GRAYSON
“I’ve set you up for failure.”
It’s the first thing Eliza says when she picks up. The sound of her voice alone is enough to ease some of the heavy pressure constricting my ribs. Then her words, spoken with conspiratorial glee, effectively distract me from the afternoon’s events.
I didn’t even know that was possible.
“Did something happen at the festival?” I ask. Amanda reported that everything from the day went well.
“Yes. Me, smiling at everyone who came by, marketing the crap out of Gold’s, and getting you a good number of new customers.”
I lean against the brick wall of the hospital, sweat drawing a line down my back in the oppressive nighttime air. Fuck, I miss the sea breeze. And the woman who comes with it. “I don’t understand how this equates to failure.”
“Well, they’re all going to be expecting my friendly face when they pick up orders or come for a tour, which means they’ll be awfully disappointed when they get stuck with yours.”
I shouldn’t be capable of smiling, but she pulls one out of me. “How long did you spend brainstorming that whole thing?”
“The entire drive back to the farm. It was either that, or pay attention to Kenny’s rendition of a Red Hot Chili Peppers album.”
“Guess that means you were thinking about me today.”
“I’ve been thinking about you a lot, Grayson.”
There’s no hesitation.
No tinge of amusement.
No follow-up joke.
No resignation or reluctance either, from what I can tell. Unless this Ohio phone service is warping her voice, it sounds an awful lot like she’s…happy.
I was honest and raw with her on our call yesterday, not even trying to restrain myself.
Because, yeah, I’m all-fucking-in. I was already sliding down the slope when I took her into my home.
I picked up a shit-ton of speed when she said there’s a chance she’ll stay in Garnet Shores.
And sometime in the last three days, I’ve fallen completely, incapable of climbing back up.
And I don’t want to climb back up.
I want her.
Even if she goes back to Boston, I’ll try to make things work. Start my days earlier so I can drive up and take her to dinner. Hire another hand so I have more wiggle room on the weekends. Work around her, give her what she needs, and help keep her going.
It’s obvious she feels something for me, too. But still, save for her calling me special yesterday, she’s been holding back.
Until now.
She might as well have injected dopamine right into my bloodstream. Crazy how one of my worst fucking days in recent memories can have a moment as good as this.
“I’ve been thinking about you, too,” I say right back.
There’s a dainty little exhale. The kind that comes with a shy smile.
“Dave’s eying me. I think he feels left out.”
“Well, we can’t have that. Give him a kiss for me, will you?”
“I’d like to keep my face in one piece.”
“Don’t worry. Dave knows how much I like your face.”
“Do you tell him all your secrets?”
“Baby, if I wanted it to be a secret, I wouldn’t be sharing it with you,” I drawl.
She’s quiet for a second, and I indulge myself, imagining her blush. She’s hard to fluster, which makes it that much more satisfying when I manage it.
And I know I’ve flustered her, because when she finally talks, it’s a complete topic change. “How’s your brother?”
My smile fades as a lead ball settles back in my gut. Not her fault, though.
“He’s awake,” I report. “Lucid and talking.” But talking isn’t the right word for it. Yelling? Arguing? Being an unrecognizable asshole? “He’s got a decent concussion, but he knows who he is and remembers what happened. He’ll need a few days of observation, but it seems like he’s lucky.”
Extremely lucky, for a guy who got into a car with someone as high as a kite, with a propensity for racing, who smashed their car into a tree. Somehow, the driver was even luckier, only spending a few hours in the hospital before walking away.
“That’s great news,” Eliza says softly. When I’m silent, she asks, “Right?”
“It is,” I force out. “It’s great news.”
“But not everything is great,” she cautiously concludes. “Do you want to talk about it?”
I’d rather swallow shells.
But this isn’t going away. I’m going to walk right into round two the second our call’s done.
I breathe deep and give her the short version.
How the first thing he said when he was fully conscious was, What the fuck are you doing here?
How the second thing was that we shouldn’t have come.
That he’s clearly fine, that it was just a little accident and wasn’t worth the trouble of us dropping everything.
How Anson then asked him why he got into a car with an incapacitated driver, and everything just…exploded.
“Ah, now I get it—why you came all the way out here.” Even hoarse from all the tubes, Dawson’s voice was unmistakably bitter. “To rub my nose in my shit, tell me how badly I messed up, like I don’t fuckin’ know.”
