Chapter 8
CHAPTER
EIGHT
GRAYSON
The bruise on my face fades from purple to yellow. Everything else gets worse. Six days pass after Molly loses her job. She doesn’t call. She doesn’t answer my messages. The first night, I send one.
Please let me know you’re safe.
Nothing.
The next morning, I try again.
I’m sorry. I’ll do whatever I can to make this right.
The message is delivered, but she doesn’t respond.
I stop after that. Not because I stop worrying. Because she asked me to let her go and I’m trying to respect what she wants instead of deciding I know better. It nearly kills me.
I wake before sunrise, go to the garage, and work until I can barely hold a wrench. Then I return to a dark house where every room reminds me that no one is waiting for me.
Now the silence feels like punishment. Maybe it is. I took her away from my son. I can dress it up however I want. Carter cheated first. Molly left the wedding because she didn’t love him. She came to the garage. She kissed me back. More than kiss.
None of that changes what I did. I desired my son’s fiancée. I put my hands on her while his ring was still in her purse. I kissed her knowing exactly how much it would hurt him if he found out.
Then I drove her away from their wedding. Now the universe is balancing the scales. I took Molly from Carter, so it took her from me. Except she was never mine. I made sure of that.
I stand in the back bay of the garage, staring at the Chevelle.
The black paint reflects the fluorescent lights in long white lines. Every inch of it carries a memory.
The first time I got the engine to turn. The night I installed the transmission alone because Hank had gone home sick. The morning it finally started.
That sound changed my life.
I had been out of prison for nearly four years by then, but I still felt like an inmate on temporary release. I expected every opportunity to disappear. Every person who shook my hand would eventually learn the truth and pull away.
Then the engine roared to life.
Hank came running from the office, certain something had exploded. When he saw me behind the wheel, he laughed and slapped the roof so hard he left a handprint in the dust.
I sat there with my hands on the steering wheel and realized I had made something work. More than that, I had rebuilt something everyone else had given up on. That car taught me a ruined thing can become beautiful again.
I wish I had remembered that when Molly asked me to love her. Instead, I looked at everything broken in my life and decided she deserved someone untouched. Someone better.
I drag the canvas cover over the Chevelle. It’s the middle of the workday, but I don’t have the patience to look at it anymore.
My phone rings in my pocket. Every nerve in my body ignites. I pull it out too quickly, nearly dropping it. I stare at her name. It’s the first time she has called since the day she lost her job.
I answer. “Molly?”
“Hi.”
Her voice is soft. Distant. But it’s her. Relief moves through me so violently that I have to brace a hand against the Chevelle.
“Are you all right?”
“I’m fine.”
She isn’t. I know the lie now.
“Where are you?”
“At the hotel.”
“Are you safe?”
“Yes.”
“Do you need something?”
There’s a pause.
“I wanted to tell you before you heard from someone else.”
My stomach tightens. “Tell me what?”
“I’m leaving.”
The garage tilts.
“What do you mean?”
“I’m moving back in with my parents.”
“You said they live in Florida.”
“They do.”
“That’s across the country.”
“I know.”
“When?”
“Tomorrow morning.”
Her answer knocks the breath out of me.
Tomorrow. I have less than a day before she disappears.
“Why?”
“I don’t have a reason to stay.”
The quiet sadness in her voice is worse than anger.
“You have friends.”
“Jessica can visit.”
“You have your house.”
“I can’t afford it without a job.”
“I’ll help you.”
“I don’t want your money.”
“Then let me speak to the school board.”
“The principal filed a report. Even if I fought the dismissal, I don’t know if I could stand in that classroom again after everyone saw what happened.”
“They’ll forget.”
“I won’t.”
I close my eyes. This is my fault. If I had stayed away, she would still have her job. Her class. The children she loves.
“I can fix this,” I say.
“No, you can’t.”
Her words in the parking lot. They hurt more the second time.
“I need a fresh start,” she continues. “My parents said I can stay as long as I need. There’s a school district near them hiring substitutes.”
