Chapter 25
TWENTY-FIVE
Grant
Grant woke before dawn and went straight to work.
The Tree Toss was in two days, and there was still plenty to do. He hauled firewood until his shoulders burned. Cleared brush from the throwing field until his hands were raw. Fixed fence posts that didn't really need fixing and reorganized the barn twice.
By mid-morning, his shirt was soaked through with sweat despite the December cold, and his muscles screamed in protest.
It didn't help.
Nothing helped.
Every time he stopped moving, he saw Riley's face in the barn last night. The way she'd looked at him like he was breaking her heart. The way her voice had cracked when she tried to explain.
The way he'd cut her off and told her to leave.
Grant grabbed the axe and attacked the woodpile with renewed fury.
"You trying to split the wood or murder it?"
Grant turned to find his dad watching from the barn entrance, coffee mug in hand, expression carefully neutral.
"Just working." Grant swung the axe again. The log split clean down the middle.
"Uh-huh." Thomas walked closer, surveying the destruction Grant had wrought on the farm in the past four hours. "You've done enough work for three days. What's going on?"
"Nothing."
"Grant."
The axe came down harder. "I said nothing."
Thomas was quiet for a long moment. Then asked, "This about Riley?"
Grant's hands tightened on the axe handle. "It's about me being an idiot."
"That's not an answer."
"It wasn't real." The words came out harsh. Angry. "The whole thing. Riley and me. We were fake dating. Just pretending for the reunion so people would leave her alone about being single." Grant finally looked at his dad. "I'm sorry I lied to you. I should have told you the truth from the start."
Thomas took a slow sip of his coffee. "You're sure about that?"
"About lying? Yeah, I'm pretty sure—"
"About it not being real."
Grant opened his mouth. Closed it. "What?"
"I'm asking if you're sure it wasn't real.
" Thomas's eyes were kind. Too kind. "Because, son, people don't chop wood like they're trying to kill it over fake relationships.
People don't look at each other the way you two did on Christmas in fake relationships.
And people definitely don't look as miserable as you do right now over something that didn't matter. "
Grant's jaw tightened. "It mattered to me.
That's the problem. It was supposed to be fake, but I let it get real.
I let myself forget we were pretending. And then she—" He stopped, the anger draining out of him all at once.
"She bailed. Just like I knew she would.
And I was stupid enough to be surprised by it. "
"Did she say why?"
"Work. It's always work."
"Did you let her explain?"
Grant looked away. "I didn't need to hear excuses."
"That's not what I asked." Thomas's voice was gentle but firm. "Did you let her explain?"
The silence stretched between them.
"No," Grant said finally. "I told her I didn't want to hear about her job. That I needed space."
Thomas nodded slowly. "And how's that working out for you?"
"Not great."
"I can see that." Thomas set down his coffee mug on the fence post. "You want my advice?"
"Not really."
"Too bad. Here it is anyway." Thomas crossed his arms. "You're hurt. You're angry. You have every right to be both those things. But you're also punishing yourself more than you're punishing her by staying out here working yourself into the ground."
"I'm not—"
"You are. And it's not helping." Thomas picked up his mug again.
"So here's what you're going to do. You're going to stop trying to work yourself to death.
You're going to go take a shower. And then you're going to go hang out with your friends tonight.
Have a few beers. Blow off some steam. Get out of your own head for a few hours. "
"Dad—"
"And then tomorrow, when you've got some perspective and you're not vibrating with anger, you're going to talk to Riley. Actually talk to her. Let her explain."
Grant shook his head. "She doesn't owe me an explanation."
"Maybe not. But you owe it to yourself to hear what she has to say." Thomas's expression softened. "Son, I've seen the way you look at that girl. And I've seen the way she looks at you. Maybe it started as pretend, but it didn't stay that way. Not for either of you."
"You don't know that."
"I know what I see. And what I see is two people who are miserable without each other." Thomas squeezed Grant's shoulder. "Give it a day. Get your head straight. Then talk to her. Actually talk to her. Let her say what she was trying to tell you."
Thomas headed back toward the house, leaving Grant standing in the woodpile, axe in hand, mind reeling.
He hadn't let Riley speak. Hadn't let her finish a single sentence.
What if she'd been trying to tell him something important?
