Chapter 18
Eighteen
Grady
“We should all start to live before we get too old. Fear is stupid. So are regrets.”
Marilyn Monroe
“Love me, Grady.”
Those three words play like a lullaby in my head for days.
After Lou came hard in my mouth, we fucked relentlessly. Taking our time the first time, feeling every inch of each other’s bodies. The way her pussy squeezed my dick, the way she called my name, the way her body reacted to mine…it was the best sex I’ve ever had, hands down.
A couple hours later, I’d woken with her sprawled atop me, my cock ready for more. It must have woken her up too, because her head was propped on her hands on my chest as she watched me wake up.
It was the sexiest thing, her patiently waiting for me to come alive and fuck her again. And fuck her, I had. That time was more rushed. Animalistic and urgent, just our biological needs. No romance, no finesse. But still, she came in shaking sobs.
I’m convinced her assessment was correct.
She’d never experienced a full orgasm. Not at all surprising, since she’s been with a man who sounds like nothing less than a malignant narcissist. It makes me sad for her, but also, it’s the biggest ego boost a guy could have.
Especially since she comes so easily for me.
“Love me, Grady.”
I don’t think she meant it to come out the way it did. I think she meant to say make love to me. But, fuck me, those words will ring in my ears until my death. The plea and need in them.
And, for better or fucking worse, I am more than halfway to loving the complicated woman.
The one with the mysteriously glamorous life I’ve only seen on the screen of a phone, who doesn’t seem to fit with the down-to-earth version I see every day.
Here, she’s a woman who’d rather spend her time in a thrift store than dressed up in a gown that costs as much as my truck.
There isn’t a single thing that I know or understand about the world she comes from. For some strange reason, that doesn’t scare me. Instead, I’m only more intrigued by her.
But that may be my downfall. I trusted the wrong woman once before. One I thought I knew everything about. How well will I fare with a woman I only know half of?
Which half is more important to know? Surely, this half.
The half where she doesn’t have to spend all her time pretending and hiding.
The half that she allows to live and learn.
She has, too. I see how much she’s grown in the couple of months she’s been here, how much she’s discovered about herself.
The world sees Lou with a painted smile. I see her reality. Vulnerable and original. Special and strong.
That has to mean more. It has to. Because I don’t know what my life looks like without her in it somehow. I don’t want to be reduced to the populace that only sees her on glossy paper.
She left this morning for that job in the Big Apple.
I’ve hardly seen her since I spent that night with her.
It was my turn to stay at the station for a seventy-two-hour shift.
However, I did squeeze in time for another workout with her.
I needed to be sure she remembered what she’s been taught. It’s not enough, but it is something.
The next couple of nights will be torture. She’s there alone. Mostly, anyway. Her agent will be with her, but from what she’s told me about Micah, he wouldn’t be much help in a fight.
Lou promised to call or text to let me know when she is safely ensconced in her hotel room. Save for following her around the world, I can’t protect her from everything. A lesson I don’t enjoy learning any better than when I had to learn it with Paige when I moved here from Portland.
At least things are looking better, on that front. My attorney called this morning to say that Brenda’s attorney wants to meet to see if a new agreement can be made outside of court.
“He thinks Brenda is ready to give in,” I tell Mom when she asks what I think it’s all about. “Maybe because of the new boyfriend. I don’t want to get my hopes up, though.”
“Well, I don’t want to get your hopes up either,” she says, trying to hide her enthusiasm at the news. “But your father told me if Piglet moves here with you, he’ll consider moving back. Since my scans are good.”
“Really?” Now, it’s me trying to hide my excitement. Both my parents miss living here, even if they try not to say it. This is home. Not Portland. That’s just the place she had to be to heal her cancer. Stowaway heals her soul.
“Really. He talks tough, but I know he wants to be here as much as I do.”
“Okay, then,” I say with renewed determination. “I’ll fight like hell to get her here.”