“Yeah, Dawson, that’s why I dropped everything the fucking second I got the call, pulled strings to open two seats on a full flight, and spent all of yesterday staring at your heart monitor just in case it decided to level off,” Anson had shot right back. “You got me, little brother.”
“Go the fuck home.”
That one had been aimed at both of us. I’d ignored it, but Anson hadn’t, and they regressed into angry little kids trading blows in the backyard until Dawson got worked up enough to lurch forward, like he might actually throw a fist. He’d immediately flopped back in pain and called a nurse for more meds, who informed us the doctor was ready to run some more tests.
That’d been about an hour ago.
When I finish, Eliza firmly states, “Whatever’s going on isn’t on you.”
I know we did nothing wrong by coming here.
It was the right choice. But this whole thing started long before he landed in that hospital bed.
“Dawson always was the wild child, growing up. It never left him when he got his first contract, but he was twenty, still had time to grow out of it. But he didn’t.
And he’s gotten more and more distant over the years. ”
Clearly, some kind of bullshit has been going on inside that head of his. Something that turned little Daw—who was pretty reckless but always good in the end—into this.
“I didn’t do enough to stop it from happening.” The confession scrapes my throat. “With Lala and the farm, I just…thought he’d figure it out.”
Fuck.
“Grayson, you aren’t responsible for your adult brother,” she says calmly.
“You’re doing an incredible job helping to raise Lala.
You’ve worked your ass off to grow what your father started.
And you, just like Dawson, had to work through losing your parents, and came out the other side a good person. You’ve done so much.”
Her conviction cuts loud and clear through the line, her words striking me to my core. But still, “I could’ve done more.”
“Not without one of those other things suffering,” she argues. “You can handle a lot of moving parts. But there’s a limit. For anyone.”
I nod, gripping onto her reminder like an anchor.
“I know there’s probably nothing that can make you feel better right now. But please, just…give yourself a little credit. Don’t beat yourself up.”
My chest feels too full as I breathe.
It eases a fraction when she adds, “I’m the only one allowed to be a little mean to you.”
An incredulous exhale shoots out of me. Shaking my head, I mutter, “I’ve let you get away with too much.”
“Hmm. Maybe,” she replies innocently.
The day’s surprises keep on coming, because—like magic—my thoughts shift from self-loathing and despair to Eliza and her addictive perfume, her soft skin and cute little freckles, how sweetly she responded to me in bed.
Some might consider it fucked up that I’m able to go there right now. But I’ll take the temporary reprieve. I’ll take anything she gives me.
My pitch dropping, I muse, “Maybe I’ll have to do something about that when I get back.”
“May-be.” She sings the word, like a dare. One that heats my blood.
“Maybe I’ll think about it every night I’m here. Brainstorm a little. Practice on my own.” Picture her sweet little moans and tight pussy while I do it. “I know how much you appreciate planning.”
“Maybe I’ll do some planning of my own.”
I’m grinning again. Grinning and fighting a sudden hard-on that really doesn’t fit with this day.
Up ahead, three nurses on an evening stroll turn onto the walkway I’m next to. “For such a rule follower, you have me thinking very inappropriate thoughts in a very inappropriate setting.”
“Can’t handle me, Grayson?” she playfully challenges.
“I can handle you just fine, Boston.”
And I’ll be counting down the days until I can handle her again. A light at the end of this dark tunnel.
The nurses approach, giggling at something one of them said.
“I should go,” I say, though it pains me. Dawson’s definitely done with the doctors by now, and I only told Anson I’d been gone a few minutes. Any longer out here and I’d be overindulging.
“Yeah. Of course.” She’s quiet for a breath, like she’s searching for words. “Grayson, he’s lucky to have you as a brother. Remember that.”
And I’m lucky you stepped foot on my farm all those weeks ago.
“Talk to you tomorrow, gorgeous.”
The hospital’s fluorescent lights hurt my eyes as I make my way back inside, weaving through sterile hallways until I find Anson leaning against the wall outside Dawson’s room.
He lifts a brow. “You said you were just stepping outside. You go on a walk to Michigan?”
“Had a call to make.”
He makes a point of reading his watch. “Eight p.m., so it wasn’t work-related. And I just gave JJ an update.”
I stare at him. “You waiting for me to fill in the blank?”
He shrugs. “Blank’s already filled. How is she?”
There’s no point denying his assumption.