Chapter 13 #2
Grant’s jaw tightened. “Sandy said nothing makes sense about my mother killing my dad. No motive. But I still look guilty as hell for the embezzlement and murder. Checks with my name on them. Approvals I didn’t sign.
The letter my dad sent to Riley. And now?
I’m the guy who handed him the poison.” He rubbed both hands over his face, then let them fall into his lap, staring at the floor.
“I keep replaying it. I should’ve poured it out.
I should’ve made it myself. I should’ve done a hundred damn things differently.
But I didn’t. I just… trusted her.” His voice cracked. “She’s my mother.”
Bryson stayed quiet for a beat, letting the weight of it hang between them.
He understood the kind of loyalty that could blind a man, the way family could wrap a chain around his neck and still expect him to thank them for it.
He’d been watching it unfold with Riley and her family for years, only he hadn’t understood how deep the roots ran.
Finally, he said, “We don’t know anything for certain yet, except you didn’t pour that poison.
You didn’t put it in his cup. You didn’t kill your father. ”
Grant’s laugh was brittle. “But in a way I did, because I handed it to him. How am I going to tell Erin? Her kids? My kids? Riley? Deep down, I feel utterly responsible because it all started with me trying to handle this by myself.”
Bryson leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “Then we find out the truth. About the money. About that coffee. We turn over every damn rock until we see what’s underneath. And if your mom had a hand in either crime, you’re not going down with her.”
Grant’s eyes went wide. “How could my mother have anything to do with money missing from the revitalization fund. She’s not even on the board or a committee. And why would she?”
“This is going to sound crazy,” Bryson said.
“But cancer treatments aren’t cheap, and your mom lost a good sum of money in Robert Wilkerson’s Ponzi scheme.
First, we hire someone to look into that.
” Bryson lowered his chin, hating himself by the minute.
This was Grant’s mother. But at the same time, it was also Grant’s freedom.
“And let’s not forget, Monica is on the committee for the main street project. ”
“What does your ex-wife have to do with… oh, she had my mother’s help on that project.”
“Exactly,” Bryson said. “Not to mention, Monica never liked your wife. She thought Kelly was an imposter. A poser.”
“Kelly snubs Monica every chance she gets. Can’t stand that woman,” Grant said. “No one can. I’ll never understand why you married her.”
Bryson let out a long breath. “Trust me, man, it was the worst few years of my life, and I couldn’t explain it if I tried.”
“So, what are we doing?” Grant asked. “Hiring a PI to look into my mom?”
“I think that’s the best course of action,” Bryson said. “I’ll talk to my dad in the morning.”
The fire snapped softly in the grate. Grant leaned back, drained his glass in one swallow, and closed his eyes.
For the first time, Bryson saw just how tired the man was—not just from the questioning, but from years of playing roles, keeping secrets, and living under the weight of someone else’s expectations.
Grant peeked open one eye. “So, you and my sister, again, huh?”
Bryson smiled. It was hard not to. “I’m working on it.”
“Don’t fuck it up this time.” Grant stood, slapping Bryson on the back. “And if you tell anyone that I wouldn’t mind you as a brother-in-law, well, I won’t deny it this time.” Grant slipped out of the room and disappeared down the hallway.
Bryson corked the bottle, took the glasses, and headed toward the kitchen, where he found Riley sitting at the island with a bowl full of ice cream sprinkled with homemade cookies. “What are you doing out of bed?”
“I thought about eavesdropping on your and Grant's conversation and then decided that would be rude.” She licked the spoon, scooped up some more, and offered him a bite. “Are you going to tell me about it?”
“I am,” he said. Leaning forward, he ate the dessert she offered.
“All of it. Every detail. Nothing left out.”
He nodded.
She stood, holding the bowl of ice cream. “Get the chocolate sauce.”
“Why am I doing that?”
“Because we’re going to bed where I’m going to do unspeakable things to you with that sauce, and then in the morning, after being fully satisfied, and having a good night's sleep, you’ll talk.”
“God, I love you.”
“I know.” She tapped the back of the spoon on his nose and took off toward the back staircase, leaving him standing in the kitchen, breathless.
He’d better not fuck this up, because his heart wouldn’t recover.
Riley sat on the edge of Bryson’s bed, toes curling into the plush rug, the faint thrum of her pulse filling her ears.
The room was dimly lit except for the amber glow spilling from the lamp on the nightstand, casting long shadows on the walls.
She watched Bryson cross the room, the bottle of chocolate syrup in his hand, the corner of his mouth curved in a way that was equal parts tease and promise.
“You were a wicked girl twelve years ago.” He smiled that same boyish grin he had back in high school that made her insides turn to mush. “And now you’re a wicked woman.”
She laughed. “Do you remember our first time?”
Slowly, he inched forward. “Under the stars, in the vineyard, after the Fourth of July picnic. We’d figured out all the essential things by then. How to please each other. What we liked, didn’t like… except I still always got caught with my hand up your shirt.”
“You were the devil,” she said.
“Where do you want it?” he asked, his voice low, almost a growl.
Her lips quirked. “Surprise me.”
The first cool drizzle landed on her lower lip.
She drew in a breath, his thumb swept it across, smearing sweetness before his mouth claimed hers.
His kiss was warm and slow at first, tasting of chocolate and him, the mix dizzying and familiar all at once.
When his tongue glided across hers, her grip on his T-shirt tightened, pulling him closer.
She desperately needed him. To feel him. To absorb all his love and strength. He’d always been so eager and willing to give her what she’d desired. He’d sensed her moods and shifted his to help her navigate her world. For so long, this man had been the root that held her to the earth.
