Chapter 24
Chapter Twenty-Four
Holly
Igraze my fingertips across Grayson’s bare chest, letting the sound of his heartbeat lull me to sleep.
He’s quiet beneath me, both of us unable to do much after our mind-melting orgasms. We had barely crawled under the covers before he pulled me to him.
I’m still wearing my drenched underwear, and while he shucked off his pants that had been hanging around his ankles, I’m pretty sure he’s still wearing his socks.
My finger traces a small crease in his skin, a divot, one that I can recognize in the dark as a scar. I rise on my elbow, moving over his chest to get a better view of the mark that’s hidden by chest hair. “What’s this from?”
“Mmmmm…” He thinks, eyes still shut. “Wasn’t paying attention when I was a teenager, drove the four wheeler through a barbed-wire fence.”
“Ouch.” I lean over, gently kissing the area. I take his corded forearm in my hand, dancing my fingers over the scar I know too well. “I know where this one came from.” My hand then trails up to the longest scar, the one that’s a crescent shape over his bicep. “And this one?”
He opens his eyes now, turning his head to look at the spot on his arm. “I got that one when I was a little kid. My dad and Pops were chopping up a fallen tree. They told me to stay back, to stay away from the chainsaw.”
“I’m guessing you didn’t listen.”
“Nope. Went to reach for a twig that had fallen off of the log they were cutting and the tip of the chainsaw nipped me pretty good.”
“Yikes. I’ll say.” I twist his arm, letting the light of the moon showcase just how long it really is. “You’re lucky you didn’t lose your whole arm.”
“I think I blocked most of the memory out. Ma said that they ran into the house with me in Pops’s arms, and I looked at her dead serious and said, ‘I’m okay, I just need a Band-Aid.’”
I giggle at that, absolutely believing his story.
The Grayson I know doesn’t stop for an injury, and he doesn’t like to inconvenience anyone.
“So, apparently you’ve always put others first, hey?
” I mean it to tease, because I understand somewhat why he didn’t come to the clinic right away when he sliced his arm, or why he waited to get his sutures out.
But his expression is flat, staring slightly past my shoulder toward the wall.
“I didn’t mean to offend you.” I sit up a little higher, letting the sheet fall and expose my breasts. I swing a leg over his waist, and reach for his hands, forcing him to rest his palms on my hips. His eyes dart to mine, and a soft smile appears on his lips.
“No, I know you didn’t mean it like that, baby.”
I cover his hands with mine, squeezing once. “But it might be close to the truth?”
His gaze is locked on our hands, and he squeezes. He runs his palms up my sides, over my chest, tenderly cupping a breast in one hand.
“I’ve always felt kind of like I was standing in the background, even with my own family.
” His voice is ever so soft. “They love me, I know that. But Theo has always been a wild one. We joke that he’s getting gray hair because of the stress he’s put himself through.
Harper, well … no one knows what to think about Harper. ”
“I happen to think Harper is amazing. I think she’s got more to her than you guys realize.”
He shrugs one shoulder, letting his hands slide back down to my hips.
“She is, but she's hell on wheels. And then there’s Lukas. He’s always needed a little more attention.
He’s also a bit wild, but more of a hothead.
And then baseball became his life. He had so much potential, such a future ahead of him.
My parents scraped up as much money as they could to buy him gear, a trainer, to pay for special camps.
They were so proud of him. And then when it all fell apart, my mom would worry herself sick.
” He releases his hold on me, swiping a hand across his forehead and over his scruff before tucking it behind his head.
When he’s quiet for a few more minutes, I take his hand that’s still touching me and hold it between both of mine. “And you felt like everyone had so much to worry about, well, with the farm, and your siblings, you didn’t want anyone to have to worry about you?”
His eyes flick to mine, but I don’t have the courage to look back at him, so I continue, “You love them so much, you wanted to be able to take away some of their worry, to lessen that for them, even if it meant not speaking up when you needed something.”
I swallow hard, keeping my concentration on his hands.
I flip his broad palm over, letting the back of it rest in one hand and I place my other over his.
I line us up, fingertip to fingertip, smiling when I see the vast difference in our size.
“I think you are incredible, Grayson Hart. You are the type of man they write books about.” He scoffs a little at that, but I keep going.
This time, I let myself look at him, to see the vulnerability on his face that is likely mirrored in my own.
“You don’t have to pretend you don’t have needs anymore.
You don’t have to act like everything’s fine when maybe it’s not.
I want to see you, all of you, whether it’s good or bad.
” He nods, a slight hesitation to the movement, like he isn’t sure if he can believe me.
“When we first met, I thought that there couldn’t be two people more different.
” I hadn’t ever stepped foot on a real farm.
I'm no stranger to hard work and long shifts but not to true manual labor. I traveled a lot as a kid, from Paris to Italy to Greece, and was speaking fluent French by the time I graduated high school. I like nice clothes and spend too much money on my wardrobe. I grew up with a small family—my parents only, and our relationship has always been strained. The expectations they put on me were impossible to meet. I’ve driven myself to the point of exhaustion to please them, and they still don’t care.
Grayson hasn’t so much as left Iowa. He’s blessed with a big and bold family who likes to get in each other’s business.
He’s a man who gets up with the sun and doesn’t rest until it’s long gone.
He bites his tongue and sacrifices himself time and time again as long as it means the people he cares about the most get what they need.
He doesn’t care if his boots are scuffed, and he wears the same Wrangler jeans he bought in high school.
From the outside in, we couldn’t be more different.
“But now that I know you, I’m starting to think it’s the opposite. ”
“What do you mean?”
“I think we both want so badly to help others. We’re happy if those around us are happy, but it’s been a long time since we’ve taken a good look at ourselves in the mirror, since we checked in with ourselves to make sure that we’re living the way we want to live.”
