Chapter 62
WOLF DADDY
MOLLY
It's been two weeks since I've been to my house, and I'm as nervous as I thought I'd be.
Doesn't matter that it's a bright, gorgeous spring day or that I've had all this time to process or even that Grey is with me, climbing the steps ahead of me to unlock the front door with the new key, one only he and I have. My body remembers, sending a warning through me.
Last time I walked through this door, Carlin was inside.
For the last two weeks, Grey and I have been in heavy recovery mode, cocooning, resting, healing. Being together. We took two weeks of personal leave, which was granted without question after all we've been through.
The first few days there were things to attend to, my parents, police questioning.
Then, lots of sleeping. Grey didn't leave my side for the first week, which was filled with ice cream and take out and movies.
The nightmares started the night after Carlin, though they've gotten better.
I've gotten in the habit of checking locks, making sure things are secure, sometimes a little jumpy, glad I haven't been alone.
The girls wanted to see me, but I wasn't ready until the second week, when the cabin fever hit.
I even ventured out of the house for a couple of girl's nights at The Horseshoe and a couple of baseball games.
The town gossip has made a shocking flip, making it easier to be in public than it's been in months.
Now Grey is a hero, and I'm a victim of an actual predator.
Everyone wants to know how I'm doing, praises Grey and Danny, all of them looking for some detail they haven't heard yet to pass down the grapevine.
It's nice enough. But it feels hollow after how they treated us.
Still, it's better than being a pariah, so I'll take it.
Those two games were the only ones Grey coached, he hasn't been to practice or anything.
He has enough help, he promised me when he knew I felt guilty about it.
He didn't want to be anywhere else, and neither did I.
But when I was with the girls, Grey and Danny went to my house and worked on repairing the damage.
Installing new locks, outdoor cameras and floodlights, had a security system installed.
Honestly, I was tempted to just sell it, move in with Grey like he offered.
But it's like watching a scary movie and turning it off before you see the end and know the boogieman dies.
Harder to get over if the scary part is the last thing you know.
And I love this shabby little house too much to walk away from it.
I hope this is the hardest part, that it gets easier. Just gotta rip the Band-Aid off.
At least this is the last Band-Aid.
We've had Danny over for a couple of dinners, deciding to do a weekly thing, which has been wonderful and sad, reminding me of the family I've lost. I'm starting over in every way--my parents were my anchor, and when the chain snapped, I drifted away.
But I have Grey, and he doesn't weigh me down or hold me back, just loves me.
Mom's trying, but it's not enough. I haven't been able to have the conversation with her yet, not ready for her to try and convince me what she did was right.
I haven't talked to Dad at all. I try not to dwell on it, try to focus on looking forward, wanting nothing more than to put it behind me.
Sometimes I'm successful. Sometimes I'm not.
I sit in those feels as much as I can stand, grateful for Grey's solid presence.
Carlin has been charged with multiple crimes, and we've been assured that when they stack, he could be in for as much as twenty-five years, though probably more like ten in the end.
He's still in jail awaiting trial, held without bail.
But we put a restraining order in place anyway, a no contact order, and if he's released, I have victim notification, so I'll find out immediately.
It should make me feel safer than it does. It's impossible for him to get to me.
But like I said--my body remembers.
I just refuse to let it control me. This house is mine, and I want to reclaim it.
Grey takes my hand, watching me through my hesitation. "We don't have to do this."
I smile and squeeze his fingers. "Yeah, we do. I'm ready."
He brushes my cheek with his knuckles. "Okay, peaches. Anything you want."
Grey opens the door and waits, letting me enter first, right behind me when I do.
I'm braced for memories, for fear. But my living room is cozy as it ever was, smells like home.
Clean and organized, peaceful. There's no sign of struggle, everything in its place.
The couch where we used to make out. The coffee table where the raccoons stole my egg roll.
I make an amused sound through my nose, and Grey gives me a curious look.
"I thought I'd be afraid as soon as I walked in, but all I can think about are the memories we made here," I explain.
"Good," he says, only a little relieved. "You ready for the hard part?"
I nod, drawing a deep breath. Walking toward the kitchen. There it is--the fear, cold and sharp, crawling up my spine. But then Grey's hand is on my back, and it's banished just like that.
I pass the threshold and look around, surprised at how different it looks.
In my head it was still busted and broken and bloodied.
But it's pristine, with new cabinet doors, the floor refinished.
My old table is gone, replaced with a little breakfast table for two.
