by Mia Ford
Grant had been hunted for a horrific murder. He had been arrested. He had been put on trial.
It felt like everything I thought I knew was falling down around me. I put the folder down, leaving it where it was, and fled to my friend’s place for the remainder of the weekend.
I tried to talk to Grant about it. But I couldn’t find the words. How did I ask him about something like that? The longer I left it alone, though, the more my terror grew.
Was Grant a murderer?
I rebuffed all his attempts to get me to meet his club mates. Maybe the Roughshod Rollers were actually a gang. Was that why Grant had been so cagey about joining them? Had he found some like-minded individuals that reminded him of the life he had once had?
I tried to investigate it. But each piece of evidence came back more damning. I didn’t know what to think. I couldn’t ask Grant. Alex, the only one who knew, who had reluctantly helped me look into it, didn’t seem to want to look much further for me. I felt alone, lost and scared.
And, eventually, I couldn’t take it anymore. So I ran. And I tried my hardest not to look back.
But it was impossible. Because, no matter what I tried, Grant and what we once had has haunted me for three years, especially every time I looked at my son.
Chapter Five
Jessica
When we pull up in front of my apartment, I open my eyes and pay the driver, who gives me a painful looking smile (he’s obviously not much of a morning person and I feel sorry that he has to work at this time when he so clearly hates it) and drives off. Then I face my door and breathe in deeply before entering.
The apartment is quiet, of course. The sun has only just started rising. Owen’s bedroom door is cracked open, exactly how he likes it, and I peer in to see him curled around his blankets, deeply asleep. He would have gone to bed not long after I left, though putting him to bed with ice cream in his system would have been a thankless job. He wouldn’t even have noticed that I was missing so long.
I head further into the apartment. My room looks a little messy, with several clothes spilling onto the floor, and I turn to the living room. I’m not surprised to see Hazel splayed out on the couch, snoring gently, dressed in a pair of pajamas that belong to me. She’s been with Owen and me long enough that I can’t even muster the energy to be annoyed that she messed up my room, or that she went through my clothes without permission. I’m just grateful that she found something to wear to bed.
I owe her a massive apology for this.
I head into the kitchen. It’ll mean dealing with a sugar-crazed son all day, but I could do with some pancakes, and I know Hazel’s sweet tooth well enough to know that she’ll appreciate them, too.
It’s as I finish mixing the batter that Hazel wanders in, yawning. It’s still early, but I likely woke her as I moved around the apartment.
“Morning, Hazel,” I say, offering her a sheepish smile.
Hazel’s eyes light up.
“Morning!” she beams. “So, what did you get up to that you didn’t come home last night.”
She wiggles her eyebrows suggestively, and I can’t help but blush. I busy myself with the batter; I can’t even deny it because she’s right.
“Wait, seriously?” Hazel asks incredulously. She grins, eyes bright. “Go, Jessica! I didn’t know you had it in you!”
“It was…a pretty sudden thing,” I say weakly. “It wasn’t planned.”
Well…sort of. Based on my thoughts and feelings right up until the moment I sent Allison home without me, part of me was probably always angling for sex and judging the right moment to go for it.
“Even better!” Hazel crows. “Wow, you really don’t do things by halves, do you?”
“Maybe,” I say, clearing my throat. “Pancakes?”
“Yes, please,” Hazel replies with feeling.
She heads to my pantry cupboard and rummages around for a moment before emerging with the maple syrup, smiling triumphantly. I can’t help but smile at her enthusiasm; Hazel is always so cheerful that it’s hard to be upset around her.
“So?” Hazel says, taking a seat at the table, watching me as I heat up a pan and allow some butter to melt in it.
“So what?” I ask blankly.
“What was he like?” Hazel asks eagerly.
I think back. Handsome, wonderful, electrifying…
“Quiet,” I say, landing on something safe to say. “He wasn’t very talkative.”
Hazel snorts. “I hope that didn’t make anything too awkward.”
Not at all. If anything, it felt like there was so much going on that there was no room for any awkwardness. Which is hilarious, because I know we both felt the tension right before I kissed him as fiercely as I could.
“No,” I say, pouring some batter in the pan. “Thank you for staying last night, too. I’m sorry about that; I think I lost my head for a bit.
“It’s no problem,” Hazel says immediately. “Owen was in bed, so it didn’t affect anything. I told Jack I was staying the night and he was cool with it. He wanted to bring me some clothes, but I didn’t want him just coming to your house without permission.” It takes me a moment to remember that Jack is her boyfriend. “Though, uh…” She shifts uncomfortably. “I hope you don’t mind that I borrowed some clothes.”
