Chapter 20 #2
Khia pulled back from the hug, grinning.
She patted her dusty fingers against my cheeks, the sweet gesture striking an aching chord in my chest. “I haven’t grown since last week, silly.
” Her face grew thoughtful. “But Meemaw said you forgot a bunch of things when you fell off the ladder. I fell from a tree, and I didn’t forget anything.
I didn’t cry either. Does that mean you don’t remember your dead husband?
My mommy died, and I don’t remember her. Meemaw said—"
Every drop of blood drained from my head, thunder rolling in my ears, and the porch swing jammed to a halt.
I was vaguely aware of Cal’s look of horror as he scooped his daughter off my lap and bolted inside.
Dead husband. Jared.
“Paisley!” Juliet’s voice was garbled in my daze. Like I was underwater.
Drowning. Drowning. Drowning.
Because I never learned how to swim.
A warm hand touched mine, trying to pull me to shore. I instinctively knew it was Greyson, but I flinched away. It was too much.
Stumbling down the stairs and towards the driveway, I ran. Shouts and footsteps and apologies followed me, but I kept moving, numb to the dark and the spitting rain. Stupid me for wearing flip-flops. But I hadn’t expected to trek through a thunderstorm tonight either.
I ran. And I ran some more. Then when the stitch in my side became unbearable, I walked. Night had completely fallen, but I couldn’t stop. My feet were frozen, thanks to the rain, but the empty road called to me. Just like that song, I might as well walk 500 miles and then 500 more.
Ever since I’d woken up a week ago, I’d asked for Jared. Everyone said he wasn’t here. He couldn’t come. No one said why. He was dead. And I’d married another man.
Tripping over a rock, I stumbled to my knees.
The sharp gravel stung my palms, and heavy rain seeped through my skirt.
Headlights flooded over me from behind. Fantastic.
Growling, I stood up, waterlogged hem and all, and kept walking.
The low rumble of a truck approached, but I refused to acknowledge it, keeping my eyes locked ahead.
Closer. Closer.
The truck was even with me now.
The window rolled down, slowly.
“Get in the truck, Paisley.”
Greyson.
I gritted my teeth and continued marching through the pounding rain. I was in no mood to be bossed around.
The truck followed me, and Greyson tried again, softer. “Paisley. You don’t have to talk to me, but I need you to get in. Please.”
It was the barely repressed, passionate please that had me whirling towards him. Only it wasn’t graceful. More like a baby giraffe on skates as I slipped and grabbed the door handle for balance.
I jabbed my finger at him, cold rain streaming down my face, plastering my bangs to my forehead. No doubt looking like a beautifully drowned rat—original comparison courtesy of Juliet . . . as a compliment. “If I get in, it’s only because I’m cold. I’m still freaking mad at you,” I hissed.
Greyson’s face was impassive. “Understood.”
I slammed the door harder than necessary after I climbed in, but Greyson didn’t say anything. Didn’t look anything. Seriously, was the man so unflappable? Was this what I got for marrying a retired Marine? A stone wall with no emotion.
He waited for me to buckle my seat belt, and I considered leaving it off just to be petty. But I wasn’t petty. I was angry. And also crying. I hated crying. Of all the things I’d inherited from my mom, it had to be the stupid weep-at-everything-even-commercials genetic makeup.
Growing up, I’d been told I needed thicker skin.
My skin was plenty thick, thank you very much.
I’d survived my dad leaving, an alcoholic mother, and foster care, for crying out loud.
But my tears weren’t a sign of weakness and had nothing to do with my lack of strength—and everything to do with a depth of feeling. I felt a lot. Too much. And I hated it.
My teeth chattered in a mix of anger and chills.
Greyson cranked the heat. Ridiculously too thoughtful man who wouldn’t let me suffer in the cold. Which made the tears fall more thickly. And definitely didn’t help the situation with my glasses fogging up beyond all manner of usefulness.
The road and the silence stretched across the miles. True to his word, Greyson didn’t say a word. Didn’t ask any questions.
“Is it true?” I finally asked, anger bubbling over. “Jared’s dead? And no sugarcoating. I deserve the truth.”
“Yes,” Greyson said simply.
Even though I was expecting it, the bluntness hurt. Icy shivers rattled my spine and my resolve. “How? And when?”
“You remember marrying him?”
I snorted and crossed my arms. “That’s kinda the reason I thought he was my husband.”
Greyson exhaled softly. “You married him seven years ago. End of January at your church in Seattle. You didn’t want to wait and had already been approved for married housing on campus.”
I closed my eyes, leaning my head against the headrest. This part was familiar.
I could picture it. The poofiness of my dress—his mom’s because it was a Nichols’ family tradition.
The smell of roses and lemon cleaner. Jared’s boyish grin.
Mama D and Pops walking me down the aisle.
My cheeks flamed, remembering that kiss after the pastor declared us husband and wife.
Then our wedding night and brief honeymoon with a promise of a longer one over spring break.
I cleared my thoughts and turned the heat down a smidge.
Despite the darkness of the cab, I could feel Greyson’s side-eye, but I ignored it. “What next?”
