Chapter 22
Chapter twenty-two
Paisley
The overwhelming sense of dread needled my stomach.
It was almost four in the morning when Greyson parked the truck.
The six-and-a-half-hour drive had been quiet with minimal conversation, save the low hum of the radio.
As I predicted, I did throw up just inside the state line.
Thankfully, Greyson had enough time to pull over before I lost it over the floorboard.
I stared out the windshield. My tears were long gone for now, but the cocktail of emotions fizzled in my chest. About Oregon. Jared. My childhood. The present I couldn’t seem to remember. “You should have told me earlier.”
Greyson sighed. He killed the engine and ran a hand through his hair. “You’re right. I should have. I’m sorry I didn’t.”
Feeling bolder, I shifted in the seat to face him fully in the darkness. The dim cab was warm and smelled like him, while the hushed world outside echoed the soft orchestra of crickets. “Why didn’t you?”
“Because I was afraid.”
Say what now? This big intimidating Marine was scared? “Afraid?”
“I thought for sure I’d lost you,” Greyson said hoarsely.
“When I saw you fall, I . . .” He cleared his throat as if the emotion was choking him.
“Then you woke up and didn’t even remember me.
The doctor said that can happen after head trauma but not to pressure you to remember, as it can tax the brain after that kind of injury.
Telling you I was your husband shocked you.
But telling you about a dead husband too?
” He huffed lightly. “I wasn’t sure you could handle that. ”
“Because I’m weak?”
“No.” Greyson’s tone left no room for doubt. “You’re the strongest woman I’ve ever known, Pais. I couldn’t handle losing you. I need you.”
I need you. I wasn’t used to that. Being needed. I was the burden, the problem, the one people shuffled off on someone else to deal with. But Greyson? He wanted me around. Needed me around.
The earnestness of his expression had hot tears burning my eyes. He was trying to tell me something. Everything, really. He couldn’t know his words were a soothing balm to a decades-old ache deep in my soul. Or maybe he did know . . . because he knew me.
My insides were all shaken like a soda bottle, so I gripped the metal handle, relishing the bit of coldness biting my palm, and heaved myself out into the inky shroud.
Only I had no idea where Jared had been buried. “So, you know where he’s . . .” I flapped a hand vaguely.
Greyson motioned with his head to the left, and I followed after him like a droopy puppy.
It was the sort of night ghosts came out to play, and I wasn’t ready to be snatched by the monsters hiding just out of sight.
Halfway down a row, Greyson stopped in front of a flat stone on the ground and used his phone to light up the epitaph. It was a simple affair with Jared’s name and years—so much life was lived between those two dates yet never ended up on a tombstone.
Scalding tears slipped out as I read. Six years.
He’d been gone for six years. Surely, I’d grieved him.
Probably hated and been terrified of him.
But I’d made peace. I remarried after all.
So then why did it feel like the pit of grief and shame was swallowing me back?
Dragging me back through ground I’d already covered?
All for a man who abused me. But I couldn’t even remember that part.
A strangled sob of frustration escaped me, and I clapped a hand over my mouth.
How had I let a man like that into my life after watching my mother suffer for years on end because of her poor choices?
I’d vowed to never become her. To never let love make me weak enough to accept a man who’d hurt me.
How had I failed? Was I that unloveable? That broken?
Slowly, Greyson’s arm curled around my shoulders, tugging me against his chest.
I sank into the warmth of his trucker jacket, my mind screaming at me to run.
But I fought the feeling and relaxed into him.
Though I couldn’t remember this man—his sandalwood smell, the gentleness of his hands, or the steady beat of his heart under my ear—my body knew he was safe.
And I was too selfish to give up any source of warmth and comfort now because the leggings under my skirt were sticking to me uncomfortably. (Nervous sweat-er over here, okay?)
It could have been minutes or an hour before I pulled back, sniffling and wiping my eyes with my sleeve. Then I kicked a pine cone at the headstone and walked away.
Now that I’d seen it with my own eyes, I knew Jared was gone.
Maybe I’d dig up old photos from then and relive those days.
Because even though I’d grieved back then, it was feeling all too fresh now that I’d been dragged back in time.
But maybe not. Greyson was telling me the truth, and it fit with Juliet’s reaction to Jared.
I’d lived the chapter once. There were some books not worth revisiting.
Greyson caught up to me and opened my door without a word.
Once inside, he let the truck idle while heat blasted through the vents, but it wasn’t strong enough to touch the chill in my core.
Reaching a hand behind my seat, he tugged a blanket out and offered it to me.
“I should have thought of this sooner,” he said apologetically.
I smoothed the plaid sherpa over my lap and burrowed my ice cube fingers underneath. “Thanks. For all this.”
He nodded but said nothing, just sat in silence, the dark and the engine and the dim lights of the dashboard our company.
“We’ve done this before, yeah?” I asked. “Not graveyard visiting, but sitting in the truck. Just . . . being.” I fiddled with the blanket
“Why do you ask?”
“I can’t place a memory; it’s more a sense of déjà vu. It’s a haze, but it feels familiar.” Nice, even.
He smiled at me in the dark, his face a soft glow in the light of the cab. “Yeah, we do this a lot.”
“And we really came back here while we were dating?” I wrinkled my nose. “Sounds like a mood killer.”
He chuckled. “Oh, it was. But it was important to you for me to understand the past. You were married after all.” He sobered.
“Jared will always be a part of your story. But you healed, Pais. I’ve seen just how much you’ve grown since the woman he shrunk you into.
” Lifting his hand slowly, he chucked my chin with his knuckle. “And you’re pretty dang amazing.”
Fresh tears stung my eyes at the kind words.
Seriously, hadn’t I cried enough today? I still felt like this was just a bad nightmare and I kept waiting to wake up.
I sniffed. This amnesia left me on the outside of an inside joke where everyone knew the punch line except me.
Or like I didn’t get the script and had to improvise.
I just wanted to remember.
Greyson’s hand shifted over the bench seat until our fingers brushed on top of the blanket. Slowly, his pinky linked over mine, and we sat there in the darkness.
And now I was full-on crying. From all respects, I should have scared Greyson away by now, but he was still here. He was just . . . here. With me.
Waiting and hoping. With a pinky promise.
And somehow, that was enough.