Chapter 26
Eleven years ago
For weeks Gray and Shelby saw each other only in passing at school. There were many fleeting looks, tortured smiles, and whispered
greetings. Each night as he lay in bed, waiting for sleep to claim him, it was all he could do to keep from calling her. So
many times he’d tapped out texts.
How are you?
I miss you.
I can’t take this anymore.
He deleted them all. They had to see this through if he had any chance of winning over her father. She would let him know
when and if her father softened. Gray just had to hope and pray it would all work out. Not easy for him—optimism wasn’t exactly
his default.
A couple days after he and Shelby had last spoken on the phone, Gray handwrote an apology to her father. He poured out his
heart in a way he never had before. Assured Mr. Thatcher that his intentions were honorable. That he’d like the chance to
earn back the man’s trust. He read the note at least ten times before sticking it in the mailbox.
Mr. Thatcher never responded to the letter. But Gray hadn’t really expected him to. Still, Gray was genuinely sorry—and he hoped it would eventually have a positive effect.
If Gray had thought his feelings for Shelby might fade with time, he would’ve been so wrong. They only grew deeper. Every
time he caught sight of her down the hall or across the room, his chest ached for want of her. At times he was crippled with
the fear that her father would never give him a chance and he’d be forced to live without her forever.
It was a suffocating kind of fear. The kind he’d felt last year when his dad was sentenced to sixteen years in prison, and
Gray was sentenced to life without a father—or so it seemed.
He’d confided in his grandmother about Shelby and their hopes that her dad would eventually come around. She offered continual
encouragement. Somehow when she was around he could believe Mr. Thatcher might learn to trust him. He could even believe he
might be worthy of Shelby.
But most of the time he just missed her so much he was miserable and hopeless.
The days dragged by. The grass turned brown, the trees shed their leaves. The weather changed. But their situation remained
the same.
The only good thing about their separation was it gave him plenty of time to study. Throughout December when his classmates
prepared for the school’s Christmas dance, Gray studied. While his peers shopped for the perfect gifts for their friends and
family, Gray studied. While the other students attended family gatherings and gift exchanges, Gray studied.
He did buy two gifts: a box of his grandma’s favorite toffee and a gold necklace with a heart for Shelby. He left the package
in her car when it was parked outside the bookshop on December twenty-third. He hoped wearing it would remind her of how much
he loved her.
His spirits were buoyed on Christmas Day when he found a gift from her on his porch: a first edition of James and the Giant Peach —the book that had begun his love of reading.
He thrilled at the sight of the book. At the thoughtfulness of the gift.
But it was her brief note he pored over every day for weeks.
Thank you so much for the necklace! I’ll wear it every day and think of how much I love you. We’re making progress! I miss
you so much.
XO,
Shelby
He spent Christmas break studying for the exams he’d take in January. Spent New Year’s Eve at home with Gram, watching the
ball drop in Times Square. When school break ended he was both relieved and desolate at the thought of seeing Shelby again.
It was a cruel form of torture being so close and yet so far.
By the end of January his GPA had never been higher. His classmates discovered that he’d passed Brendan as class valedictorian.
More importantly, the Warner Scholarship was within Gray’s grasp. He would head off to Vanderbilt and Shelby would go to Belmont.
They’d both be in Nashville. Surely he’d have her father’s permission to date her by then.
With his grades on the rise and his future looming large, his hopes mounted. But soon a new kind of torture emerged in the
form of Brendan and his goons. One day in late January they caught Gray alone in the gym locker room, and with a ratio of
three to one, he had no fighting chance. Brendan’s minions held him while Brendan knocked the air from his lungs. Nice and
tidy. No witnesses. No bruises.
But the message was clear: Brendan was not about to lose that scholarship to the likes of him. After they left he picked himself
up from a heap on the cement floor, seething. He’d like to wring their necks. One on one, none of them would stand a chance
with Gray. But he wasn’t an idiot.
They were trying to provoke him. Trying to set him up so Brendan would win the Warner Scholarship, which could be revoked for misconduct. Too bad Gray had no proof of what they’d done. No one would ever believe the truth without it.
The scholarship wasn’t the only thing keeping him from retribution. He was still trying to win Mr. Thatcher’s favor. He couldn’t
afford to be foolish. He had far too much on the line.
Then finally on a snowy day in mid-February, Shelby texted him out of the blue.
You’re invited to my grandma’s house for supper this Friday at 6:00. My dad will be there. Can you come?
He stared in disbelief at the text for a long minute, adrenaline pumping nervous energy throughout his body. His muscles tensed.
His hands shook. He dissected the verbiage of the text. The stilted tone and marked lack of enthusiasm. Her dad was likely
privy to both her invitation and his response.
I’d love to come , he replied . Thank you for inviting me. Can I bring something?