Her hands slid beneath the cotton of his shirt, seeking the heat of his skin, the hard planes of muscle she’d memorized years ago and had never forgotten.
He broke the kiss only to strip the shirt over his head.
The lamplight caught on the ridges of his chest, the faint dusting of hair trailing downward, the flex of his shoulders when he leaned in again.
She lay back as he followed her down, his weight braced but still pressing into her enough to make her breath hitch. His mouth moved along her jaw, then lower to her neck, his breath warm as he found the sensitive place just beneath her ear. She shivered when his lips grazed over it.
He tugged her tank upward, masterfully wedging it between their bodies to reveal the curve of her breast. He kissed her there first, slow and reverent, before taking her nipple into his mouth, drawing a gasp from her.
The scrape of his teeth was followed by the soft pull of his lips, sending heat pooling low in her belly.
“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, lifting his gaze as he tossed her shirt to the side. “Everything about you is perfect.” He placed a tender kiss on her belly, moving lower, until his fingers curled into her pajama bottoms.
When he peeled them down her legs, the cool air against her bare skin made her shiver again. His hands were firm on her thighs, easing them apart before his fingers stroked over her, slow and sure, until her hips arched toward him.
“Yes. Yes. Please.”
His tongue sailed across her like a ship pulling into port, slow and steady, maneuvering in just the right spots to bring her close to the edge.
She clung to him, biting her lip, shaking her head wildly, as waves of pleasure crashed into her like a tidal wave.
Pausing for a moment, he shed his pants, lifted the syrup, and drizzled some on her thighs, licking it, before diving in with both mouth and fingers.
She tensed, digging her heels into the mattress. Blinking, she tried to suck in a deep breath, but all she could manage was a few panting moans before her climax broke like the crest of a wave smashing into the shoreline.
His lips danced up her stomach, across her breasts, until he found her mouth. He kissed her, hard, swallowing every sound she made.
And then, he slid into her in one long, steady stroke, his breath breaking against her lips.
She held onto him, feeling the fullness of him inside her, the way his body seemed to fit against hers like they’d been made for only for each other.
He moved slowly at first, each thrust deliberate, his gaze locked on hers as though he was memorizing every flicker of her expression.
Her second climax built gradually, each pass of his hips fanning the heat higher until it broke over her like a cork popping from a champagne bottle, pulling a soft cry from her as she tightened around him.
He followed soon after, a low groan against her skin as his body shuddered, and then he stilled, holding her as if she might vanish if he relaxed his arms.
They stayed wrapped in the sheets, her head pillowed on his chest, the steady thump of his heart lulling her into a kind of calm she hadn’t felt in years. Outside, a breeze rattled the branches, and the faint sound of crickets seeped through the open window.
Bryson’s fingers moved idly in her hair, combing through the strands with a touch so absentminded it felt unconscious—like he couldn’t not touch her.
“You used to always do that,” she murmured against his chest.
“Do what?”
“Run your fingers through my hair after…” She shrugged. “Back then, I figured you were doing it because you thought you had to do something. Like it was the grown-up thing to do.”
His lips curved faintly. “I’ve always loved your hair. The way it feels against my fingertips. But I never did it out of some weird male obligation after sex cuddle thing. I enjoy this part, too.”
Something in her chest tightened at that—at the ease with which he said it and the fact that it was true.
“I used to lie awake after,” she admitted, voice soft. “Not because I couldn’t sleep. Because I didn’t want to. I didn’t want to miss any of it.”
His hand stilled briefly, and then he tilted his head so he could meet her gaze. The amber light caught the edges of his eyes, making them burn just a little. “I didn’t want to miss it either. But I was too damn young and too damn stubborn to admit that out loud.”
She gave him a small, crooked smile. “Guess we were both stubborn.”
“Still are,” he said. “Difference is, I’m not interested in letting my stubbornness get in the way this time.”
She shifted. “I want this. I want you. I want us.” She swallowed, staring at him, unsure of what to say.
Or how to say it. She let her palm rest over the slow rise and fall of his chest. She could feel every beat, every breath.
She knew what he meant—what he wanted—but there was a weight pressing against her ribs.
Not fear exactly. More like a fragile kind of hope she wasn’t ready to drop in the middle of the floor, just yet.
“Bryson…”
“Hmm?” He traced the line of her jaw with his thumb.
“I do love you. I never really stopped.” She swallowed, her voice catching slightly.
“At first, I didn’t think I’d last five minutes in Stone Bridge.
But it’s gotten easier, and I want to be here.
I want to forge a relationship with my nieces and nephews.
I don’t want to miss out. But we’ve been apart for twelve years.
But loving you now isn’t the same. I’ve changed and so have you.
We don’t know each other the same way, and we can’t simply be the couple we once were. ”
“I know that.” He kissed her nose. “All I’m asking for is a shot at a second chance. I want to go for walks. Dinners. Spend time with you.”
“I want that too.” She pressed her lips against his chest. “And you should know, I asked Mateo to ship the rest of my things. I do plan on staying. I just can’t promise you forever. I can only promise you that I want to see where this goes.”
He held her gaze for a long time, then dipped his head, pressing a slow kiss to her forehead. “That’s enough for me.”
They lay like that for a while, listening to the low hum of the night and the faint creak of the old house settling. Her breathing synced with his without her even trying, the rhythm grounding her in a way that made her chest ache.
And for the first time since she’d set foot back in Stone Bridge, she let herself imagine a future here—one with him in it.