It's small and cute and different. I'm dying to see gigantic Grey sit at it.
Lucky for me, I'll get to any time I want.
"You did all this?"
He nods. "Danny and I did a lot, but I had to hire somebody to redo the floors and install the cabinet doors. Didn't have enough time, not without leaving you for too long." He pauses, something soft in his eyes. "I…I wanted it to be yours again."
Tears prick my eyes, and I slide my arms around his waist. "It's perfect. Thank you."
"Always," he whispers, leaning down to kiss me gently. "But we're not done yet."
He takes my hand, and confused, I follow him to the closed door of my guest room where he stops. He looks bashful.
"Close your eyes," he says.
I do, without hesitation.
I feel him open the door and guide me into the doorway. Then he lets me go and steps behind me, whispering in my ear, "Open them."
I open my eyes, and they immediately fill with tears. My face goes slack.
My library. He built my library.
Shock overwhelms me as I look over the floor to ceiling built in shelves around three of the walls.
The bay window nook, piled with pillows and cushions, looking straight out of a magazine.
There's a big, squishy papasan rocking chair with a fluffy blanket draped on the back.
A soft rug. End tables. Beautiful lamps.
Baskets filled with blankets and more pillows. And best of all--a ladder on a rail.
It's everything I dreamed of, real. Here. Mine.
I can't move or speak or breathe, my hand over my mouth as I blink fat, silent tears out of my eyes so I can take it all in. When I finally step deeper into the room, I touch the smooth, sturdy shelves, then turn to him. He's watching from the doorway, leaning against the frame, eyes soft.
"You built this?"
He nods.
"When? How?"
"Started it when you were in Louisville.
I needed something to do with my hands and this--" he looks around, "--was the closest I could get to you.
I built the shelves then, installed the ladder.
Painted it and got all the stuff after. I would have put your books up, but I didn't know how you wanted them organized. "
I fly across the room, throwing my arms around him, crying happy, grateful tears into his chest.
"Thank you. Thank you, I can't--" the words break off with a hitching sob.
And he holds me. "You wanted a library," he says simply.
I pull back to look up at him. "I love you so much."
"I love you too."
"This is the hottest thing you could have possibly done. You know that, right?"
He laughs, and I revel in the sound.
Quieter, I say, "You made it home again. You knew just what to do, and you did it, thought of every little thing." I glance back at the room--god it's fucking perfect. "Where did you get all this stuff?"
"Cass helped me," he admitted. "Looked up your Pinterest board, helped me find all the stuff online and put it all in here."
I let him go, go exploring. Test the chair, plopping into it with a sigh, and he steadies it, smiling. I bounce out of it, then over to the ladder, hopping on it and pushing off with my foot but don't get far.
"Push me like I'm a Disney princess!"
Chuckling, he does. Honestly, it could go a little faster for the full Belle effect, but safety first, I'm sure. I bound off and to the window seat. There's a little tray for a drink or a snack, a blanket, so many pillows. I look out the window at my yard as he sits next to me.
"I think I can come back now."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah. Especially with this. Can we sleep in here?"
A laugh. "Baby, if you want to, we'll sleep in the shed. I don't give a goddamn where we are, as long as I'm with you."
I climb into his lap lips first, kiss his whole face off, then curl up against his chest. "So you'll stay here with me? I don't know if it's home without you."
"Then I stay here." The words are simple, sure. "Always, if you want."
I sit so I can see him. "Do you mean move in?"
"If you want."
God, I want. "But your house--"
"It's still mine. We'll keep both for now.
Stay here, stay there, maybe rent mine out.
We'll figure it out. Your place is smaller, cozier, perfect for now.
But maybe someday…" Something vulnerable flickers in his eyes.
"…maybe we'll want more room. A family. My place has the space, if we want to use it. "
My breath catches. "A family?"
"If you want." His voice is rough.
"Put me in, coach," I say, kissing his lips over and over, saying, "Put me in, put me in, put me in," on a loop until he's laughing.
"God, I love how you do that," he says, holding my face still so he can really kiss me.
"Do what?"
"Make me laugh when I'm afraid I might cry. Make me feel so many things at once. Everything. All of it. You. I love you."
"Good. Now fuck me in my library, McHotbooty. I've never been so wet in my life."
A laugh busts out of him, loud and deep as he gathers me into his arms and lays me down, his lips on a track for mine.
"Anything you want, peaches."
And when he kisses me, we're both finally home.