Greyson’s jaw ticked, and he slowly pulled to a stop at an empty four-way stop. But he didn’t drive forward. We were far enough out of town that it wasn’t a big hazard this time of night.
The silence made me itchy, and my skin prickled with tightness. I needed to know. I’d been stuck in limbo long enough, aching to know the truth and yet terrified of what I’d find. “Greyson, please,” I whispered. “I can take it. If I’m not with him, did I do something—”
“No,” Greyson growled darkly. “You’re not to blame for any of this. Got that?”
I recoiled at the vehemence and stared wide-eyed. Taking a shaky breath, I waited for him to collect himself.
“I’m sorry. I just . . . I can’t let you think any of this was your fault.” Greyson cleared his throat, and his strong neck muscles bobbed in the dim light. “He hit you. Repeatedly.”
All the moisture fizzed out of my mouth. He . . . what? “That . . . that can’t be. He loved me. Why would he . . . ?”
Greyson inhaled sharply and ran his hand through his hair. “Ask Jules if you don’t believe me. She’s the one who helped you get away from his control.”
I’d hurt him. I didn’t doubt him, exactly, I was just . . . shocked. Without thinking, I reached out and touched his forearm. “I wasn’t insinuating you’re lying. It’s just a lot to wrap my head around.” And heart.
He nodded and eased into the intersection. “You filed for divorce that summer and came back to Serenity Springs. But he stalked you, harassed you. You took out a restraining order. Halfway through your master’s, he . . .”
Greyson was silent for a long time.
My anxiety was mounting with imagining the hundred different ways that sentence could end. “You promised me honesty,” I nearly snarled. “I’m so tired of being handled like spun sugar. Tell me.”
“He was driving under the influence and hit a telephone pole. It killed him and the passenger.”
I gasped, hand over my mouth. The words sent icicles down my spine. He died . . . for the same reason my mother was in jail before she died.
“You inherited his estate since the divorce was never finalized because he refused to sign the papers, moved to town immediately after graduation, and have been here ever since.”
Tears rained down my cheeks. I didn’t know when they’d started falling again, but they fell hot and thick. “Did we argue? You and me? Before all this?”
Greyson jolted at the conversation change but shook his head slowly. “No more than most couples. More bickering and teasing than actually arguing.” He slowed down to a crawl on the dirt road. “And never shouting or raising voices, Pais.”
In the corridor of my mind, the muffled shouting and arguing echoed from an apartment in Seattle. It was Jared’s voice and was I . . . crying? But the hazy picture refused to fully crystalize. “You should have told me this earlier. I deserved to know.”
Greyson raked a hand through his hair. “Forgive me for being more concerned with your welfare than the status of your ex-husband.”
“Sarcasm doesn’t suit you.”
“How would you know? You don’t remember.” The barb hung between us, and Greyson flinched, like he wanted to catch it back. “Pais, I—”
“No. Just forget it.” I crossed my arms over my chest and shivered in my damp, soggy state. “If he’s dead, where’s he buried?”
“Banks, Oregon.”
I cringed. The day I left to start my new life in Seattle, I’d vowed to never return to my home state. Probably a foolish, idiotic, overly emotional teen response, but I’d stood by it. At least, as long as I remember. Then I had to fall in love with an Oregon boy. Figures. “Have I ever been back?”
“Once. To show me his grave.”
I scoffed. “Count on Jared to be the reason I’d be dragged back kicking and screaming.” I leaned my head back against the seat and sighed.
“Do you want to head back to the barbecue?” Greyson asked quietly, his gaze heavy in the dimness of the cab.
I sniffled and scrubbed a hand over my face. “I’m a little too worn out to return to the Prancing Pony.” When he was silent, I started to panic. My knee bounced in a steady drumbeat solo. “But I don’t want to cut your evening short. We can go back if you—”
“Pais,” Greyson cut in, reaching out and gently stilling my knee with his hand. I froze, but my muscles relaxed under his fingers. “You’re not a burden, hear me?”
He couldn’t know how much I needed those words. How much they meant. How desperately I wanted to believe them. But I couldn’t tell him that. So instead I placed my hand over his and squeezed lightly. “I hear you. But I might need a few reminders.”
“Then I’ll be here. As often as you need to hear it.” His words were a solemn vow, settling like a warm blanket over my shoulders.
I sucked in a shaky breath. “Can we . . . That is, will . . . will you drive me there? To the cemetery?” The awkwardness of asking my now husband to drive me to my former husband’s grave wasn’t lost on me, but it had to be done.
If I was ever going to reconstruct my life and regain what I lost, I needed to do this.
Hard things couldn’t be avoided, but they were easier to bear with company.
“You sure?”
“No,” I admitted honestly. “I’ll probably start vomiting the minute we hit the state line, but I need to see that marker for myself.
” I held Greyson’s unwavering gaze. I needed to see he was really gone.
“It’s a bit of a shock to go from thinking I’m happily married to realizing I was a nearly divorced widow with a stalker ex who’s been dead for the last six years. ”