“Molly, don’t go.”
The plea leaves me without pride. The line goes silent.
“I have to,” she says.
“No.”
“Grayson.”
“Stay one more day.”
“Why?”
Because I can’t imagine waking up in a world where you live a thousand miles away.
Because I love you. The truth rises inside me with such force that it destroys every excuse I’ve built.
I love Molly. I love her laugh. I love the patience she gives to every child in her classroom.
I love her soft heart and her stubbornness and the way she looked at the Chevelle as though the story of my life mattered.
I love her enough that the thought of losing her feels worse than every prison door that ever closed behind me. We’re meant to be together. The realization should frighten me. Instead, it makes everything clear.
“I need to see you,” I say.
“That’s not a good idea.”
“Give me one day.”
“For what?”
“To prove I was wrong. One day,” I repeat. “Please.”
She’s quiet for so long I think she might have hung up. Then she exhales.
“One day.” Then she hangs up.
I turn toward the Chevelle. The canvas cover hides most of the body, but the front bumper remains exposed, chrome gleaming beneath the shop lights. The decision forms before I have time to question it.
It hurts. That’s how I know it matters. I find a number I haven’t called in five years. Marcus Bell owns three dealerships, two restoration shops, and a private collection large enough to fill a warehouse. He has tried to buy the Chevelle from me four times. I rejected every offer.
My chest aches, but I don’t reconsider. “It’s just a car.
” But it’s really more. It’s proof that I survived.
It’s the first piece of my life I built after prison.
It’s four years of bloody knuckles, borrowed manuals, and nights spent learning how to become someone my son might be proud to call his father.
It means more to me than anything I own. But it still isn’t Molly. Nothing is.
It will be enough for Molly to live for a year without working.
Enough to hire a lawyer if she wants to fight the school.
Enough to move anywhere she chooses and rebuild her life without being forced back into Carter’s arms or her parents’ house.
It will never be enough to make up for what I cost her. But it’s a start.
The next day I arrive at the hotel at five fifty-eight. She opens the door before I knock. She’s wearing jeans and a soft pink sweater. Her hair falls around her shoulders, and her face is bare of makeup.
Behind her, three suitcases sit beside the bed. Seeing them nearly destroys my resolve.
“You’re early,” she says.
“Two minutes.”
“I thought you might not come.”
“I said I would.”
She looks at me.
“Can I come in?”
She hesitates before stepping aside. I enter but remain near the door. The room looks less temporary than it did a week ago. Clothes are folded across the desk. Books and classroom supplies fill two open boxes near the window. Her wedding dress is gone.
I don’t ask what she did with it.
Molly folds her arms.
I hold out the envelope.
She stares at it. “What’s that?”
“Money.”
Her expression closes. “I told you I don’t want your money.”
“I know.”
“Then why are you giving it to me?”
“Because I sold the Chevelle.”
Her arms fall to her sides. For a moment, she doesn’t speak. “You did what?”
“I sold the car.”
“Your car?”
“Yes.”
“The black one?”
“The only Chevelle I own.”
“No.” She shakes her head. “You wouldn’t.”
“I did.”
“Why?”
“To help you.”
Hurt flashes across her face. “You think selling me your car will make me stay?”
“No.”
“Then what is this?”
“It’s yours.”
“I don’t want it.”
“You lost your job because I came to the school.”
“You didn’t make Carter hit you.”
“I told him about the kiss.”
“You told the truth.”
“At the worst possible time.”
“He would have found out eventually.”
“That doesn’t change the fact that my choices helped destroy your career.”
“My career isn’t destroyed.”
“You’re moving across the country because you can’t afford to stay.”
“I can get another job.”
“And you should have time to find one you love instead of taking whatever position pays you first.”
She stares at the envelope as though it offends her.
“That car meant everything to you,” she says.
“No.”
“You told me it taught you how to rebuild your life.”
“It did.”
“Then how could you sell it?”
“Because it isn’t everything.”
I set the envelope on the desk. “Molly, look at me.”
She does. Her green eyes are already filling with tears.