I lie down beside him, brushing my hair to the side so I can rest my head on the pillow.
He moves the arm that was behind his head and drapes it across my bare back.
“You’re not invisible, not to me. I want to make you happy,” I whisper.
“And I want to make myself happy. And I think we can do both at the same time.”
His fingertips graze along my skin, back and forth, stroking lazily, and I rest my hand atop his chest, weaving our fingers together. He brings them to his mouth, pressing a kiss to the back of my hand, and then to my head. An act of acceptance, agreement maybe. “I think so too, baby.”
***
Sleep has often been hard for me to find.
In residency, sleep was a gift. A beautiful, often forsaken gift.
When I finished residency and worked in the ER, anxiety stole my sleep.
My body would be exhausted to the point of being in pain, but when I would lie my head on the pillow, my mind wouldn’t let me go.
But right now, I’m wondering how I ever struggled to sleep.
With the sound of Grayson softly snoring behind me and his heavy arm draped over my waist, my mind is free.
I pause, waiting for the anxious thoughts to kick in—the made-up nightmares, the intrusive ones that usually visit me when I’m exhausted.
But today, nothing comes, so I snuggle in, letting my eyes fall shut as I bask in this feeling.
I’m not sure how long we were lying there when the sound of a phone rings.
I moan a little, wishing I had telepathic powers and could shut the alarm off from across the room.
I nuzzle further into Grayson, which must wake him because he stirs.
I feel his body tense for a second before relaxing, and he brushes his hand along my back. “Baby, your phone is ringing.”
“Not mine,” I mumble into his chest. “Mine’s on silent.”
It takes a second for him to take in my words, and when he does, his whole body tenses.
He shoots up and twists quickly to look at the bedside clock.
And when he finds it’s just after three in the morning, he’s up, flipping the covers off and reaching for his discarded jeans, searching for the phone still ringing from his back pocket.
His worry causes me to snap awake, and I sit up, reaching for the covers to ward off the sudden chill.
“What’s wrong?” He doesn’t even say hello, or a simple yeah, it’s as if he knows whoever is on the other end wouldn’t call at this time just to chat. His voice is groggy, and he clears it once. “Where are you?”
He reaches down, bypassing his briefs and slipping his legs into his jeans.
I slide out of bed, moving to my overnight bag that was tossed on a chair earlier.
I fish through it and pull out sweats, a quarter-zip pullover, and socks.
I can’t make out what the voice on the other end is saying, but I can hear the urgency, the fear lacing their words.
“Just take a breath man, take a breath. I’m on my way.”
He grabs a T-shirt from the dresser, tossing it on over his head and sticking one arm through the sleeve. He leaves the room, heading to the door like that before he stops in the hall, spinning back to look at me.
I stand in his bedroom, dressed, my arms crossed around my stomach to ward off the panic. He nods, reaching his arm out for me, and I walk to him, taking his hand as soon as it’s within reach. “She is. I’ll bring her, too.”
My chest tightens, and the second he hangs up the phone the words spill from my mouth. “Who was that? What’s going on? Is everything okay?” I know it’s not okay, but Grayson’s face shows fear, and he doesn’t seem like the type of man who scares easily.
He leads me into the kitchen, and he sits, tossing his phone on the table so he can put his shirt on the rest of the way. Trembling hands reach for his boots, and he slips them on, not bothering to tie the laces as I step into my sandals.
“Grayson?” I ask again as my heart pounds in my chest at all of the possibilities and of not knowing where we’re going.
“Do you have your travel doctor kit thing?”
My racing heart seems to halt in my chest, and I try to speak, but my voice freezes, so I nod instead.
He nods once, then again slowly as he stands, pulling me into a hug. With his lips pressed against the crown of my head, he whispers against me, “Lukas needs our help.”
I press a hand to my mouth to swallow the gasp, and Grayson is moving past me. He makes it halfway down the hall toward the bedroom before he spins, coming back into the kitchen. He stops halfway, pausing to look around the room before his hands come to rake through his hair.
“I–I can’t even think right now.” He looks over to me, his face so … so lost. “I need my keys. I don’t know where my keys are.”
I rush to him, placing my hands on his chest, tapping gently. “Look at me.” His eyes dart all around the room, from the kitchen sink, to the fridge, to the table. I tap once more. “Down here.”
His eyes finally meet mine, and I lock into him.
“Let’s get through this together.” When his focus stays with me, I keep going, “When I’m about to spiral, it helps to think of the steps.
First, we know that Lukas isn’t in immediate danger, right?
We don’t need to call an ambulance or the police?
” Grayson nods. “Okay, so we need to make sure we get to him safely. That means taking a second to breathe.” He nods again, pushing out a heavy exhale.
I keep my hands on his chest, feeling the slow rise and fall of his movements.
“Your keys are likely on the bedroom floor after falling out of your jeans, or they’re in the truck.
First, we will find your keys, or I can drive.
We’re going to get to Lukas. Between the two of us, we’ll help him, and we’ll take him back here if we need to.
That’s it. Right? That’s what we need to do, and we can do it. ”
His eyes fall shut and he lets his head hang down. I slide my hands up to curl around his neck, pulling him to me. He buries his head in my neck, and his arms come to wrap tightly around my waist. “Thank you,” he whispers into my skin, and I twist my head to press a kiss to his cheek.
He pulls back, and I keep my hands on his head.
“First things first, let’s go check the bedroom for your keys.
” He pulls my hands from his head, holding onto one hand as we take the hall together.
Sure enough, the keys are on the floor, silver teeth sticking out from underneath the bed.
He reaches down to snag them, and then we’re down the hall, through the kitchen, opening the front door to enter the quiet night.