Chapter 5 #2
“Well, if you’re looking to regroup, you’ve come to the right place. Gansett is known for its restorative powers.”
“Is that so?”
Nodding, he said, “You might want to stick around for a while.”
“Why’s that?”
“Because last night, the McCarthys talked me into staying until October to play the Tiki Bar at the marina—six whole weeks in one place.” He shuddered dramatically. “It’d be a lot more interesting if you’re here, too.”
Laura eyed him skeptically. “If you say so. Thanks for the tour.”
Owen walked her to the front door. “My pleasure. I hope I’ll see you again soon.”
Unsure of how to reply to that, she put on her hood and zipped her raincoat for the walk back to her aunt and uncle’s house. The hour with Owen had been one of the more enjoyable that she’d spent since her life was ripped apart.
He’d given her a lot to think about.
If not for the storm, Grant might’ve skipped the gathering at Mac’s house.
Sitting alone in a dark house had given him far too much time to think, so he headed to the marina.
Back in the day, he would’ve used the unexpected free time to work on the screenplay of the moment.
But lately, the words just weren’t there.
He kept expecting them to come back. They’d been so much a part of him for his entire life that the silence of their absence was overwhelming.
If he allowed himself to think too much about whether or not they’d ever come back, he’d lose what was left of his mind.
The words had made him special. They’d given him something most other people didn’t have.
Without them, he was nothing—a thought that filled him with irrational panic.
It was definitely better not to think about it.
As he drove, he told himself he was going to refill the generator with gas, check on the boats and make sure the marina was withstanding the storm. But underneath it all, he wanted to check on Stephanie. Thinking of her alone in the dark at the deserted marina bothered him for some strange reason.
She was a pain in the ass, no doubt about it, but his mother had raised him right, and he’d rather not feel guilty about her being alone when she could be with his family and friends.
Even though Mac had invited both of them earlier, Grant was quite certain Stephanie wouldn’t go to the party on her own.
He parked outside the main building and pulled the hood up over his head to take a quick walk down the main pier.
The few remaining boats bobbed and rolled, but they all seemed securely tied, so Grant turned into the wind to hustle back the way he’d come.
The rain was almost painful as it beat against his face.
Using his key, he let himself into the main building and shook off the wetness in the vestibule.
Still dripping, he stepped into the restaurant and found Stephanie at one of the tables, poring over a pile of papers with a battery-powered light illuminating the vast space.
Howling wind had the old wood building creaking and straining, and Grant was grateful that Mac had recently replaced the roof. At least it was dry.
Despite the howling and creaking, Stephanie was completely absorbed in whatever she was doing.
Grant couldn’t help but notice how vulnerable she seemed as she was nearly dwarfed by the huge stack of papers.
She had her head propped in the palm of her hand, and her lips moved as she read, which was oddly adorable.
Her neck was long and graceful, which spurred yet another memory from the night before—of worshiping the soft skin on her neck with openmouthed kisses that had made her moan.
Before his body could react to the images that accompanied the memory, Grant cleared his throat and stepped into the room.
She looked up, startled and seeming slightly fearful. What was that all about?
“Hey.” Standing so fast her chair toppled over behind her, she got busy scooping up the papers. “What’re you doing here?”
“I thought you might like to go to the party at Mac’s.”
“Oh. Um.” Her gaze darted to the stack of papers. “I have stuff to do here.”
“What’s all that?”
She shifted ever so slightly, as if she were trying to put herself between him and the papers. “Nothing. Just some work.”
Grant closed the small distance between them and leaned over her shoulder, startled to settle his gaze on what looked to be a legal document of some sort. “Are you in trouble?”
“No! Of course not. It’s nothing.” With a hand to his chest, she fended him off. “It’s none of your business.”
Grant couldn’t help but laugh at that, even though he had never seen her so nervous. “Isn’t that rich, coming from someone who’s planted herself knee-deep in my business since the day we met.”
“That’s because you needed my help. I don’t. Need yours, that is.”
Taking a chair and turning it around backward, Grant straddled it. “Why don’t you let me be the judge of that?”
“What’re you doing? You can’t just plunk yourself down . . .”
He arched a brow. “Like I own the place?” Part of him wanted to cringe as the words left his mouth, since it wasn’t like him to play that card, but he was too proud of the zinger to take it back. Let’s face it, he owed her a few from earlier.
All the starch seemed to leave her when he said that, and she sagged, which made him feel like an ass for poking at her when she clearly didn’t want him to. The Stephanie he knew didn’t sag.
“Please, Grant. Leave it alone. I’m asking you as a friend.”
“So we’re friends now?” He rubbed at the stubble on his chin. “Is that so?”
“It’s easier to think of you as a friend than to think of myself as a slut because of what happened last night.”
He hated to hear her use that word to describe herself. “So we had sex. Big whoop. People do it all the time.”
“I don’t.”
Something about the way she said the two little words conveyed a world of loneliness that touched him in places he didn’t want her touching him. Those places belonged to Abby, and he’d do well to remember that. “So what is all this?”
“I told you I don’t want to talk about it.”
“And I told you earlier I didn’t want to talk about Abby. Did you listen to me? Nope.”
“This is different.”
“Because we’re minding your business instead of mine?”
Glowering at him, she let out a deep sigh. “You are so aggravating.”
“Likewise.” He felt sort of bad for pushing her, but why should she be able to dig into his crap if he couldn’t dig into hers? Not that he cared about her crap, but for some reason it was fun to provoke her.
“If you must know, I’m doing some research.”
“What kind of research?”
“The kind you do when you want to know more about something.”
That’s when he realized she was humoring him and had no intention of actually leveling with him. Grant snatched one of the pages off the table. The top line read The People v. Charles Grandchamp. The name was familiar to him, but he couldn’t say why.
“Give that to me!” She grabbed the paper from him and clutched it to her chest.
Grant glanced up at her and was shocked to find tears forming in her expressive eyes. “Stephanie . . .” He felt like a total creep for pushing the issue, even if he’d only been intending to give her a bit of her own medicine. “I’m sorry.”
With her jaw set in that mulish expression she did so well, she looked away from him.
“I was just fooling around. I didn’t mean to upset you.” Berating himself for going too far, he reached for her chin and forced her to meet his gaze. “I’m sorry, okay?”
She shrugged him off and returned the paper he’d taken to her stack.
“Tell me,” he said, not sure why it mattered so much.
Shaking her head, she said, “I can’t.” The helpless tone to her voice was so wildly removed from her usual sauciness that it further saddened him.
“Maybe I can help.”
That drew a bitter-sounding laugh from her that was so different from the laughter he’d experienced in the mud puddle that he would’ve thought it came from someone else if he hadn’t been watching her closely both times.
“No one can help.”
“Stephanie—”
“Fine!” The word seemed torn from her very soul as she spun around, her eyes wild with rage and fear and pain unlike anything he’d ever seen in his life.
“If you want to know so bad—here it is. Charles Grandchamp is my stepfather—the one person in my whole, entire, miserable life who was ever good to me, who ever loved me or gave a shit about me. And guess where he is?” Before Grant could begin to form a coherent statement, she answered her own question.
“In prison, serving a life sentence with no chance of parole, for kidnapping and assault of a minor.” Her chest heaved, and tears fell freely down her face.
Riveted by her outburst, Grant couldn’t seem to move as he absorbed what she’d said. “Who did he kidnap and assault?”
“Me,” she said so softly he almost didn’t hear her over the howling and creaking.