26. Grace
Grace
By evening, the house feels the way I imagine holidays are supposed to feel—too full, too loud, humming with the kind of warmth that makes it hard to think straight. Not that I’d know.
Thanksgiving at my parents’ was never like this. In fact, they haven’t even noticed I’m not in Los Angeles. My quick text to my mother on the way out of town was read, and that’s it. I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised since we only talk if we must.
Early this morning, I made it back to my room unseen after leaving Maddox’s bed. I couldn’t think straight or stay still, so I laced up my sneakers and ran until my lungs burned and my thoughts thinned enough to manage.
When I returned, Meri and Katie were already deep into Thanksgiving mode with aprons on, music playing, and the kitchen a flurry of motion.
After my shower, as I’m getting dressed, my phone rings.
Morgan.
“Hey, what’s wrong?” A swath of guilt skates down my spine; I haven’t spoken to her in months.
There was a time when we spoke daily, sometimes several times a day. Morgan was on a first date with Cary when he was killed, and in the aftermath, the two of us became irrevocably linked. Her friendship is the only thing good to come from my brother’s death.
“I should be asking you the same question.” Traffic in the background muffles her voice. “Where are you?”
“What?”
“You’re not at home because I’m in LA, and I just left your place. Unless you saw me at your door and decided not to answer.” Her wry tone pulls a reluctant smile from me.
“You’re in LA?” Excitement spikes, then immediately drops.
“Yeah. I flew in to surprise you for Thanksgiving. Zero had a work thing, and I figured I’d steal you for a few days. So, Grace… Where are you? I’ve got wheels and can meet you.”
I grimace. “I’m in Montana. On assignment.”
There’s a beat before the questions hit—fast and relentless.
What assignment?
Why didn’t you say anything?
She knows all about my work situation, and I feel guilty for not thinking to call her before now. She listens as I fill her in on Vitale and everything that came after. Well, not everything.
“And this Hartley dude.” She pauses for effect. “You like him?”
“No.” I’m too fast on the denial. “What are you talking about?”
“Girl. You can lie to yourself, but don’t lie to me.” Her casual laughter causes me to bristle. Of course, leave it to Morgan to pick up on the one thing I don’t want to talk about.
“You’re not funny.”
“Oh, I’m hilarious, and you’re deflecting. Tell me all about your crush.”
“M, I’d love to cook up something that feeds your delusion—like I’m having a torrid affair with my subject”—I’m a liar and going to hell—“but I have to go help with Thanksgiving dinner.”
“Sure, you do.”
“I do.” I clamp my mouth shut before I confess I’m staying at Maddox’s house. Absolutely not happening.
“Fine. I’m bummed I don’t get to see your beautiful face.”
“Me, too.”
“I’ll let you go, but promise me one thing. Please, please tell me he’s nothing like that assclown Blane.”
I’m not opening that door. It was three months of my life I wish I could erase, and she’ll never let me forget it. If I open that door—even to defend myself—I’ll never get off the phone. “Bye, M.” I hang up before she can protest.
Pushing the conversation out of my mind—though I know it isn’t the last of it—I head into the kitchen and offer help wherever it’s needed. Meri doesn’t hesitate to put me to work. Chopping. Stirring. Setting the table.
I welcome the distraction, feeling the need to stay busy, to be useful.
By midafternoon, the house is a revolving door. Oliver and Wren arrive first, then Eddie, followed not long after by Percy and the infamous Pop, owner of Pop’s Grill and father to Wren and Percy.
He stands in the doorway like he belongs everywhere all at once, barrel-chested, warm-eyed, bundled in a coat that has seen more than a few Montana winters. When Raf introduces us, Pop takes my hand in both of his and smiles like he already knows me.
“Grace.” His voice is gravelly and kind. “About time.”
I watch Percy next to her father, and if I didn’t know any better, I’d never know there’s friction. Their mutual love for one another is clear to see.
The house only gets louder with the arrival of Zoe, Serena, and Kellen. At some point, Blane slips in, too, and while he’s been in the house all day, this is the first I’m seeing him, and I’m yet to see Maddox. We haven’t crossed paths all morning.
Blane finds me near the kitchen island. “Grace, where have you been? I haven’t seen you since last night.”
I keep my hands busy, staking napkins, and try not to bristle. “I’ve been here all day. If you’d come down to help, you would’ve found me.”
I internally wince at how thin my nerves are, stretched by the knowledge now more than ever that it’s time for Blane to leave. He can’t find out I slept with Maddox.
“Yeah.” His gaze flicks past me, casual, surveying. “You’re always in the thick of things.” Then his eyes swing back, slow and deliberate, pausing until I meet his. “Or wherever your subject is.”
The words land soft, and that’s what makes them dangerous. Despite the twist in my stomach, I register the tone. Not accusatory. Not yet. Just... observant, as if filing something away for later. Does he know about last night?
Then he casually moves on to work, timelines, reaffirming my impression he plans to be here for the long haul. Absolutely not.
While his questions are normal, they’re asked too carefully, each one with intention. Then his gaze slows, tracking movement behind me—Maddox. I’d recognize his scent anywhere. I don’t look as he passes through once, close enough I sense him, far enough that Blane can’t prove anything.
It’s almost as if he knows, or if not knows, senses something has shifted between Maddox and me.
When Percy cuts in, Blane smiles and drifts away like he got what he came for. I let out a slow breath even as dread settles low in my stomach. I have to do something.