“You already were,” she says with a small laugh. “I appreciate the sentiment, though. Anything we can do to help?”
“Nah, just keep reminding me that if my daughter comes back, my whole family follows.”
Either one would make me ecstatic, both my daughter and my parents coming home for good would be a god damned dream. My entire family here in Stowaway.
I send a quick email to my attorney, telling him to make whatever deal it takes. I’ll sell organs. Hell, I’ll sell testicles to make it happen.
“Daaaaad!”
“What’s up, Squid?”
Paige comes bounding down the hall, hair still wet from her shower.
She and Dad had a day of epic sandcastle building on the beach in preparation for this weekend’s annual sandcastle festival.
It’s a big deal every year because it’s the first event that brings the tourists out, which is good for business.
It’s Paige’s favorite of the summer festivals; she dreams of winning it, one day.
Until then, we’re cursed to have her covered from nose to toes in sand as she tries to discover her grand design.
How she ends up with it caked in her ears, I’ll never know.
“Has she called yet?”
“Not yet, I told you I’d let you know.”
“I know, but I was in the bathroom,” she says with a heavy eye roll, as if I’m the thickest person she knows.
“I can hear you singing Olivia Rodrigo songs through that door. I’m sure you could hear me if I yelled through it,” I tell her, running my hands through her hair to make sure she got all the tangles out.
“I can’t help that I’m worried,” she tells me, sounding much older than her eight years. “I’ve never been on an airplane, they’re scary.”
“They aren’t scary, you just don’t understand them, yet.”
“I’d understand them if I went on them,” she huffs.
I’ve been promising her a trip to Disneyland for years. Damn Brenda for making that more difficult a promise to keep.
“One day. I promise.”
“What if she doesn’t call before I have to go to bed?”
“I’ll wake you to let you know she’s okay,” I tell her. Truthfully, I’m worrying, now, myself, because it’s already so much later on the East Coast. What I don’t say is that I’ve already texted Lou. My worry is greater than my daughter’s. It’s not a bad flight that concerns me.
She hasn’t answered, yet. But she will. She has to.
I don’t know what I’ll do if she doesn’t. Or can’t.
“Do you promise?”
“You know I’d do anything for you, kiddo. Including waking you up from your pretty princess dreams to let you know your friend is okay.”
“I don’t have pretty princess dreams,” she whispers. “In my dreams, I’m a dragon spitting fire and biting off bad people’s heads.”
Well. Fuck. Okay, then.
“That’s my girl,” I say, smiling and ruffling her curls again. “Go find your grandfather, he has ice cream.”
“Oh! It’s rocky road time!” She twirls a few times before running off, effectively forgetting the conversation we just had. For now, anyway. She’ll remember, soon enough. Like me, like my mother, Paige has a savior complex of her own. And Louisa Moreno is now in her circle of friends.
I’m coming to terms with my heart wanting to call her more than a friend.
Family. Mine. Those words ring more true, even if I’m not ready to admit it.
It’s too soon. Isn’t it? It was too soon when I considered Brenda mine.
She wasn’t, not then. Or ever, really. The Brenda I knew was a lie she told me every day for damn near a decade.
I can now see all the things love blinded to me, then. Or whatever it was I was feeling. Now, I have Paige, which was worth all that I went through with my marriage. But I can’t let myself believe another lie. I can’t let another woman break her heart.
Maybe it’s best that Louisa returns to her life, now that she’s armed with more confidence and self-assurance. Maybe that’s what’s best for us both.
Except, the thought of it is like a river of pain forging its way down the center of my heart.
It’s too late to give myself false warnings.
Love has found its way in, like a root buried deep in the ground lying dormant for seasons until the perfect mixture of rainfall and sunshine brings it back to life.
Dammit, where is she?
It’s another hour before she calls. My phone barely gets the first ring out before I’m answering.
“Hey, you okay?” I ask instead of a normal greeting.