He sent the text and waited. Only seconds passed before her reply came. Just yourself. See you then.
The tick of the grandfather clock filled an uncomfortable gap of silence. Mr. Thatcher silently forked a brussels sprout into
his mouth. Upon Gray’s arrival the man had offered him a reserved greeting and a firm handshake. Now his prominent brows were
pulled into a frown over cold blue eyes that mostly avoided Gray.
Thank God this meal was almost over. Although that was also awful because nothing had yet been accomplished. He could hardly
swallow the roast beef past the tightness of his throat.
Across the table, Miss Viola offered him an encouraging smile.
Next to him, Shelby shifted in her seat. “Daddy, did I tell you Gray is all set to be our class valedictorian?”
“Several times.” He spared Gray a glance. “Congratulations on your accomplishment.”
“Thank you, sir. But we still have weeks to go and it’s a close race.”
“You’ll get it.” Shelby gazed up at him in a way that made him want to stare at her forever. “I know you will.”
Miss Viola put her napkin on her plate. “You’re planning to attend Vanderbilt in the fall?”
“Yes, ma’am. I’ll be studying business. I’m especially interested in accounting and marketing.”
“He’d like to own his own company someday.”
Mr. Thatcher pinned him with an expectant look. “Whereabouts?”
Clearly the right answer was here in Grandville. But it wasn’t the truthful one. “I’m not sure just yet.”
“What kind of business?”
Miss Viola scowled at her son. “Stop interrogating the boy, Stanley. He’s hardly touched his roast and it’s one of my best,
if I do say so myself.”
“Everything is delicious, ma’am.”
“Well, I’m not the cook your grandma is, but I’ve got a meal or two up my sleeve.”
Thankfully the topic turned to Gray’s grandma and the secret recipes Miss Viola was always trying to get her hands on.
When they wrapped up the meal Gray offered to help with dishes, but Miss Viola refused. Much to his dismay, she enlisted Shelby’s
help instead, leaving him alone in the living room with Mr. Thatcher. Gray was glad at least that they were in somewhat neutral
territory. He suspected that was Shelby’s doing. Though he couldn’t be sure since he hadn’t gotten her alone yet.
The man gestured to the comfy-looking sofa and settled in an olive-green La-Z-Boy that had seen better days. Miss Viola’s home was cozy with colorful throws and rugs and antiques sprinkled among newer furnishings. She had eclectic taste in the art department, but he liked the whimsical pieces.
Mr. Thatcher wasted no time getting down to business. “Have you been seeing my daughter?”
Gray blinked. “I, uh, I see her at school pretty much every day.”
“Outside of school. Privately.”
“No, sir.”
“Not once?”
“Not since October tenth.”
“Have you called or texted her?”
“The last we spoke on the phone was October eleventh. The only text since then was her invitation for tonight.” Gray gathered
his nerve. This was it. He needed to fight for this. He’d waited months for the chance and he couldn’t blow it now. “I’d like
to apologize in person for the way I conducted myself early in my relationship with Shelby.”
Mr. Thatcher’s eyes turned frosty as he lifted a brow.
“I mean the sneaking around,” Gray said quickly. “As I said in my letter, that was my fault. I take full responsibility.”
“Shelby explained your reasoning. About a hundred times, in fact. It seems my daughter and mother are convinced your bad reputation
is undeserved.”
“I’m not perfect, sir. I’ll be the first to admit I have plenty of faults. But neither am I a stranger to false accusations
and rumors. I care deeply for your daughter and only want the best for her.”
“And that’s you?”
Warmth shot to his face, prickled the back of his neck.
“I have no doubt she could do better than me. But I think she returns my feelings, and there’s nothing I want so much as a second chance with her.
I know I don’t come from much, but I have plans for a better future. Plans I’m working really hard on.”
Mr. Thatcher held eye contact.
Gray fought the urge to look away. To squirm in his seat. What was he thinking? Had anything Gray said swayed the man? It
was impossible to tell with his impenetrable eyes and perpetual frown.
“I didn’t appreciate the way you sneaked around with my daughter—”
Gray opened his mouth.
Mr. Thatcher held up his hand. “But I did appreciate your apology. And your efforts since then to abide by my wishes. Whether
or not you’re deserving of my daughter remains to be seen.” He sat back in his chair, steepled his fingers, and leveled a
stare at Gray. “But I do believe in second chances. And it seems as if you’re currently in the enviable position of receiving
one.”
Gray’s breath escaped his lungs. A ten-ton load fell from his shoulders. “Thank you, sir. You won’t regret it.”
“See that I don’t.” He got up and retreated to the kitchen.
The mumbling of voices carried from the kitchen. Mr. Thatcher was saying his good-byes to Shelby and Miss Viola. The side
door opened and shut.
The second the man was out the door, Shelby ran into the living room and flung herself into Gray’s arms.