“It’s fine,” I assure her. “I’m glad you found some. In future, I’ll just tell you ahead of time if I need you to stay overnight.”
“Or I’ll just leave a bag in my car from now on,” Hazel grins. “I actually used to do that, but for a way worse reason; this kid was in the foster system, and she hated her family, said they weren’t very nice to her. So I’d spend way more time than I should have with this kid, until I used to always carry a bag to be ready to have a sleepover with her.”
“What happened to her?” I ask.
“The foster parents got pulled up on child abuse,” Hazel says flatly. “She got moved on. I did look her up six months later; she’s in Miami, now, and she seems a lot happier with her new family. She sent me a Christmas card last year.”
“That’s sweet,” I say with a smile.
“Yeah,” Hazel says with a nod. “Anyway, are you going to give me anything real about your new boyfriend?”
“He isn’t my boyfriend,” I protest immediately. “It was just a one-night-stand, that’s all.”
“Sure,” Hazel says, sounding skeptical. “Whatever you say.”
I shoot her a glare. She grins at me, unrepentant.
“Just saying, you wouldn’t be so cagey about it if it didn’t matter,” she says flippantly.
I glare at her. I know she’s right. But I don’t have the energy to argue this point right now or to think how true it really is. It’s too early on a Saturday morning to go through my sordid history with Grant.
Perhaps Hazel sees something of my thoughts on my face, though, because her smile finally drops.
“Sorry,” she offers, and I look up at her in surprise. “I shouldn’t push, that isn’t fair. Are you okay? You don’t look very well.”
“I’m not sick,” I say to her with a small smile. “Just…a little angry with myself. I don’t really want to talk about it, but, I did something pretty stupid last night, and I’m kicking myself for it.”
I can see that Hazel wants to ask. But she reins herself in admirably and swallows any questions she has before hitching a smile on her face.
“Any pancakes ready yet?” she asks.
And this, I think, is why I’ll keep Hazel on as my babysitter for as long as she wants to stay. She’s kind, empathetic and knows exactly what to say and when to say it. I smile at her.
“Sure,” I say, flipping a pancake onto a plate. “You can have the first few, since this is my thank you to you.”
“Awesome,” Hazel laughs. “Though I probably would have still had to fight for them if Owen was up.”
“Then don’t wake him yet,” I say with a wink.
My son will probably wake when he smells th
e food. In the meantime, I smile and laugh with Hazel, content to ignore, for a little while, everything that happened last night.
When my phone rings a few hours later in the morning, I’m somehow not surprised to see that Allison is calling me. I ruffle Owen’s hair, though he barely notices because he’s so intent on the movie he and I started watching together, and leave the room, picking up the phone.
“Hey, Allison,” I greet. “Everything okay?”
“Everything is fine,” Allison says, and I can almost hear her beaming down the phone. Distantly, in the background, I hear Kyle shout something that sounds like, “I need to get her a padded room!”
I pause. “What?”
“Don’t mind him, Kyle is just being an idiot,” Allison says with a huff. “He’s only concerned because I fell backward down the stairs last night…”
“What?” I repeat.
“It isn’t a big deal,” Allison insists. “The worst thing was that I twisted my left wrist and dislocated my left shoulder, but I just have to take it easy for a little.”
Allison and “taking it easy” are two things that are like oil and water. Of course, Allison will try to follow the doctor’s orders…but she’ll eventually lose because she can’t help but race into situations that she has no business being part of. Part of her charm, I guess.
“Just be more careful,” I say, rolling my eyes.
“That’s what Kyle said,” Allison responded. She paused and, when she spoke again, I could hear her grin. “So, what happened between you and Grant last night? You were eyeing him all night. I hope he wasn’t too gruff with you; Kyle said he hadn’t gotten much sleep the night before.”
I don’t know what to say. How do I possibly tell Allison that I made the mistake of sleeping with her boyfriend’s best friend, who also happens to be my ex, who I dumped three years ago for reasons that I’ve never voiced to anyone?
I can’t, really.
“He was fine,” I say evasively. “He was good about me throwing myself at him like an idiot.”
Sort of. At the very least, he responded to me kissing him and didn’t just throw me into the night.
“Poor Grant didn’t seem to know what to do,” Allison laughs. “He’s not really one for hooking up with just anyone, you know. If you want to be with Grant, you need to get to know him.”
Been there, done that. If anything, I got to know Grant a little too well, which is what eventually resulted in the two of us breaking up.
“Sounds good,” I say. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
“Kyle wants me to tell you good luck; he hasn’t seen Grant date at all in three years,” Allison continues.
