by Nicole Snow
“Would you have expected Jess to give me this truck without buying it?”
“Apples and oranges,” I answer. “That’s not even close to the same thing.”
“Your skills are valuable, darlin’. You’ve got ninja shit no one else in this town has, and they’re willing to pay you like they should.”
His eyes stay glued to the road, but there’s no missing the excitement, the determination in his gaze.
“They’re candles, Ridge. And I just told her how to toss around a few things she already had,” I tell him matter-of-factly.
“It’s more than that. You’re a hell of a lot more than that. Don’t keep thinking you aren’t worth anything because you are. Hell, people write books telling others how to wipe their asses, and they charge for it.”
Okay, that gets a giggle. It may be crude but it’s true.
“I’m not trying to play comedian,” he says. “Although I do love to hear you laugh.” He reaches over, taking my hand. “Seriously, Grace. You’re talented. You’re smart. You’re beautiful. You deserve to be paid for that in spades. Never sell yourself short, sweetheart.”
I’m so not worthy.
“I know I owe you a lot, Ridge. The cost of us staying here—”
“Hold up, Grace. This has nothing to do with me. Nothing to do with you living with us. I can spend my money any damn way I please, and right now, I want to spend it on you. And Nelson. It’s mine. I earned a good portion off my talent, just like you should.”
I know he means well, and don’t point out the fact that our ’talents’ are leagues apart.
“I know the VA isn’t paying for Jackie, Ridge, like you told Dad. They don’t pay for home care.”
He’s silent for a moment before asking, “Would it make you feel better if they did? If I gave them a donation to match the cost? I donate to veterans groups all the time, nothing out of the ordinary for me to—”
“We’re already big enough charity cases for you.”
“Bull. That’s not what I mean, and you know it.” His grip on my hand tightens. “I want you here, Grace. You and your old man both, as long as it takes. I like you and I like helping Nelson. And damn it, this isn’t about me for once. It’s about you finding your lady-balls and telling Amy how much those frigging candles cost.”
“I know. I just...”
“You just don’t want to believe your work’s good enough. Too bad, woman. I’m proud of you, and I’m going to make you proud of yourself, even if it takes all summer.”
I get what he’s saying. His persistence pulls a smile out of me.
“It’s like a dozen candles, Ridge. Hardly enough to shake a stick at.”
“It’s a start,” he says firmly. “We all start somewhere with any venture. Make a wish and get paid.”
The dreaded W word again.
A shiver ripples down my shoulders. Mom’s words echo in my head again.
If you’ve got a light, you’ve still got a wish.
He’s saying exactly what she’d meant. That light, wherever it is, can mark the way to better things.
“My big start was a diaper commercial,” he says. “Now that’s groundbreaking shit right there.”
I bite my bottom lip at the smile forming.
Unbuckling my seat belt, I stretch across the console and kiss his cheek. “Thanks. I could use a fresh start.”
For the thousandth time, he melts me with that perfect grin.
“You’re welcome, darlin’.” Then he plants a quick kiss on my lips. “Remind me later to show you how much I’ve grown up since I starred in baby commercials.”
We aren’t late to the party after all.
The candles are a hit, the hyper little girls love racing each other to blow them out, and later they chatter among themselves, helping scoop wax out of the cups so they can take them home for their own tea parties.
While parents are picking up their children, I bag up the trash and carry it out the back door. As I’m dropping the bag in the trash, something on the ground catches my attention.
Bile burns my throat.
A half-smoked cigar, probably something left by one of the guys, but it’s the smell that gets me.
I squeeze my eyes shut, memories already hitting like a current pulling me under.
The smell when I entered the house. The pain of him grabbing me. The ashes.
A sob has me gasping, fighting, trying to breathe.
I just—
Hands clap my shoulders, and my body jolts to get them off.
A scream tears out of me.
“Hey! Hey, I didn’t mean to scare you.”
