom. She must’ve done a real number on him. “And then”—his eyes find mine—“I find out that this whole thing could’ve been a setup. I reacted.”
I shake my head. “More like overreacted. Brooks, I’m not part of any big scheme. Why would you come to that conclusion?”
“The FBI.”
Holding up a finger to take a moment to let this all sink in, the absurdity of it all catches up to me, and I can’t help but laugh. “Seriously? I’m a college student turning into a teacher. I’ve never done anything except maybe steal a coffee.”
His eyes narrow. “There is no maybe about it.”
I scrunch my nose at him. He must feel I opened the door for him because he scoots over. Closer. Still holding my finger up, I shake my head. “Too soon.”
He deflates and scoots to his original spot.
A chorus of “oohs” and “ouches” rises from a group of preteens hanging out on the monkey bars, staring at us, like we’re the main act in their favorite drama. Great. Now we have an audience.
“C’mon, you can see he’s sorry,” one girl says as the rest of the group nods their little heads in agreement, as if they’re a jury delivering their verdict.
I scoff silently. There’s no way I’m caving to the pressure from a gaggle of prepubescent kids. Ignoring their commentary, I turn to see Brooks grinning like a fool. Of course he’s eating this up, they’re on his side. But if they saw him a while ago, they wouldn’t be.
I refocus on Brooks. “Anyway. Why would I be on the FBI’s radar?”
His grin falls, and he shifts. “My brother’s FBI.”
I press my lips together. That’s a bit different from the FBI . It sounds like his brother is concerned, and he has the resources to dig into me.
But as he continues to explain what his sister found and her FBI agent husband told him, I begin to grasp why he was skeptical of our meeting. The timing, the coincidences, the connections. Still doesn’t justify him acting like a rabid animal.
Our marriage gets crazier by the day.
And we’ve only been married for four weeks.
“Wow.” It takes a minute for me to process everything. “So, let me get this straight. Both our real fathers are criminal enemies, your sister is overprotective, and now your daughter is calling me saying she’s happy I’m her mom. Did I miss anything?”
“She did what?” Brooks spits out, straightening up like a coiled spring ready to launch.
I hesitate because, let’s be honest, I don’t like Brooks when he’s mad. And he looks mad. “She called me earlier. That’s why I figured you were here. Buuutt.” I wave a hand toward him, shrugging nonchalantly. “I guess not.”
His jaw tightens, and he takes a moment to rein in his temper. Finally, he exhales, his shoulders sagging. “I’m sorry about the call. She must’ve done it after I left,” he says. “And about the outburst.” He glances at me, his expression softening with regret. “And for the temper.”
I don’t apologize for kicking him out.
That was deserved.
“It’s crazy our dads know each other. Or hate each other . How random is that?” Ray’s outburst makes sense. I think about our instant attraction. “It’s like karma is tap dancing on their ruthless souls.”
He chuckles. “That’s one way to look at it.” Pulling his phone out of his pocket, he sighs. “I need to call Pres to make sure she’s okay.” He gets up and strolls down the sidewalk, leaving me alone.
I turn my attention to the preteens, wondering if they’ve found something better to do than watch my life unravel. Nope. They’re all staring, all of them smiling at me like they’re in the front row at a circus. I’m act one.
Thankfully, they’re far enough away to have not heard what we were saying. I stand and head toward them, squinting my eyes playfully. “Are we that interesting?”
“Ahh, yeah,” the little blond with a high ponytail replies. “We’ve got a bet going on whether you’re going to dump him. Not me, though,” she clarifies, jerking her thumb toward the three boys. “It’s them. I’m rooting for the guy. He was pretty messed up before you got there. Felt sorry for him.” Her eyes dart between me and Brooks, who’s still pacing down the sidewalk, before continuing, “When he went to slide in there, I knew I was about to win.”
“But then bam! You cock-blocked him,” one boy blurts out, karate-chopping the air.
My eyes widen at the inappropriate and misusage of the phrase. The other boys chuckle, giving him a high-five. Little turds. They understand it, they just misused it.
It’s moments like this that have me reconsidering my career choice.
“Well, show’s over, kids.”
“But wait,” the girl pipes up. “So, are you going to forgive him and get married and live happily ever after?”
I turn and bite back a chuckle. Wonder who would win if I told them we were already married? I spot Brooks sliding his phone into his pants pocket and walking my direction. My heart does that annoying flutter it always does when our eyes meet. Ugh. Annoyed with myself, I spin around to her and say, “Sorry, but no. He’s just a friend.”
Her lips fall in disappointment as the boys erupt in hoots and hollers.
I shrug. “You can’t win them all.”
As I walk away, I overhear her say to the boys, “She’s lying. I can tell she’s into him.”
She’s one hundred percent correct. But sometimes life isn’t that simple, and all we can do to keep moving forward is tell ourselves the lies we need to believe.
“Everything good?” I ask, catching up with Brooks before he has a chance to talk to the kids.
He nods, but glances past me toward the monkey bars. “What was that about?”
I wave him off. “Nothing. Just kids being kids.”
As we walk along the sidewalk toward my apartment, he fills me in. “Speaking of kids, Judith overheard the whole thing, so she took Presley to the zoo to get her mind off it. She said she was happy and tired by the time they got home.”
