Chapter 21 #2
Now, I have to remember that he’ll use this. If I forget again, he’ll remind me. He always does. Men like him find the things you love and exploit them. They’re nothing but weaknesses used to hurt. Pierre will use everything sweet in this small town and try to turn it sour.
After another ten minutes of anger, I remind myself that I deserve better than this.
And that my reactions are completely under my control.
Not his. Not anymore. He’d love nothing more than to know that I’ve been here moping for a half hour about my carefully crafted bubble being burst. I don’t have to give him that satisfaction, though.
I don’t have to give him any more of my anguish or fear.
A violent shiver races up my spine. The same way it used to when I knew his ire was on the way.
At times, it came as a surprise. I didn’t realize I’d done anything to cause it.
Not that it was ever because of me, but still, there were times I knew it was coming.
He liked it when I knew. He’d draw it out; pretend he wasn’t aware of whatever my offense was.
It could be that a bartender at an event smiled at me for a few seconds too long, or someone had their hand on my shoulder while speaking to me.
Or, I simply hadn’t swept the kitchen floor that day.
There were many things that pissed him off. Too many. Everything.
Old habits are hard to break.
But I have. I’m not going back. To him or to the old Louisa.
Gray finds me later in the evening, as I’m doing what I do most nights, staring at the waves in the dying light.
“Hey, pretty girl,” the elder Steele man greets as he comes to sit beside me. “How are you doing?”
“If I’m being honest, and please excuse my French,” I say to him with a sad smile, “it’s been a motherfucking day.”
“Want to talk about it? I’ve been told I’m an excellent sounding board,” he tells me. “And use as many curse words as you like. They’re my favorite. Just don’t tell Mags.”
If his son got any of his traits from Gray, I expect he is a good listener. A caring man who isn’t afraid to show his concern for others. A good man.
“The day started off confusing. My dad emailed me, which never happens. Most conversation goes through my mother, who is a hard woman,” I admit.
“Was it a good email? Or bad?”
“Surprisingly good. He apologized…sort of. Said he wants to talk and work on gaining my forgiveness.”
“Do you believe him?” The question comes without any hints of bias or judgment. He only wants to keep me comfortable while talking, I think. And, again, like with his son, I want to.
“I’m not sure, but I know I want to believe him,” I say with watered down words because my sinuses fill with tears, ready to be shed. “It’s terrifying, because I’ve always wanted his love and to be seen by him.”
For eighteen years, it was my biggest daydream. Those died when I left home. For twenty-eight years, he couldn’t deliver on those childish dreams. What makes him think he can, now?
“You’re worried it’s not real, now,” he says thoughtfully.
“I am. Or, like every other time, my mother’s opinion will be more important than what I need from him.”
“You’ve been failed by a lot of people in life, Lou.
I’m sorry for that; it’s no way to live,” he says.
“My mother wasn’t an easy woman, either.
Maybe it was that generation. Women were expected to marry and have a family, but it wasn’t who she was.
She was never outright cruel, but she wasn’t motherly, either. ”
“Did you love her?”
“In my way, I did. There was nothing to miss when she was gone, though. That was some guilt, let me tell you,” he says, laughing. “I didn’t mourn her and hated myself for that. Until Maggie made me talk to a grief counselor and I learned that I wasn’t fucked up for that.”
“I don’t think I’d mourn my mother,” I tell him. “I would mourn what could have been with my dad, though.”
“Maybe that tells you if you should give him a shot or not, then.”
“I guess it does,” I say, after pondering his words, for a moment. “My location was leaked to the tabloids.”
“What? How?”
“Someone sold the story and a picture of me dancing with Grady at the bar last night. I’m guessing it was the bartender who looks at him like he’s a tree she wants to climb.”
“January,” he says. “That’s surprising, though, maybe it shouldn’t be.”
“Kind of goes against those small-town rules, huh?”
“It sure as hell does. That’s not how we’ve ever worked around here. We take care of our own.”
“So I’ve been told,” I say with a heavy sigh. “He’ll show up. It’s not like him to leave me be, even with the protection order.”
“Are you ready for that?”
“I have to be.”
“You’re not in it alone, anymore. We’ll be ready, too,” he says, wrapping an arm around my shoulders in comfort and protection. I choke on my emotions. He’s giving me some of what I’ve never had. “Does Grady know?”
“No,” I answer, shaking my head. “I only found out a few hours ago. I’ve been letting it brew.”
“And how does it taste?”
“Strong with a hint of bitterness.”
“Yes, you are,” he says and winks at me, making me laugh loudly.
“I am, aren’t I?”
“It’s a good combination, kid. And you’re in a good place.”
“Thanks, Gray,” I say, swallowing back more emotion. “Really. Your family has been great to me.”
“That goes both ways. You’ve inspired something in my son I was afraid I’d never see again,” he says. “What Mags and I have…I want that for him. After everything with Brenda, he closed himself off from damn near everyone. Until you showed up, that is. It’s like my son is back.”
“Oh, Gray,” I say, dropping my head to his shoulder. “I’m in love with him, you know?”
“Does he know?”
“You’re the first one I’ve told,” I say.
“The three most frightening words,” he tells me.
“I don’t want to be afraid of them anymore, or anything else.”
“The more you say them with meaning, the less scary they get,” Gray says. “That goes for most things in life.”