Ridge’s voice penetrates the darkness.
I gasp for air, shaking, panic coiled tight around my throat like an angry snake.
He turns me around to stare into his gentle blue eyes. “Grace? Goddammit it, what’s wrong? What happened?”
I grab his waist and bury my face in his chest, blocking out everything but him.
“You’re all right, sweetheart.” His voice resonates with deep command, strong enough to break through the adrenaline storm in my blood.
Slowly, my breathing eases, and I lift my head.
“I...I’m fine,” I strangle out.
“Like hell you are.” He cups my face with both hands, his eyes locked with mine. “You’re as white as a sheet and trembling. Tell me what happened. A panic attack?”
I glance at the ground, the cigar, and jerk my face away.
The whole world is just spinning.
“The cigar?” He forces me to look at him again, bending over for a better look at the ground. “Tyler’s dad came out here to smoke so it wouldn’t stink up the garage.”
I nod. Swallow. Close my eyes to ground myself.
“Come on,” he says, wrapping an arm around me. “We’re leaving.”
“No, I’m okay. Really.”
He kisses me slowly, softly, tenderly.
He drowns me in those lips that are too good at saying so much without words.
“Darlin’, the party’s over,” he whispers as his lips leave mine. “Time for us to go home. Amy insisted on handing me a check with your name on it.”
After another firmer passionate kiss, he leads me inside.
I don’t even have it in me to argue.
I’m thankful for Ridge, thankful for his kiss, knowing it helps put color back in my face, making me look like a functioning human being again as we say our goodbyes.
With a few more quick words and a thanks for Amy, we head home. He talks about the party, the cute little things Cody did that I missed.
I listen quietly, knowing he’s trying to make me feel better, get my mind off the unmentionable.
It does, but...
I can’t.
Just can’t get the smell of that cigar out of my mind and how much it reminds me of that freak, the day he did the unspeakable.
And the bitter realization sets.
As long as Clay Grendal lives and breathes as a free man, I’ll always have his hellish memories holding me down.
At the house, I see Dad sitting on the front porch of the cabin, and the reality of what I did hits.
Actually, what I didn’t do.
I tell Ridge I’m going to go lie down in my room for a bit to clear my head.
In my room, I go to the window and see Ridge talking to Dad.
My stomach sinks into a black pit.
Dad doesn’t know what happened that night, a couple months ago, while it was just me at the house. I think he’d gone to a nearby farm to buy hay and alfalfa for Rosie and Stern.
I turn away from the window as the tears come, fast and furious.
If only I’d been stronger that night, if I’d used Dad’s gun to...
No. It wouldn’t have changed anything, really, minus getting me killed.
But sometimes, I’d rather be dead than have to live with what that wolverine of a man did.
Somehow, I stumble to bed, curl into a ball, trying ha
rder to keep everything locked inside.
If I don’t, I’ll hate myself even more.
Hate myself for not putting an end to it all when I had the chance.
Instead, I made it worse.
When the door opens, I close my eyes, feigning sleep. Not that it’ll do anything to stop a very concerned Ridge.
And let’s be real—part of me doesn’t want him to stop.
I want his arms around me.
I want his comfort.
I want his magic lips to take me to another time and place where Clay Grendal doesn’t exist.
I just don’t want to tell him the truth.
The one thing I know he wants and, frankly, deserves.
Ridge’s heavy weight sinks down beside me. He slides an arm gently under my neck. I curl up beside him, laying my head on his shoulder.
Breathing in his fortifying, manly, everything’s-gonna-be-okay scent works wonders.
“You ready to tell me?” he asks softly, kissing the top of my head. “It’s okay if you’re not, Grace. Take your time.”
Sweet Jesus.
I don’t think I’ll ever be ready to tell anyone, but after smelling that cigar, I know...
Like it or not, I have to.
Two Months Ago
I realize I’m not alone in the house a second after I put the groceries on the counter.
My throat tightens.
