Chapter 6 #3
“It’s okay, Pais.” The corner of his mouth tipped up in a half smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “You’ve been through a lot. Take it easy, okay?”
“I’d rather get the tidal wave over now than live in this limbo of not knowing. I can process with osmosis later. For now, I need a pot of tea, a tour of the house, and my life story. In that order.”
Greyson chuckled softly, a low, throaty sound that warmed my insides. “I can only promise the first two right now.”
But as I watched him go, a pang of guilt stabbed my stomach.
Juliet said I married Greyson, and obviously I wasn’t a bigamist. Then why did I find this man attractive yet still feel married to Jared?
Alarm flooded my veins. Did I cheat? Did I leave him?
Was he dead? Based on Greyson’s response—and avoidance—to my questions about him, there was some sort of history there.
“Did I cheat on him?” I blurted to Greyson’s back.
“No.” He whirled around so fast I looped my arms around Rosie’s neck like she’d protect me.
He must have read my posture because his intensity gentled.
“No, love. You did nothing wrong. It was never you.” His jaw ticked, like he was holding back what he really wanted to say.
But he didn’t let the words out, just offered me a crooked almost-smile and disappeared down the hall.
Rosie pattered after him, which was kinda adorable.
His reassurance should have made me feel better. Instead, confusion and warmth churned in my gut. He’d called me love again. I shouldn’t like it. And yet . . . I really did.
I studied the empty room, sucking in a lungful of the minty-vanilla air.
It smelled like summer and childhood dreams. Or what I imagined they’d be like.
My childhood dreams were all nightmares.
“Whoever decorated this place had nice taste,” I said to myself, running a hand over the forest-green damask fabric of the armchair.
Liz’s bright smile popped into view, and she dropped onto the sofa across from me. “The compliment is yours. This is all you, honey.”
Huh. The house didn’t feel like me. Or at least the version of me I knew.
Maybe because it was supposed to feel like us, but I didn’t know what us looked like anymore.
The apartment Jared and I lived in was .
. . chaotic. A dorm room with bland beige walls, small windows, and clutter I could never seem to clean up fast enough for him.
But this room—this house—was a haven. My soul could breathe for a minute.
The kettle whistled, and Stephanie scurried in, scooping tea into a rose-floral teapot.
She hated the stuff, but I’d taught her to make it the British way—aka the only proper way—in college.
Loose leaf was the way to go and never microwaved.
Horrors. Juliet joined us and offered a tour while the tea steeped.
The promised tour was short as the house wasn’t large.
Just a guest room and the master bedroom with an ensuite upstairs, a cozy kitchen and sweet little dining nook, a modest-sized separate dining room, a laundry room off the back leading into the backyard, and the most darling library room off the hallway opposite the stairs.
Its mahogany-coloured shelves and dark academia décor splashed against the deep teal walls thrilled my bookish-loving heart.
It was every inch a literary escape. The silhouette oval caricatures of Elizabeth Bennet and Mr. Darcy peered at me from beside the east-facing bay window seat—the perfect place to curl up on a drizzly afternoon.
A well-loved guitar sat in the corner. Did Greyson play? Because I sure didn’t.
The map of Middle Earth stretched out over one wall with a replica of Aragorn’s sword mounted over top. Guess we really were fans. Or nerds. I traced a finger over it fondly. I would love having a quiet place to escape to with old friends waiting for me on the shelves.
And it had a rolling ladder.
Best feature about the house. Too bad ladders and I weren’t on speaking terms just now; otherwise, I’d be having a full-on Belle moment.
Instead, I kept my feet on solid, reliable hardwood and spun around. Books were home. Some things never changed. I trailed a finger down the spines of what appeared to be a fantasy shelf. I wonder how many of these I’ll read again for the first time?
“The shelves are beautiful,” I breathed, running my hand over the smooth polished wood.
“Grey made them as a wedding present,” Juliet offered.
That was . . . wow.
Tour ended, I sank back into the armchair, a wave of exhaustion rolling over me.
But I mustered up the willpower to sip the steaming tea Greyson handed me.
Tea was a calming influence. A ritual. One could not be depressed when drinking tea.
Pretty sure that was scientific. Or at least it should be.
I breathed in the rich aroma. It was perfect with the exact amount of cream and sugar. How did he know . . . ?
Husband. The word slammed into me, and I couldn’t help the visceral reaction. The red truck calendar on the kitchen wall grounded me as I identified the emotional war turning me upside down.
Grief.
I’d lost seven years of my life. Seven years, a thousand memories, and any sort of recent connection to the people closest to me.
