Chapter 7
Gracie
My eyes are gritty from lack of sleep. I focus on one spot on the gray floral wallpaper of my bedroom, my head pounding and my mouth dry as hell, trying to work out what this morning is going to look like.
At some point during the night, the blankets got kicked down to the bottom of the bed—a nightly occurrence when sharing a bed with Braxton.
He’s wrapped himself around me like a vine, one arm curled around my neck and the other a heavy weight over my waist. I’m wearing cotton sleep shorts, leaving my legs bare, and I can feel the rough hairs of one of his legs pushed between mine.
He’s holding me tightly enough that each breath is a conscious effort—tight like he thinks I’ll slip away if he doesn’t, and he’ll do anything to keep me with him.
The thought doesn’t reassure me the same way it used to.
He lied, and that hasn’t changed in the gray light of the dawning morning. I don’t care if it was by omission. He lied. And through that, he’s thrown a blanket of doubt over anything he says.
The longer I lie here in his arms, his warm breath brushing the nape of my neck, the more my stomach coils into a hard ball, nausea creeping into my throat.
Moving slowly, I wriggle out of his grip, not stopping even when he grunts, trying to pull me back. I’m not ready to face him yet, and I can’t bear to keep lying with him, cuddling, pretending it’s all normal.
I glance at him as I get to my feet, but his eyes are still closed. His dark hair is tousled, and a divot forms between his brows as one hand blindly swipes across the bed. I hold my breath, waiting for his lashes to lift, but then his expression slackens as his breathing evens back out.
I shouldn’t have let him come back here last night.
I press a hand to my chest, feeling like a sharp rock has lodged itself in my sternum and is making it so damn hard to breathe.
I’ve spent over a year falling so deeply for this man, trusting him. I let him past the protective guards I built to combat my family’s antipathy, opening myself up to him because I wanted our relationship to work. And now…he’s left me questioning everything.
I shower, scrubbing last night off my skin, before dressing in comfortable leggings and an oversized shirt. Perfect comfort clothes for an emotionally wrought Sunday.
By the time my teeth are brushed and my hair is pulled into a messy bun, I feel a little more ready to face him, only to stop short when I walk back into the bedroom and find the bed empty.
Looking for a distraction and delaying tactics, I grab my phone from the nightstand, pulling up Bridget’s messaging thread.
Gracie
Death check. You breathing?
It takes less than a minute before I get a new message—no words, just a green-faced emoji—followed quickly by another.
Bridget
I’m alive, but I may have killed my toilet.
Bridget
Seriously. Do not expect me at work tomorrow.
Gracie
I’ll do a welfare check later. Might need an emergency phone call in, say, 30 minutes.
Bridget
You okay?
Gracie
Brax stayed over, and my time is officially up. Wish me luck.
Bridget
Remember what I said about my car, okay? I won’t put any details in this message…just in case. But you know what to do.
Unable to help myself, I crack a smile just as a shadow fills the doorway. I look up at Braxton watching me with a bemused smile. He’s shirtless, navy sweats hanging low on his hips.
“Hey, baby,” he murmurs, voice still rough with sleep. “You coming out any time soon?” I stare at him for a long moment, watching as his smile falls away, uncertainty filling his green eyes.
“Yeah,” I say. I close the distance between us, and he doesn’t move, his expression expectant, waiting for physical affection that’s become second nature between us. The kind of affection that’s been so rare for me…but I just sidle past him.
“Gracie?” he calls, his bare feet padding against the wooden floors. “Is everything okay?”
I don’t answer as we reach the kitchen, watching as he slips past me to grab the creamer out of the fridge. Two mugs are on the counter, steam wafting from them. He pours the creamer into the blue floral one—my favorite.
I blurt, “I know you have a history with Paisley.” I close my eyes, regret curling through me. That is not how I wanted to start this.
Braxton doesn’t say a word, and when I peek at him, the muscles of his back are taut as he slowly sets the creamer down. He places both hands on the counter, his head dropping forward.
“I guess I’m wondering why you didn’t tell me,” I say into the thick silence.
It takes several seconds, but he looks at me, his skin a few shades lighter than usual. “What’re you talking about?” His voice is deceptively steady, but his tight jaw gives him away.
I press my lips into a tight line. “I really hate when people treat me like I’m dumb,” I say stiffly.