I hadn’t seen a vehicle out front, and with Dad gone, picking up the hay...I’m alone with them.
Steeling myself, I stomp out of the kitchen, wondering just how many goons there’ll be and what the crap they want this time.
I’m actually surprised to see it’s just him sitting in Dad’s favorite stuffed recliner.
Clay Grendal looks up with those frigid bear-brown eyes. His smile cuts me like a knife.
“Finally. I’ve been waiting around here for almost an hour with you standing me up.” He sits up in the chair, decked out in his usual. “C’mon, Gracie. Smile. Aren’t you a little happy to see me?”
That’s a big hell no.
My eyes crawl up black slacks and an immaculate white button-down shirt that makes him look like he’s just come from a hard day at the office. That damn leather jacket is slung over the sofa.
I can smell his half-burned cigar from here, a glass of some amber-gold liquid at his side on the end table. Scotch, I think.
His other hand holds something I don’t process at first.
My graduation picture?
“W-what are you doing here, Clay?” I stammer out, dreading the answer.
“How many boys did you date at that fancy college, Gracie?” he says, dead serious as he is drunk. “Did any of them ever tell you what sweet fucking sugar you are? Did you let any of those little boys get up your skirt?”
I’m so stunned and disgusted I don’t know what hits me faster.
Hot fury that this sicko, this intruder, invaded our living room to ask these kinds of questions...or the absolute horror that his pants are undone. And it isn’t hard to tell what he’s been doing with my picture.
“Whatsamatter?” he slurs, blowing a long line of smoke. “Cat got your tongue? Must run in the family, girl, let me help you out.”
Before I know what’s happening, he flies out of the chair and whips around it with shocking speed, grabbing me and pushing me onto the sofa.
It’s the stench that bothers me more than his weight. We’re face-to-face and he reeks.
Too much cologne, scotch thick on his breath, but more than anything, that sickly tobacco smoke. It flows up my nostrils and burns from the inside out.
“Don’t act surprised. You know how long I’ve waited for this day, Gracie. Ever since I saw you standing around your place in Milwaukee, watching me real wide-eyed, a slice of cherry pie ripe for the picking...”
I let out a muffled scream. He shoves his hand across my mouth, pushing it back in.
“You come with me, we’ll call it even, your daddy’s debt paid in full. I’ll call off my men. Hell, I’ll even have them help fix this place up—it ain’t like it used to be, considering recent misfortunes.”
“Never!” I spit out the second I work my mouth away from his hand.
It’s horribly tempting to bite him, but not when I’m crushed under him like this.
Incredibly, my harsh response leaves him stunned.
I’m able to slide out from under him, dart across the room, and stop near the stairs.
“Don’t be stupid. I’m offering you a golden opportunity to put your shitty luck behind you. All you’ve got to do is come with me back to Milwaukee. I’ll set you up in the place of your dreams, anything and everything you want on demand. I’ll—”
“No. If that’s what you’re here for, I’m giving you my answer. I’ll die before I’m a prisoner, especially yours.”
The nasty haze in his eyes fades, gives way to this fierce glow. He rakes a hand through his dark hair, greying at the temples. It’s sickening how normal—how distinguished, even—this man would look in some other time and place where he isn’t impersonating Satan.
“I don’t think you follow, Gracie,” he bites off, focused rage coming into his clipped tone. “You shrugging me off like I’m one of those dickless little college kids you dated...not how this works. Maybe you need a proper lesson.”
“Clay, wait, I...”
I don’t know what to say, what to do, what to even think as he marches across the room. He knows the house too well, heading straight for the little cabinet that belonged to my grandmother.
All I know is I’m utterly frozen as he tears the glass door open, reaches inside, and holds up the urn.
Oh my God.
Not that.
Not Mom.
“Clay...”