Soon enough, we’re seated, giving thanks and passing plates. Somewhere in the middle of it all, I catch Zoe in the hallway, both of us headed for the bathroom.
Earlier today, I looked up her work. She’s good. Not Blane good, but far better than me, and I was the one originally assigned to do it all. She’s the perfect replacement for Blane. Now, here’s hoping she wants it.
“Hey, Zoe.” I lower my voice, scanning behind us. The last thing I need is Blane overhearing.
“Hey.”
“I wanted to ask if you’d have time—or interest—in helping with some of the art for the feature on Maddox.” I glance over my shoulder again, making sure we’re alone. “Photos, short videos, maybe a few graphics or charts. I’d give you direction, and we’d finalize everything together.”
Her eyes widen, bright with what I hope is excitement. “Oh my gosh, Grace—yes. I’d love to.”
Relief loosens the knot sitting heavy in my belly.
“Great.” I hand her my phone. “Give me your number, and I’ll reach out on...” I pause to figure out when is the best time to talk to Blane. “Say Tuesday.”
She taps in her details and hands it back, beaming. “You know, since you’ll be busy with the feature, I could probably work with Blane, too. I could learn a lot from him.”
“Um…” I hesitate because this is where it gets complicated.
It would be a great opportunity for Zoe, though Blane doesn’t play nice with other photographers.
I could soften it, but the truth is best. “Blane won’t be around much longer.”
Her brows lift. “Oh.”
“Yeah. Other assignments.” I tuck my phone away. “We should probably get back to the table.”
She nods and leads the way.
Dinner passes in a blur, and by the time the clean-up is done, football commands the family room. I hang back in the kitchen and find Eddie.
“Hey.” I step closer, lowering my voice. “I heard you used to work with Ray.”
“Uh-huh.” Eddie leans against the counter, his flannel shirt stretches across his broad shoulders. “Everything I know about vehicles, I learned from him. Ray was a mentor and good friend. I bought his garage when he passed.” He studies me. “Why?”
“With the memorial this weekend, I wanted to get a sense of the man—from people who knew him well.” I keep my tone easy. “I don’t know how much will make it into the feature, if anything, but I thought it was worth asking.”
His smile is warm but distant. “Tell you what, Grace. I’m speaking at the memorial. That might be all you need. If you want more after that, come find me.”
“Okay, thanks.”
He pushes off the counter and grabs a beer from the fridge. “You want one?”
“No, I’m good.” I lift my water.
“Game’s starting. You coming?”
“In a minute.”
What I need is distance. From Blane. From stealing glances at Maddox like I did all throughout the meal. From anything that could be puzzled together if someone decides to look too closely.
So, I wander in late and pause inside the doorway. Every seat is taken.
Maddox is on the sofa, flanked by bodies and beer bottles. Blane leans against the far wall, drink in hand, already mid-monologue with Serena, who looks cornered.
I take him in for half a second before deliberately turning the other way. I’ve endured far too many insufferable conversations with him today.
Pop spots me first, and his face lights up. “Grace.” His hand pats the arm of his chair as he stands. “Here, take my seat.”
Eddie stands, too. “Sit. Please.”
A few of the others echo it, chairs shifting, bodies moving, and I shake my head, smiling. “I’m good.”
I lower myself to the floor, cross-legged, leaning back against the couch. Grounding. Safe. Even still, I’m aware of Maddox and every one of his glances and how each one sends a spark blazing up my spine. His hands. His mouth. The way his body fits mine, seamless and unnerving in how right it felt.
Nope, these are dangerous thoughts. I can’t do this to myself, so I tuck them away, fixing my gaze on the screen.
When the game ends, the guys talk poker, and within minutes, the chips are out, Oliver’s shuffling the cards, and the men drop into place around the table.
That’s when Meri announces she’s done for the night. Surprisingly—or maybe not—Blane follows suit. He was always terrible at any kind of game.
Pop stands next, claps Maddox on the shoulder, and says something about leftovers and bedtime. Wren, Zoe, and Serena echo the sentiment, and hugs and goodbyes are traded all around.
I linger near the edge of the room, watching the table come together, knowing I should leave but tempted to stay. I like poker. I’m good at it. That’s when my gaze snags on Maddox, who’s staring at me.
“Grace, join us.” He pats the empty chair beside him, a single easy tap of his palm against the back of it, but the sound cracks through me like a starter pistol. Heat blooms low in my stomach, and my pulse stutters with a hunger I have no business surrendering to while in a room full of people.
“Um, while I’d love to take everyone’s money, I’m going to bed.”
A few snorts and laughs ripple around the table, heads shaking as his grin widens. “I’d like to see you try.”
Eddie chuckles, the first real smile I’ve seen from him all evening, and it’s devastating in its ease. “I like you.”
Unable to stop myself, I flirt back. “The feeling is mutual.”
Tipping his head back, he laughs, and most of the men join him.
Maddox narrows his gaze on his best friend’s brother, more amused than annoyed. “Edward Winslow, nothing’s changed. You’ve still got that charm women can’t resist.”
Eddie grunts, and I laugh and shake my head, but then I stop at the way Maddox looks at me. The conversation has already drifted to poker, easy banter filling the space, and then it’s just the two of us.
The look he gives me might as well be a long, warm hug.
Quiet.
Comforting.
For me.
I shiver, an ache blooming in the center of my chest as I nod once, turn toward the stairs, and go to bed.