He wets his lips, eyes meeting mine before dipping away, coming back a second later. “That’s not what I’m doing, Gracie—”
I hold a hand out, stopping him. “No. You’re just trying to see what I know so you don’t accidentally incriminate yourself by saying something worse.
” I cross my arms over my chest, the move purely defensive, trying to hold myself together when it feels like I’m falling to pieces.
“There’s no point,” I say almost conversationally.
“It can’t get much worse than what I do know.
So you should just worry about being honest now. ”
He flinches at the word honest, reaching up to rub a hand over his mouth.
Absent-mindedly, I note that he needs to shave, his jaw dark with several days’ worth of facial hair.
There are lines carved into the corners of his eyes and mouth.
He looks exhausted, and I hate that my instinctive reaction is to take it all back—to try to give him peace.
“Paisley is…” Braxton looks away, dropping his hand to the counter, fingers drumming restlessly against the surface. “Nick’s family has always been mine. You know that. You know how much time I spent at their place growing up. Paisley was—is part of that history.”
I lift my eyebrows. “Oh, so she’s just a family friend? You see her like a sister?” I don’t know if he hears the warning in my voice or sees it on my face, but when he opens his mouth, he hesitates. “Because the conversation I overheard on Thanksgiving,” I say easily, “wasn’t exactly…sisterly.”
He closes his eyes, devastation leaking out of him, and my anger builds, raising the temperature in my body until it feels like it’s boiling as it slithers through my veins.
“You heard us,” he croaks. “When we were outside.”
“Picture this,” I say, voice trembling. I dig my fingers into my arms, trying to anchor myself so I don’t split into pieces.
“I’m doing dishes with Nick’s mother, Paisley’s mother, acting like everything is normal.
I know it’s not, but I can pretend like the best of them.
She leaves me alone for a moment, and two voices drift in through a cracked window.
” Braxton’s throat moves on a swallow as he opens his eyes, locking them on me.
“I heard her talking about you confessing your feelings for her, and how she wished you had waited for her.”
He slicks his tongue over his front teeth. “If you heard all that, then you also heard me shut her down. You heard me tell her that I love you.”
I’m the one to look away now, disappointment weighing my shoulders down. “You’ve been lying to my face for more than a week, Braxton, and I’m tired. I deserve more from you than empty reassurances.”
He comes forward, hands out, like he might reach for me, but I step back quickly.
“I did tell her I had feelings for her,” he says urgently.
“Years ago, before she ever left. I loved her, or at least…I thought I did. But it was all a long time ago. I don’t feel that way about Paisley now.
It was just…” He trails off uncertainly, voice dropping to a hushed whisper. “It was a shock to see her walk in.”
I drop my chin to my chest, hiding the pain as I remember how he tensed when he saw her, right before he pulled away.
“I can imagine,” I say hoarsely. “I also have an ex who would shock the hell out of me if he reappeared in my life. The difference is that you know about Nolan. I didn’t know anything about Paisley—”
“We were never together,” he argues heatedly. “The talk we had about our pasts…It was relationships. I was never with Paisley. It was nothing.”
I close my eyes, pulling in a slow breath through my nose. “Standing in that kitchen, watching her touch you…It didn’t look like nothing.”
He blanches. “Gracie—”
“You let me be blindsided that night, but four years is a long time, right? I could have easily convinced myself it was all in my head and let it go.” He doesn’t interrupt, watching me with growing desperation.
“You pulled away, Braxton. You barely called. You canceled the house viewing twice without even talking to me. And you were such an asshole when I questioned you about it.”
His cheeks redden, his eyes landing on a spot over my shoulder. “I told you, I took a shift for Ben.”
“And you couldn’t call me before you called Marjorie?” I ask quietly. “You didn’t even give me the option of rescheduling.”
“I didn’t think about it,” he says, shamefaced. I sigh. That might be the most honest thing he’s said so far. Braxton glances at the coffees behind him. “Look, let’s go sit down and talk about this calmly, okay? Our coffee is getting cold.”
He gives me a small smile, but I don’t return it, turning on my heel and walking into the living room. I sit in the single armchair, and he pauses when he comes in before sitting on the end of the couch—as close to me as he can get. He hands a mug to me, setting his down on the side table.
I take a slow sip, eyeing him over the rim, ignoring the way my heart jerks out an erratic beat in my chest. My palms are sweating, and it’s taking everything I have to keep my emotions off my face.