“Last chance, Gracie. I’m being kind. So how about you be a good girl and reciprocate, hmm?” Snarling, he holds it up high over his head, flashing a cruel grin. “I’ll ask you one more time, sweetie—will you come with me? Give up your shitty little farm and join the living. Don’t let your daddy wind up like Mama, a pile of ash I can hold in my hand. Not a hard choice.”
I fight with everything I have not to tremble, gazing into those brown eyes so dark they’re nearly black.
“Well? What do you say? Speak!” he snaps.
I say nothing.
Not with words.
I try to ignore the sickening crash as the urn impacts the wall behind me. I take off, racing up the stairs, straight for Dad’s room through a cloud of ash.
He’s got the gun on his nightstand.
I wish to everything holy I’d gone to the range just a few more times. I’m not the worst shot, but now, facing the prospect of having to fire a gun to save my life or to end this monster’s?
Crud.
It feels like hours pass, but it can’t be more than a minute or two.
By the time I hear Clay’s heavy footsteps thudding slowly up the stairs, smell his stinking cigar smoke from a freshly lit smoke, see his gnarled shadow on the wall...
I’m a broken mess, but I’ve got Dad’s gun in front of me, safety off, pointed and ready.
“Very funny, Gracie,” he says, stopping inside the door, his body filling it. “Put that fucking toy down and talk to me.”
I fire, once, and the bullet flies right over his shoulder and buries itself in the wall.
Jesus.
It’s enough to make him flinch.
Enough to make him drop that wretched cigar.
Enough to smell the rug underneath his feet burning a few seconds later as he gives me the vicious look I’ve seen again and again in my nightmares.
“You can’t be fucking serious, you—”
“Try it. Go right ahead, you bastard, take another step and I’ll shoot you in the balls. That first shot was fair warning. Next time, I swear to God, Clay, I won’t miss.” I’m stunned at how harsh I sound when it feels like my lungs are full of cement.
I’ll never know what makes him turn,
retreating slowly away from the soulless carnage he’s left downstairs.
Maybe he’s genuinely afraid I’ll make good on my word.
Maybe he realizes he needs backup.
Maybe he means to finish this when he’s sure I’ll be easy prey.
Oh, he definitely intends to fight another day, and make me pay for daring to threaten him.
Whatever it is, I don’t relax until I hear the screen door banging shut and the slow, angry growl of an engine fading in the distance.
Present
“You were brave, beautiful. So very fucking brave.”
Ridge’s voice is all thunder as he kisses the top of my head and hugs me tighter.
“Clay...he left then,” I whisper, finishing my story. “I locked the doors and hid behind the basement stairs for over an hour until Dad came home. He found me, clutching the gun, and was on the verge of calling 9-1-1 before I snapped out of my trance.”
“A perfectly normal reaction to that level of psycho shit,” he growls.
I push off his chest and sit up.
“Maybe, Ridge. But...but brave? No, I wasn’t. No way. I was a coward.” Regret sickens me again. “It was total self-preservation. I could’ve ended it if I’d just shot him. He wasn’t even armed, I don’t think. But I didn’t. Because I was afraid. Scared of what he might do when he’d already ripped out my effing heart!”
Ridge sits up. “Of course you were afraid, Grace. You were smart, not cowardly, to show the restraint you did. That fuck would’ve hurt you. He could’ve—”
“So what? I should’ve killed him!” I belt out, pulling at a loose strand of my hair with one hand. “I had the chance. I should’ve chased him down and kept shooting until I ran out of bullets. Who knows, maybe I would’ve gone to jail or gotten Dad in hot water but...we wouldn’t have to run for our lives. We wouldn’t have dragged you into this. I wasn’t thinking about others. I was just thinking of myself.”
“Thank God you were.” Ridge grabs my shoulders, digging his thumbs in softly. “You could’ve gone to jail. His uncle and his spiderweb of connections would’ve made damn sure of it to protect his own ass. The Old Town Boys are an entire machine, and even if you tore off the head, there’s no telling how it might keep going.”
