Chapter 7 #2
I can’t lean into them right now. Not when I need a clear head. If I let myself feel, I don’t think I’ll be able to put it all back in the box.
“Gracie,” Braxton says quietly, getting my attention. He leans forward, his elbows on his thighs and his hands hanging down between them. “Please. I honestly didn’t think the Paisley thing mattered. Not when it was nothing. Not really.”
“You’ve been busy this week,” I say instead of answering. “I feel like I’ve barely seen you.”
His brows twitch in confusion. “Ben—”
“I know,” I cut in. “Well, I do now.” His frown deepens at that, but I keep going, “I’m not talking about you pulling extra shifts.”
His mouth goes tight at the corners, frustration lighting up his green eyes. “Then what are you talking about? Because I’d also like to talk about you not answering a single call or message yesterday.”
“I needed time,” I murmur, not rising to the bait. “And honestly, Brax, I didn’t think you’d even notice.”
His mouth goes slack. “What the hell do you mean by that? Of course I noticed! I was worried about you, Gracie!”
I roll my lips between my teeth, staring down at my coffee. “The high point of my week wasn’t even you being distant.” My lips tug up in a humorless smile. “It had to be when Paisley approached me last night.”
That makes him pause, his eyes flaring. “She did?”
“Yeah. She did.” I glance up at him, noting the clenched teeth and furrowed brow.
“She told me all about your drinks with Nick and her last Sunday, and how disappointed she was that I didn’t come.
” He presses his lips together, but I don’t really need him to add anything at this point.
“Imagine how I must’ve felt after overhearing that conversation, you disappearing on me…
and then finding out that you left me on Sunday to go have drinks with Nick and a woman you have feelings for. ”
“I don’t have feelings for Paisley!” Braxton growls as he stands, rounding the couch.
He starts pacing the length of it, his hands clasped at the back of his head, dragging long pulls of air into his lungs.
After a beat, he says more calmly, “It wasn’t like that.
I promise you, Gracie. It wasn’t like that.
It was just Nick and me, shooting the shit.
Paisley turned up and invited herself to sit down.
At one point, she asked where you were—”
He closes the distance between us, dropping to his knees. He takes my coffee, setting it on the table before grabbing my hands.
“I didn’t—I wanted—” He curses under his breath, staring up at me.
“Gracie, you’ve gotta believe me. I know I’ve been an asshole this past week.
I know that. I won’t lie”—I flinch at the word, and his face falls—“but I needed a minute to process seeing Paisley again…” He chews on his bottom lip, looking unsure, before repeating, “I needed a minute to process. Okay?”
“Okay,” I say quietly. “And what part of processing meant you had to lie to me?”
He sits back on his heels, his expression earnest. “I didn’t mean to lie to you, Gracie. I just didn’t want that history affecting our now, you know? And she is history. Paisley doesn’t mean anything to me.”
My eyes bounce between his dark green with sincerity. He’s barely breathing, waiting for me to say something—anything—but my head is so full of noise that I just feel lost. The last ten days have made me question everything.
But does one bad week rule out an entire year?
“Please, Gracie,” Braxton pleads. “Don’t let this get between us. There’s been so much going on at the station, and I just…I got in my head. I never meant anything by it when I told you she was just Nick’s sister. I promise you that.”
“The conversation I heard…”
“You heard me tell her that I love you, right? I told her that I wished I’d never told her about my feelings back then.” He pauses, staring up at me, eyes hopeful.
Part of me desperately wants to believe him, but the other part remembers how he hesitated before he told her that he loved me, and how he didn’t pull away when she touched him.
“I’m not comfortable with her,” I say, voice strangely detached.
“The conversation that happened on Thanksgiving was not appropriate. You should never have entertained it. And she…” I shake my head.
“She knew about me. That we were together. You have to understand that it wasn’t okay. And last night…”
His brow furrows. “Tell me what you’re saying. Lay it all out for me.”
I close my eyes, knowing that if he doesn’t agree, there’s no way I’ll be able to move past this. I trust him, I do, but this last week has cast a light on the cracks in our relationship—some of them wide enough for another person to wriggle their way through.
“I’m setting some boundaries around this, Braxton,” I state. “I don’t want you to spend time with her alone, and if you do see her or have contact, I need transparency. Full transparency.”
“Gracie…”
There’s a reluctance to his voice that has my stomach knots. “Please, Braxton.” I’m pleading now. “I know she’s Nick’s sister, and I’m not asking you to cut her out. But after everything…I need you to give me this.”
There’s a long silence before he dips his chin.
“Okay, baby. Full transparency, I promise.” He reaches up with both hands, cupping my face, thumbs stroking my cheeks.
“I’m sorry,” he says sincerely. “This past week, I haven’t been at my best. I was stressed, and I let it all get to me. It stops now.”
My smile is tremulous, misgivings swirling in my head.
“Okay,” I whisper, knowing my love for him is strong enough that I can get past this.
I can keep fighting for him. Last night, his actions spoke for me when he chose me over Paisley, showing me that I was still his priority, even if his judgment lapsed throughout the week.
I can give him the benefit of the doubt now, even with the apprehensive whispers sliding through my mind.
“Yeah?” he asks, searching my eyes intently. “I love you so much, Gracie. I never want you to doubt that.”
“Yeah,” I agree simply. “We’ll do a reset this week. Start again. Okay?” I press my forehead to his, inhaling his scent. “Plus, there’s no fighting in December. It’s a rule.” We sit like that for the longest time, soaking in each other’s presence.
When our coffees are cold and our hearts calm, he leans back, gifting me a smile. “What’s my serial killer percentage?”
I stare at him solemnly. “45.3 percent.”
“What’s your limit? 46?”
I bob my head. “46.8.”
He hums. “Right on the edge, then, aren’t I?” The corner of his mouth twitches, but then he leans forward, brushing his mouth against mine. “I’ll get it back down again,” he promises. “But right now, I need to get dressed. We have somewhere we need to be.”
I frown, sifting through my memory for what we might have to do today, but coming up blank. “What’re you talking about?”
“Surprise, remember?” He stands up, reaching for one of my hands. I let him pull me up, wrapping me in a hug so tight that my ribs protest painfully. “We’ve got a house to go see.”
A squeak of surprise leaves me as I pull back, staring up at him with wide eyes. “What?”
“I wanted to surprise you,” he murmurs. “Marjorie doesn’t normally work on Sundays, but I begged. Said I’d owe her one.” His smile softens his eyes as he stares down at me. “She knows how much you love this house.”
My eyes fill without my permission, and I blink rapidly, trying to clear my vision. “We’re going to see the house?” I ask waveringly. “The one on Oak Street? With the shutters? And the garden?”
He chuckles softly, pressing a lingering kiss to my forehead. “Yeah, baby. We’re going to see the house.”