25. Graciella
TWENTY-FIVE
GRACIELLA
MY TWO LITTLE brOKEN BABIES FILLING EACH OTHER’S EMOTIONAL HOLES. (AND EVENTUALLY OTHER HOLES…)
I wouldn’t do well as a captive.
No fucking way I’d survive the torture portion. They wouldn’t even have to pull out a tooth or resort to physical violence. They could just recreate the hellscape I was lying in, and I’d break—tell them whatever they wanted.
There was no hum of an AC or loud yelling from down the hall. There weren’t even the sounds of neighbors having sex.
Nothing to distract me from the swirl of thoughts pounding in my head and the glaring fact that I was in bed with Josh Monroe.
I flipped sides for the millionth time, coming face to face with the goose-feather-filled barricade I’d reconstructed after dinner. If only I’d left an opening to peek at him. Was he tossing and turning, thinking about sharing a bed? Or was he off to dreamland like this was no big deal?
Did he end up taking his shirt off?
“I can hear you thinking, Graciella.” Monroe’s voice caused me to leap damn near out of the bed.
Moonlight filtered through the sheer curtains, bathing the room in a subtle glow. Still, it wasn’t enough to allow me to make out the details of his face.
The cotton pillowcase brushed the underside of my arm as I reached over, searching for his—
“Ow. What the hell?” He swatted away my hand.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered. “I was trying to tell if your eyes were open or closed.”
“Why wouldn’t you just ask instead of poking me in the eye?”
Of course his sleepy tone is hot.
I batted away the thought. The last thing I needed was to add that to the growing list of things I liked about him. For days, I’d been a jumbled mess of thoughts and feelings. Of revelations I was trying really hard to ignore.
“Did you need something, or you just wanted to assault me?” he grumbled, shaking me from my inner thoughts.
“I can’t sleep.”
His sigh competed with the rustling of blankets, and the mattress dipped where he pushed up on an elbow.
My heart picked up speed when his head popped into view, the dusting of facial hair along his jaw darker in the shadowed lighting.
His typical furrowed brow softened, and the harsh line of his mouth tugged up a fraction higher than normal.
“Why can’t you sleep?”
His voice was patient—sincere—which only made my stomach twist.
“I’ve never slept with a man.” I slapped a hand over my loose lips.
“You’re a virgin?” His brows damn near flew off his forehead.
I barked out a laugh. “What? No? I mean, I’ve never slept with someone. Like, closed my eyes at nighttime and shared a bed.” I lowered my voice, knowing this whole confession was stupid. “I don’t know how—”
Monroe’s baritone laugh cut me off.
“You ass.” I swung over the pillows, aiming for the side of his head, but he dodged. “I shared a vulnerability with you, and you laugh?”
One by one, the pillows between us disappeared, and with them, my only protection from him.
Thank god he has a shirt.
But also, fuck, he has a shirt…
“Having something to actually put your head on is helpful.” He reached over the top of me, his hand slipping under my head and fingers threading through my hair.
My heart stopped. Heat prickled where his rough pads dug in.
Blue eyes locked on mine as our faces drew closer.
“There,” he said, tucking a pillow under my head and setting me back down gently. He moved back to his side.
Monroe’s touch lingered like a ghost, taunting me. Making me imagine what it’d be like to have him do it again—all over.
Silence pervaded the room.
The only sounds were our synced breaths as we lay on our backs, hands resting on our chests. Pretending that it wasn’t only inches separating us.
“Is this it?” I asked, unable to handle the quiet.
“Is what it, Graciella?”
That deep tone snaked over my body like a caress.
“Sleeping with a man? This is what happens? You lie next to each other like…” I waved up and down my body, unsure if he could see. “Feels like I’m a vampire in a coffin.”
His low chuff had my nipples pebbling against the cotton fabric of my shirt.
“No, this isn’t usually how it goes.” He paused. “At least not from what I remember. It’s been a while for me.”
“How long?” I asked.
Monroe’s body went rigid beside me.
“Sorry, that’s none of my business.”
He’s going to rebuild the wall of pillows or push me onto the floor.
He cleared his throat. “I haven’t slept in a bed with a woman since before Goldie. Like…a few years before her.”
“That how long it’s been since you’ve had sex?”
Fuck.
My neck and cheeks flushed. I couldn’t keep my mouth shut. If the plush pillow-topped mattress could swallow me whole, that would be great.