A blush creeps up my cheeks. Judith knows it was me. And I had to freak out and hang up on her. Smooth. Real smooth. “Can you tell her I’m sorry for hanging up on her? It was a knee-jerk reaction.”
He chuckles. “I’m familiar with those.”
I pause at the bottom of the stairs leading up to my apartment. “Did you come here specifically to yell at me? Or are you here for business?”
“Just you,” he says.
I take the first step up so we’re more eye to eye. “Why?” I blurt out. “I mean, I get that you were mad. But calling would’ve been faster, cheaper, and easier. You’re making this way more complicated than it already is. My face is already plastered all over the internet with people trying to figure out who I am. Your daughter is calling. This has gotten so out of control.”
The weight of everything presses heavily on my chest, and panic creeps in. And the worst part is that even now, I still want him.
He reaches for me, but hesitation flickers across his face, and instead drops his hand to his side. “I don’t know,” He sighs and shakes his head at the same time. His eyes fix on mine. “I had to prove that you were nothing like Jessie.”
My expression softens. Whatever we have, however tangled and messy, it isn’t anywhere near what he went through with that woman. From what I heard. Curiosity sneaks in before I can stop it, and the question escapes my mouth. “Did you love her?”
His laugh is sharp, brief, and bitter. “Love her? It wasn’t like that at all. We slept together a couple times, and I never saw her again. Until Presley.”
I open my mouth and then shut it, realizing I’m missing a significant chunk of the story. The part I’m positive he likes to forget.
“Trust me, she’s one person you don’t need to worry about.”
I nod, not mentioning that I already heard she’s dead.
Behind Brooks, the sound of a car pulling into a parking space draws my attention. My neighbors, Lucy and her boyfriend, step out, curious about the scene they’re walking up to. Considering our pictures are blasted all over the internet, I wouldn’t be surprised if Lucy’s seen them. As they approach, I edge to the side to let them pass. Lucy, always the nosy one, pauses in front of us, her gaze darting between Brooks and me. “Everything okay?” she asks, her tone casual, but her eyes sharp.
“I’m good,” I assure her, and they disappear into their apartment. I glance up at their window, and of course, a shadow moves away. Figures, she was watching. She probably snapped a few pictures, too. We can’t stay right here. “So, what now?” I ask, attempting nonchalance, though my voice comes out softer than I intended.
Despite the fact that an hour ago he practically attacked me, I’m not ready to say goodbye. I should shove him out the door and say ‘ see you next month at our court date ,’ because that’s what needs to happen. We shouldn’t spend another night together. So why am I standing here, hoping his next words are going to be, ‘ got a place for me to crash? ’
“Yes,” I blurt out.
Puzzled, a crease forms between his eyes. “Yes, what?”
Shit. I’m now saying yes to him before he even asks anything. I let out an awkward laugh. “Sorry. It’s been a crazy day.”
His eyes hold mine, searching, questioning, as he puts one leg on the stair. It brushes against my thigh, and he grabs the rail as if he’s ready to pounce. “Gracyn,” he rasps, undressing me by just saying my name. “What are you saying yes to?”
Goose bumps spread over my arms. I wrinkle my nose, determined not to give him the satisfaction of knowing he’s got me twisted in knots. “Are you leaving tonight?”
“Do you want me to leave?”
His words hang heavy between us, their weight undeniable. It’s my turn to search his eyes, trying to decide if I’m brave— or foolish —enough to give him the actual answer. In this instant, locked in his intense gaze, it hits me. We’re the same. Irresistibly drawn to each other, and neither of us can fight it when we’re near each other.
“You already know the answer to that.”
He smiles and drops his hand from the rail to rest on my hip. “Go grab an overnight bag.”
“And where exactly are we staying?”
“The Bellagio,” he says with a hint of mischief, his fingers tightening around my waist. “I have fond memories there.”
I roll my eyes. “Glad one of us does.”
“We could recreate some things,” he suggests, edging closer. “Try to trigger some of those hidden memories.”
My heart thuds against my chest, the memories I do have vividly clear. They’re impossible to forget. “You just want to bring back drunk Gray,” I murmur. “Well, she’s not making a comeback.”
“I’d be happy with any Gray.”
I slap his shoulder and start backing up the stairs. “Enough with the charm offensive. It’s a given I’ll end up in your bed tonight. So, stop with all the smooth talking.”
“Charm offensive?” He chuckles, leaning against the railing, crossing his arms. “That’s a new one for me.”
I pause, lifting a finger. “I’m not dressing up. This Gray is going in what she’s wearing.” I motion to my joggers and my cropped shirt.
He gives me a once-over, and I wait for his disapproval. “You look perfect,” he says.
I lift a brow, making a pointed look at his dark jeans and navy polo. Inside, I’m screaming at him to quit being so infuriatingly perfect.
“Where does this Gray want to eat?”
“The Bellagio has a great buffet,” I throw out, half expecting him to make a face. I have no idea why I’m being so difficult. I hate buffets, and I’m sure he’s never even stepped foot into one.
“Sounds good to me. I’m starving.”
“I hate you.” I laugh and spin around to go the rest of the way up. I stop and look over my shoulder and find him staring up at me.
“Your ass looks pretty fuckable right now in those joggers.”
See, that’s what I want.
The raw, undeniable physical craving. Make me feel like an object.
And stop making me fall in love with you.