I glanced between Greyson and my friends clustered around the living room.
My body shied away from Greyson’s studying gaze.
Not in a weird way, more like “I have a crush and I’m going to act all ridiculous about it.
” I was too old for crushes. How old was I anyway?
Math was never my strong suit, but a quick mental tally landed me at twenty-eight. I blew out a breath.
Okay, let’s review. Greyson was Juliet’s brother. Therefore, he couldn’t be bad. Poor logic? Maybe, but if Juliet trusted him, that was enough for me right now.
Plus, I’d married him, and she said we were in love. So then why was my body scared? Where was Jared?
Wait a second . . . What if I wasn’t responding to Greyson but to marriage? For some reason, my friends told me I wasn’t with Jared anymore—for four years at least—but why? Did he hurt me? Tension made my neck ache and my temples throb with all the mental gymnastics. I needed answers.
“I’m going to take Rosie for her walk,” Greyson said, breaking the awkward moment. He gave a quick whistle, and she was by his side, tail wagging with excitement at the magic word. He met my gaze again. “The guest room’s ready for you.”
“Thanks,” I whispered, clinging to my mug of tea.
Liz jabbed an elbow into Stephanie’s ribs, making her squawk.
“Let us take Rosie,” Liz said, jumping up. “I could use a few minutes of fresh air.”
Greyson’s jaw ticked, like he was ready to argue, but Juliet flashed him a frown and a slight shake of the head. His shoulders dropped a fraction, and he handed the purple leash to Stephanie, who grimaced unenthusiastically about the voluntold exercise.
“It’s like a gazillion degrees out there,” Stephanie muttered as Liz dragged her towards the door.
“Until you’ve traipsed about a jungle at the equator, you don’t get to complain,” Liz retorted. “This is practically balmy. No humidity in sight.”
They barely made it out the door before Juliet’s phone chimed, and she dug it out of her pocket. A sappy smile crossed her face, and she swiped the screen open. “Do you mind if I take this? Myles is gonna call.”
Greyson waved her off, and she hurried out of the room with a soft, “Hey!” as she held the phone to her ear.
“Myles?” I asked, confused. “Myles Delavan? Cal’s friend?”
Greyson nodded and shifted on the sofa. He looked at home and yet uncomfortable, simply sitting there, taking me in. “Yeah. They got married about a year and a half ago. Myles and Cal are away for a game. They’re heading into game six for the Calder Cup tomorrow.”
I remembered catching a few hockey games with Juliet, when we’d watch Cal play and even Myles when he’d been called up to the NHL as the backup goalie.
She’d had a crush on Myles forever. Guess things worked out for her in that regard.
But why were they playing in Idaho? They were both NHL-level athletes, or at least Cal was.
Myles had seemed to prefer the slower AHL pace, although he had been called up to play for Seattle, the Chargers NHL affiliate, while we were in college.
The drum concert in my head intensified while I tried to untie the bundle of missing memories.
I set my mug down. “Do you mind if I head to bed? I . . . I’m kinda tired.
” Without Juliet or the girls as a buffer, I wasn’t ready to handle this overwhelming flood of .
. . Greyson. And my body’s conflicted state of nerves and attraction.
Greyson didn’t appear put out by my request. Simply nodded. “You should eat something first.”
“I’m not really hungry.” My voice was small in my own ears. The nausea from my headache almost guaranteed to send me hurling if I introduced food into the mix.
He stood slowly. “Follow me.”
As I trailed him at the stairs, I realized I was still wearing his shirt—his way-too-comfortable shirt. Tugging the hem, I asked, “Are you still a Marine? I feel that’s something I should know.” Then I frowned. “But we aren’t in a base town, so . . .”
“I retired. Now I’m a mechanic.”
“Do you miss it? The military, I mean. The rush and all that?”
Greyson was quiet as he led me down the hallway. “No. Not anymore. I miss some of my friends, but that can’t be helped.”
I nodded and paused outside the open door of the guest room. Greyson did, too. It was an awkward sort of standoff. So much and yet so little between us.
“Get some rest, Pais,” Greyson said at last, then retreated towards the stairs.
“Thank you,” I called, because manners mattered.
He hesitated on the top step, his stormy blue gaze locked on mine. “I’m here if you need anything,” was all he said. But I swear there were a hundred things his eyes were trying to tell me. Things I couldn’t read.
As I slipped under the soft cotton sheets of the guest bed after brushing my teeth, I couldn’t help thinking how much Greyson fit with the rescuer type. And somewhere, deep inside, though I couldn’t have put it into words, I knew I needed some rescuing.