“Yes, sorry I didn’t call earlier. It’s been…a day,” she says, her exhaustion evident down the line.
“Are you at your hotel?”
“Just got to my room about five minutes ago. God, Grady, I’m tired. I’ve been in meetings since I landed.”
“Productive ones, I hope.” She was scheduled to meet with Micah, but that wasn’t expected to be lengthy, as she’d already seen a copy of the contract he’d written up for her.
“Very. We…I decided to go public. Carolyn is angry with me. She’s good friends with Pierre, which is problematic. We’re trying to get ahead of it. Finally.”
I don’t know what to say to that. I’m sorry you have to go through that, I’m proud of you, or do I ask how big of a shitshow she thinks it’s going to become. My first thought is her safety, though.
“How mad? Does she know where you’re at?”
“Very mad, but no, she doesn’t know how to find me. Not in Stowaway or here in New York. I even chose a hotel nobody would expect me to stay at,” she tells me. “Just in case he heard I would be in the city for this shoot.”
“That’s smart.”
“I’m learning,” she says with a self-deprecating laugh. “Micah and I video-chatted with the new PR team. It took hours, but we’ve come up with what they think is the best plan. As soon as I’m on a plane back home, they’ll leak the story.”
“I’m sorry, Lou. I wish it wouldn’t have to be so hard on you.” Or any other woman trying to leave an abuser. She’s had it hard enough, she shouldn’t have to be scrutinized or be fodder for gossip rags, on top of all that. “I’m proud of you, you know?”
“It’s something I should have done earlier,” she dismisses.
“It’s something you needed to do in your own time,” I say. “You aren’t the same woman who showed up in Stowaway that rainy afternoon. You’ve found your strength again.”
“Again? I think this is the first time,” she says, once again attempting to brush off the compliment.
“Not true, Lou. I’ve seen your photographs. Your career has been remarkable and that took strength. Especially leaving home so young, you did that on your own,” I say. “One of these days, you should start accepting the amazing things you’ve accomplished.”
“You make it sound easy,” she says, then grows quiet, for a moment. “You make my life easier, Grady.”
“Good, it’s what I aim for.”
“I hope to return that,” she says. “Someday. For now, can you tell me something good?”
“As a matter of fact, I can. Brenda’s attorney wants to negotiate. It’s out of the blue. I think she’s getting desperate. Hopefully, that means I’m closer to getting what I want.”
“Paige full-time,” she says, and I hear the smile she wears, even though I can’t see it.
She’s been spending more time with my daughter the past couple of days.
Mom and Dad have been on duty, but they’re accustomed to lazy afternoons, and Paige doesn’t know the meaning.
She’s been over at Irma’s getting hair braiding lessons from Lou, determined to become the “queen of crown braids.” Whatever that means.
“Or, at least, most of the time. Much more than I get now, anyway.”
“That is more than good, it’s the best news. It’s hopeful, Grady.”
“It is,” I agree. “Plus, my parents are more likely to move back if Paige is here, too.”
“Then, it’s the very best and very helpful,” she says. “Thank you for telling me, it’s exactly the happy news I needed before passing out after a long day.”
“Can you spare a couple of minutes to chat with a worried eight-year-old? She’s been waiting up to hear how your flight was.”
“I always have time for Paige. Always,” she says, and I go find my daughter with a lighter heart than I’ve had for most of the day. I find her curled up against my mother’s side on the sofa, her eyelids heavy but determined.
“Is that Lulu?”
“It is,” I tell her, handing her the phone.
She immediately starts rattling off questions about the flight.
Wanting to know how fast the plane went, if they gave her a meal on a funny tray with lots of divisions, what the flight attendants wore, and if it smelled like farts because Becca, at school, told her the first plane she went on smelled like it.
By the time she hands the phone back to me, Lou, too, is lighter with laughter.
And I’m more certain than ever that I’m falling in love with the woman who sets aside everything at my daughter’s behest.