Monroe turned toward me. Heat radiated off his body, calling to me like a siren song, but I glued my gaze to the sliver of moonlight shining on the ceiling. It took all my restraint not to shove him the other way.
“You don’t pull your punches, do you, Trouble?”
“I used to,” I whispered, unsure why I shared.
“Hmm. Well, I like that you don’t.” Butterflies erupted low in my stomach at his praise. “To answer your question, no, that’s not how long it’s been since I’ve had sex. But it’s been…awhile.”
Vanilla lip balm coated my tongue, my teeth sinking into the fleshy part of my lip. It was time to cut off this conversation. I’d already pried too far into his life with my questions.
His elbow bumped into my arm, causing me to jump. “Ask what you really want to ask.”
“How do you know I want to ask you something? Maybe I was falling asleep.”
He grunted, calling my bullshit.
“Okay, so…where is Goldie’s mom? I’ve never heard you talk about her, and I kept my promise not to dig into it.”
“Rachel…” He paused, clearing his throat. “Rachel passed,” he said gently, and my lids closed, regret flooding my body at the answer.
He shifted, and without thinking, my hand snaked out, finding his. He threaded our fingers, calloused palm kissing my smooth one.
Grief was complex. Never a single emotion, but a mash-up of feelings all at war with one another. There was no rule book for it, for how to deal with it, or for who’d experience it. The only thing I knew for certain was that it was a bitch.
I lied, telling myself he needed the comfort.
When I needed his.
Monroe’s gravelly voice disrupted the quiet. “We were never together. Not really, anyway. I was young, making good money in the league, living on top of the world. And we hooked up while out on the road. We were responsible too, but…”
The words drifted off, and I squeezed his hand.
“I didn’t even know she was pregnant until I got the call.
The hospital said Rachel gave the paramedics my information.
Told ’em I was the father. She was almost due when she got into the accident.
A drunk driver T-boned her. Her injuries were too severe.
They pulled her off life support shortly after it happened. ”
His voice cracked, fingers tightening around mine. I wasn’t sure if he knew he was caressing the side of my thumb with his.
My heart broke for what he must have gone through.
“What about her family?” I asked when a quiet had settled over us.
I felt him shake his head, his hair rubbing the cotton pillowcase. “No clue. There was no one there for Rachel or Goldie when my mom and I got there. Been just the two of us ever since.”
I could hear the smile in his voice at the last part.
He wasn’t asking me to share something vulnerable, but for the first time, I wanted to. With him. I swallowed, trying to force some moisture back into my dried mouth.
“I’ve never lost someone close to death, but…my father isn’t in my life. And some days it feels as if he died…” I paused, the words lodged in my throat. “Some days I wish he had.” The confession was a whisper, and I instantly wished I could shove it back.
What would he think of me for saying something like that?
“What did he do?”
What did he do. Not what did I do?
A tear prickled at the corners of my eye. I was so used to people assuming it was my fault. I took a breath, the hurt clawing at my chest. You’d think the wounds were days old rather than years. Monroe remained silent, allowing me time.
“I love my family, my culture…but there tends to be a double standard.”
“Ariella mentioned that was why she sought out the position in Dallas,” he said, turning on his side to watch me.
“Exactly.” I waved a hand, chuckling. “The space was good for them. My tío and primo can be a little overbearing, but they mean well. They also never prevented Ariella from pursuing her dreams and supported her in all her goals. But my dad…”
Silence enveloped the room for a beat.
“Since I was a little girl, I did everything he asked. Adhered to every rule, curfew, and chore. My dad said jump, and I asked how high.” I turned my head to face him. “I didn’t just used to pull my punches, I flat out didn’t throw them.”
Monroe reached out, stroking my cheek like he had the other night in his laundry room. The touch lingered for the briefest of moments, but the heat remained, warming low in my stomach.
“That doesn’t seem like you at all.”
I laughed. He’d never have recognized young Graciella.
“I don’t think I knew who I was. I just knew how to pretend to be who my father wanted me to be.
” It was why I was good at PR. I knew the ins and outs of presenting what others wanted to see—or hiding what they didn’t.
“I chased his approval constantly, convincing myself that when I finally made him proud, then he’d see me.
Ask me what I wanted.” My voice sounded distant—trapped in the past.
“What happened?” Monroe asked, trapping my chin with his thumb and forefinger. Guiding my face toward his.
He tugged my lip from between my teeth, nodding his head for me to continue.