Chapter 36
Braxton
There are only twenty minutes left until closing, and Blossom Boutique is quiet, only two people lingering in the shop.
It’s been four weeks since the attack, and one week since Gracie started back at work.
When I can’t be here, Nick or my dad steps in to spend the last few hours with Gracie, Bridget, and Stacey, knowing none of them are feeling particularly safe right now…
especially because Gerard still hasn’t been apprehended.
Gracie never asked for us to play bodyguard, but I would do anything to make sure she feels safe—anything that allows her to take her power back.
She’s in the workshop while Bridget is fussing with something at the counter, half-watching as Mrs. Chamberlain wanders past the flower fridges again, her expression only growing more forbidding with each passing minute.
“Maybe you should ask her if she wants help,” I mutter to Bridget, but she only rolls her eyes.
“And have her bite my head off again? No, thanks.” Her voice is just as quiet, neither of us wanting to draw the elderly woman’s attention.
“What’s her deal, anyway? Does she have a toad as a pet?
Pick the meat off small children’s bones?
Or was she just put on this earth to torture people with her complaints? ”
I bite back a smile, but before I can answer, Mrs. Chamberlain pauses, her wrinkled face creasing in displeasure before she whips around to face the counter.
Three…two…one…
“Is this really all you have? These arrangements are all subpar at best, and I’m certainly not paying that much for days-old flowers.”
Bridget’s smile is pleasant, but she can’t hide the muscle fluttering under her left eye. “All our flowers came in this morning, actually. They’re as fresh as a daisy.”
I bite back a smile, looking away when Mrs. Chamberlain turns a narrow-eyed glare on me.
“And why is he here? Why are you here, Braxton Newport?” She sticks her nose in the air, mouth pursed and wrinkling like she’s sucked on a lemon.
“That can’t be good for business, having a hoodlum loitering. He’s a degenerate, I’ll have you know.”
I clear my throat, desperately attempting to bottle my amusement down.
If I laugh, it’ll be a red flag to a bull with this lady.
“Now, Mrs. Chamberlain, you know I didn’t mean to hit your mailbox.
And it was an awfully long time ago. I’ve paid my penance.
” In the form of listening to her bitch about it for the last decade.
She points a gnarled finger at me accusingly. “Jim Peason said there were no brake marks, and I saw you aim for my mailbox when you jumped the curb. I might be old, but my mind is a steel trap, so don’t you lie to me.”
“Well, I was only sixteen—”
“Age is no excuse,” she snaps.
“Braxton has been helping us,” Bridget interrupts smoothly. “I’m sure you can understand why his presence here might make us feel a little safer.”
Mrs. Chamberlain pauses, blinking owlishly as a dawning realization crosses over her face. “Yes, the burglary and attack. Poor Gracie.” Her eyes soften at my girl’s name. “Still, she’s not with him anymore, so I’m sure you could find someone more…appropriate.”
I pin a wide, obnoxious smile on her. “Well, if you come back tomorrow, my father is the one who’ll be here.”
Mrs. Chamberlain ignores me. “Where is Gracie? She knows flowers. She’ll know just what I need for my entry table.”
“I’ll go get her,” Bridget says quickly, marching for the workshop and leaving me on my own with Mrs. Chamberlain. Luckily, she gives me one last scathing look before turning away with a huff.
Gracie comes out less than a minute later, while Bridget stays out of sight, clearly seizing the opportunity to hide.
It takes Gracie no time to find something that has Mrs. Chamberlain’s sour countenance softening, their idle chatter filling the quiet shop.
By the time Gracie closes the door behind the older woman and flips the sign to Closed, her shoulders are sagging, and she lets out a wary sigh.
“You okay?” I murmur, eyeing her with concern.
“I’m fine.” Gracie gives me a tight smile, rubbing a hand over her arm. “Thank you for being here tonight. And all the other nights.”
I step toward her, pulling her into a hug. “He’s not here,” I remind her softly. “He’s not in Sterling Creek. The attack was random. The act of a man out of his mind on drugs. He’s not coming back.”
She nods against my shoulder, her arms wrapping loosely around my waist. “I know. I do.” Her voice is a broken whisper.
“But every day closing time comes around, it’s like my mind just shuts down.
I’m thrust right back into that night, him chasing after me with that knife—” She bites off the rest of her words with a shudder.
I squeeze her tighter, tamping down the rage heating my chest. It infuriates me that this asshole stole Gracie’s safety—something she’d only just won back.
“You ready to make that appointment?” I ask gently, and Gracie hesitates before bobbing her head again.
“I need to, don’t I?” she asks waveringly.
“I think so.” I skip a beat, and then add dryly, “And that’s me saying that.”
“You telling me not to act like you?” She pulls back, her stormy eyes meeting mine. “Should I not blow my entire life up before I get help?”
I narrow my eyes, reaching down to dig my fingers into her ribs. “Everyone’s a joker, huh?” I demand as she yelps, wriggling to get away from me.
“Well, if you wouldn’t make yourself the butt of the joke…” Bridget trails off teasingly as she comes out of the back room. Gracie pulls away, giving me a small smile. She and Bridget make quick work of closing up the shop for the day and preparing for tomorrow morning.
Gracie locks the store behind us as we leave and we walk together toward the parking lot round the back of the store where the employees park, her shoulders easing the further we get from the door.
“One week back,” Bridget says. “How’re you feeling?”
Gracie lifts a shoulder. “I’m fine.”
Bridget eyes her dubiously and then looks at me over the top of Gracie’s head.
I give her a nod of acknowledgment, but Gracie’s working through this at her own pace.