“The Chevelle is metal,” I say. “It’s steel, rubber, glass, and paint. It’s the first thing I rebuilt after prison, and for years I thought it was proof that my life could become something again.”
“It was.”
“But it was never the life itself.”
I step closer. “You are.”
Her breath catches.
“I’m not giving you that money so you’ll love me,” I continue. “I’m giving it to you because I love you. Whether you stay or go, whether you forgive me or never speak to me again, I need to know you have a chance to rebuild what you lost.”
She wipes a tear from her cheek. “You love me?”
“Yes.”
“Say it again.” She says.
“I love you.”
The words feel too small for what they mean. I take another step.
“I love you, Molly. I love you enough that selling the Chevelle was easy. I love you enough that I’m willing to lose Carter, though I’ll spend the rest of my life hoping I don’t. I love you enough that if you leave tomorrow, I’ll let you go because I want you to be happy.”
Her chin trembles.
“But I’m begging you not to,” I say. “Stay.”
“Grayson—”
“I was a fool.” My voice breaks. I don’t care.
Pride is useless when the woman I love is packing her life into three suitcases.
“You offered me everything in that chapel,” I tell her.
“You stood there in your wedding dress and gave me your heart, and I was too afraid to take it. I told myself I was protecting you, but I was protecting myself.”
“From what?”
“From believing I could have you.”
She lets out a quiet sob. I reach for her, then stop before touching her. She has to choose. I won’t take that from her.
“I know I’m not what you planned,” I say. “I’m too old. I’m a felon. I have a son who may hate us both if we do this. I can’t promise any part of this will be easy.”
“You aren’t making a very good argument.”
A rough laugh escapes me. “No.”
“What can you promise?”
“Me.” I hold her gaze. “All of me. No lies. No running. No deciding what you deserve without asking you. I can promise that if you give me another chance, I’ll spend every day trying to be worthy of it.”
Her eyes drop to the envelope. “I still don’t want the money.”
“Take it anyway.”
“I can’t.”
“You can.”
“It’s too much.”
“It will never be enough.”
“For what?”
“For the job. The wedding. The home. For every time I pushed you away because I was afraid.”
“You can’t pay me for those things.”
“I know.”
“Then take the money back.”
“No.”
She glares at me through her tears. The expression is so familiar, so alive, that hope breaks through the fear gripping my chest. “You’re infuriating,” she says.
“I’ve been told.”
“Mostly by me.”
“Mostly by everyone.”
Her mouth trembles into the beginning of a smile. I move closer. Only inches separate us now.
“What do you want?” I ask.
“You.”
The answer is immediate. My heart slams against my ribs.
“But I don’t know if wanting you is enough,” she adds. “Everything has fallen apart.”
“I’ll help you rebuild.”
“What if people judge me?”
“They will.”
“That isn’t comforting.”
“I won’t lie to you. But I’ll stand beside you while they do it.”
“What if you decide I’m too young again?”
“I’ll remind myself that you’re old enough to argue with me until I lose the will to live.”
A wet laugh escapes her.
“And if I decide you’re too old?”
“I’ll sell something else.”
She laughs harder. The sound is broken by a sob. Then she closes the distance and throws her arms around me. I catch her. The force of her body nearly knocks me back, but I hold her tightly, one arm around her waist and the other cradling the back of her head.
She buries her face against my chest. I close my eyes. For the first time since she drove away from the school, I can breathe.
“I thought I lost you,” I whisper.
“You told me to go.”
“I’ll regret that for the rest of my life.”
“You sold your car.”
“I’d sell the garage if that’s what it took.”
Then I kiss her. Not with the desperate hunger from the garage. Not like a man stealing something that belongs to someone else. I kiss her slowly. Openly. With every promise I should have made the first time.
Her fingers curl into my shirt as she leans against me. I hold her face in both hands, tasting salt from her tears and the hope of a future I never believed I was allowed to have. When the kiss ends, she remains in my arms.
Nothing is fixed. But Molly is in my arms so everything in the world is right.