What if he'd fucked up worse than he thought?
By the time Grant pulled up to Ryan's property that evening, he'd showered, changed, and convinced himself that going out was a terrible idea. But his dad had practically shoved him out the door, so here he was.
The bonfire was already going in the clearing—a massive blaze that threw sparks up into the dark sky.
The spot was deep enough in the woods to feel private but close enough to Ryan's house that they could grab more beer if needed.
Mark, Ryan, and Chris were gathered around it in camping chairs, beers in hand, looking exactly like they always did at these things.
Grant grabbed a beer from the nearby cooler and dropped into an empty chair without saying anything.
"Well, well," Ryan said. "Look who decided to join us."
"Hey." Grant popped the cap off his beer and took a long sip.
Mark leaned forward. "You look like hell, man."
"Thanks."
"No, seriously. You look like you haven't slept in three days and you're trying to solve world hunger through sheer force of will." Ryan squinted at him through the firelight. "What's going on?"
"Nothing."
"Bullshit," Chris said. "You've been weird since the pageant. What happened?"
Grant stared into the fire and said nothing.
The guys exchanged looks.
"Geez," Mark said finally. "What happened? Did you and Riley split up or something? You're miserable, man."
Grant's hands tightened on the beer bottle. "It's complicated."
"Complicated how?" Ryan asked.
"It wasn't—" Grant stopped. Started again. Then decided to rip off the Band-Aid. "The whole thing wasn't real. Riley and me. We were fake dating for the reunion. It was supposed to be temporary."
The following silence was deafening.
Then Mark started laughing. "Bullshit."
"It's true."
"No, it's not." Ryan shook his head. "We were there, Grant. We saw you two together. Nobody fakes that."
"We did."
"Then you're both better actors than anyone in Hollywood, because that looked real to me," Chris said. "The way you looked at each other? The way you couldn't keep your hands off each other. That wasn't fake."
Grant's jaw tightened. "Well, it started fake. And then it became very real—for me. But obviously not for her, because she just keeps doing the same thing—bailing when something more important comes up."
"Wait, back up." Mark held up his hand. "What happened?"
Grant told them. About Riley's boss calling her into the office the day after Christmas.
About her promising she'd be back in time for the pageant.
About sitting there with an empty seat beside him while everyone asked where she was.
About her coming to the barn to talk to him and how he told her he needed space.
When he finished, the guys were all staring at him.
"Okay," Ryan said slowly. "So she missed the pageant because work ran long."
"Yeah."
"And you're pissed about it."
"Wouldn't you be? She promised, Ryan. She looked me in the eye and promised she'd be there."
"Sure. That sucks." Ryan took a drink of his beer. "But did you let her explain what happened?"
Grant shifted in his chair. "I didn't want to hear more excuses."
"That's not what he asked," Mark said. "Did you let her talk? Like, at all?"
"She tried to explain about her job—"
"And you cut her off," Chris guessed.
Grant didn't answer. He glanced around at his friends, all sitting there, giving him their full attention.
"Dude." Ryan leaned back in his chair. "You have to let a woman talk."
"I didn't want to hear about how demanding her job is or how her boss piled things on. I've heard it before. It's the same pattern—she overcommits, something comes up, and everyone else gets bailed on."
"Okay, but did she actually say that?" Mark asked. "Or did you just assume that's what she was going to say?"
Grant opened his mouth to speak and started to realize Mark was saying the same thing his dad did.
"Because from where I'm sitting," Chris said, "it sounds like you were so busy being angry that you didn't actually listen to what she was trying to tell you."
"She broke her promise—"
"Yeah, and that sucks. We get it." Ryan's voice was firm but not unkind. "But people make mistakes, Grant. But like…it’s a kids’ pageant. Things happen. And if you didn't even let her explain what went wrong, then how do you know she chose work over you?"
"Because she always does."
"Always?" Mark raised an eyebrow. "You guys have been dating—or fake dating—for a few weeks? Tops. So, is it possible that she did that in high school and you're holding onto it like it happened yesterday?"
Grant bristled. "It's not just high school. It's a pattern. Everyone in town knows Riley Monroe is too busy for Pine Valley. Too focused on her career to show up for anything. She’s missed tons of stuff over the last ten years that was important to her friends and family."