She knows what she needs more than anyone else right now, and I’m going to make sure she gets it—support, in whatever form that looks like.
Even if it’s not me who helps her.
Gracie’s been spending more time at my parents’ house, helping Mom in the kitchen, or, strangely, watching sports with my dad. One afternoon, I turned up after sleeping off a night full of callouts, and Mom told me that Gracie was out in the shed with Dad, and had been all day.
When they finally came into the house, sharing secretive smiles, eyes twinkling, it was the lightest I’d seen her since the attack.
“How about we go out for a drink?” Bridget suggests. “I’m not ready to go home, and Benson’s is having a pizza night.”
“Pizza,” I murmur, ears perking up. “I could eat a pizza.”
Gracie hesitates. “Yeah, okay. Pizza.” She eyes me warily. “Am I going to be accosted by your mistakes? Or will I be safe to eat my food in peace?”
I wince dramatically, slapping a hand against my chest. “You know what? Let me invite Nick.” I pull my phone out, muttering, “Maybe you can turn your sharp tongue on him.”
Pizza obviously draws a crowd because the bar is busier than usual for a Thursday night. Bridget snags us a table on the patio just as someone else leaves, so I head inside to order a round of drinks—a club soda for me after volunteering to drive the girls tonight.
When I come back, Bridget’s angled her body to the side and is chatting to the people at the table behind her. Gracie’s got her phone in hand, scrolling a social media app. She glances up when I set a glass of white wine in front of her.
“Thanks.”
“No problem.” I nod at her phone. “Anything interesting happening in the world?”
“You would know if you used social media,” she reminds me—a familiar argument.
She taps on the screen, bringing up a picture and pointing it toward me.
I lean forward, recognizing Nolan right off the bat.
He’s holding a small baby with a gummy smile, one sticky hand holding a fistful of Nolan’s hair.
“That his niece?” I ask.
Gracie nods. “Maisie.”
“Cute.”
She puts her phone away, picking her drink up and taking a sip. “Nolan seems happy to be back with his family. I think he missed them more than he was letting on.”
I lean back in my chair, watching her thoughtfully. “Have you heard from your parents?”
Gracie called them after the attack, and had been shocked when they answered, but she didn’t go into any detail about how the conversation had actually gone.
The corners of her eyes go tight as she looks away. “No.”
I want to push for more information, but someone drags a chair across the patio, the legs scraping loudly against the wooden boards. I look up as Nick lays a hand on the shoulder of an unfamiliar woman, pressing her down into the seat before taking one beside her.
“Hey,” he greets cheerfully. “This is Halsey.” Gracie tenses beside me, her face losing a shade of color. Nick doesn’t notice, pointing at each of us in turn. “Halsey, this is Braxton, Gracie, and Bridget.”
“Hi,” Halsey says with forced brightness, her blue eyes uncertain. “Sorry. I told Nick I didn’t want to crash your night, but…” She shoots a dark glare at the man beside her, but he only smirks back.
“It’s fine,” he drawls, casually draping an arm over the back of her chair.
“Halsey’s been living in town for a year and doesn’t know many people.
She spends most of her time locked away, painting.
” Her cheeks flush, and she shoves an elbow into his side, but he barely flinches.
“I was with her when I got your message, so I figured tonight was as good as any to introduce her.”
“It’s nice to meet you,” Bridget says. “You’re welcome to join us as long as you don’t eat my pizza.”
“You too.” Halsey tugs at the long sleeves of her top, her eyes not quite landing anywhere. “Like I said, I’m sorry. I tried to tell him, but Nick’s not so great at listening.”
There’s enough familiarity in her voice that my eyebrows climb my forehead, and I send Nick a questioning look. He just shrugs back, the easy grin on his lips not quite reaching his eyes.
Gracie leans forward, giving Halsey a small smile. “It’s lovely to meet you, Halsey. You work at The Sterling Thread, right?”
“Yes, with Lynley,” she replies, her shoulders not easing as she watches her cautiously. “I’m really sorry, Gracie,” she says hesitantly. “About what my brother did. If I had known he was responsible…”
Nick’s hand tightens into a fist next to Halsey’s shoulder before he forcibly relaxes it. Gracie leans even further over me, telling Halsey fiercely, “We are not responsible for the actions of others, including family.”
Halsey nods, but her expression is full of guilt. “It just feels like I should have known.”
The conversation fizzles out when Randi appears at the table with two pizzas, setting them down in the middle of the table.
Once she leaves, the subject turns to a more neutral subject, with Halsey, Gracie, and Bridget swapping stories about the different people who come into their stores—starting with Mrs. Chamberlain.
When the pizza is gone and our drinks are finished, Nick announces, “I’ll get another round.”
“I’ll come with you.” I stand and follow him inside, leaning against the bar as he signals the bartender. “What the hell are you doing?”
“What do you mean?”
I give him a firm look. “Don’t play stupid, Nick. It doesn’t suit you. Why the hell would you bring the sister of the guy who attacked Gracie here? You know she’s been struggling since the attack.”
Nick goes still, his eyes flaring before they shift to the window, where we can see the girls at the table. “I didn’t think—”
“No shit,” I grit out. “Tell me you aren’t doing what I think you’re doing.”
He stills. “Depends on what you think I’m doing.”
I step closer, getting right in his face. “Tell me you aren’t playing that girl, Nick.”
His mouth flattens into a thin line. “I’m not playing anyone, asshole.”
I shake my head, catching the bartender heading toward us out of the corner of my eye. “This isn’t going to end well,” I warn him. “For you or Halsey.”
Nick scoffs, shoving me away from him. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.” He gives me one last look. “Leave it alone, Braxton. I know exactly what I’m doing.”