My stomach drops. Three years? Does that mean Grant hasn’t been in an intimate relationship with anyone since I left him? Way to make me feel bad, that’s for sure.
Not that I can talk. I haven’t been in any sort of relationship with anyone since I walked out on Grant. It’s stupid because it isn’t like I’m cheating on him, since our relationship was ultimately over, but I always felt an odd sense of guilt whenever I looked at anyone else with interest.
Did Grant experience this? It feels odd to think that he might have. Though, that could just be wishful thinking on my part.
No, not wishful thinking. I don’t wish for Grant to be hung up on me. We slept together last night but now we truly need to go our separate ways. This has to be the final break that we didn’t really get three years ago. In a way, this was necessary closure for both of us. Now, hopefully, we can both move on with our lives.
Hopefully.
“Jessica?” Allison asks, and I realize that I’ve gotten lost in my thoughts. I clear my throat. “Is everything okay?”
“It’s fine,” I assure her.
“You don’t sound fine,” Allison says doubtfully. “Is this about us leaving last night? You seemed pretty intent on staying, but maybe I’m remembering wrong because I was a little drunk…”
“It’s okay,” I say, this time more genuinely. “I did tell you to go on without me, and Kyle even asked Grant to keep an eye on me, which was sweet.”
“Yeah, I remember that,” Allison laughs. Then she goes quiet for a moment. “You know you can talk to me if you need to, right?”
“Of course,” I say with a nod. There’s a crash in the living room and I wince, part of me thankful for the timely interruption. “Sorry, I have to go, I think Owen just knocked over our bowl of popcorn.”
“Right,” Allison says, a laugh clear in her voice. “I’ll let you go clean that up, then. See you later.”
“Bye.”
I hang up the phone and inhale deeply. For a moment, I know Allison was suspicious, or at least worried. Do I really sound so bad? Even Hazel had said earlier that I didn’t look the best.
Well, nothing to do about it now. All I can do is head back into the living room, clean up the spilled popcorn and finish watching a movie with my son.
Then I can forget about Grant and everything else. It’ll just be me and Owen. Like it always is.
Chapter Six
Grant
My phone rings at midday. I’m still sitting in the breakroom, fully dressed now, lying on the couch as I try to remind myself of all the reasons why I need to get to my feet. But my chest is abnormally tight, and all I can do is lie listlessly there. In a few hours, Fiona will arrive and maybe I’ll be able to rouse myself enough to at least go home then.
My phone rings out and I glance at it. When it rings again, I look half-heartedly at it before I pick it up.
“Yeah?” I grunt.
“Woah, you okay, Grant?” comes Kyle’s voice. “You sound like you had a rough night. Didn’t get any sleep?”
“I got sleep,” I huff. “Why are you calling, Kyle?”
It’s more brusque than I normally would be, but I’m not in the mood to speak to anyone right now.
“Did you forget about the renovations today?”
It takes me a moment before I remember what he’s talking about. When I do, I shoot upright.
“Shit!” I exclaim. “I completely forgot! Has everyone gone already?”
“Yeah,” Kyle says apologetically. “Some of the others had jobs to go to, so we decided to call it a day at lunchtime. Sorry, man, I should have called earlier.”
“No, it’s my fault, I should have set an alarm,” I say, running a rough hand through my hair. “Damn, this couch is way too comfortable; I only woke an hour ago.”
“Couch?” Kyle asks, confused. “Your apartment only has a few of those reclining chairs, no couches.”
I consider lying to him. It somehow feels sad and pathetic to admit that I spent the night at the bar after sleeping with the ex-girlfriend that walked out on me without a reason. So I decide to only tell part of the truth.
“I ended up crashing in the breakroom last night,” I say.
Technically, not a lie.
“Seriously?” Kyle asks. I can almost imagine him giving me a hard look. He’s a damn mother hen, sometimes. I suppose it comes with the territory of being overprotective. At least he’s focusing most of that energy on Allison, who’s always dashing about so fast that she probably hasn’t even noticed. “That can’t be great for your back.”
“I’m not so old that I’m having back problems,” I say with a small smile.
Kyle laughs and I feel some of the tightness in my chest disappear.
“Anyway, sorry about not showing up,” I offer.
“Nah, we’re good, just come to the next one,” Kyle says. “Fucking Tom was there; I need you to hold me back when I want to hit him.”
I pause. “Did you hit him?”
“No,” Ethan grouches.
“Well, you didn’t hit him, so I must have been there in spirit,” I quip.
“Maybe,” Kyle laughs. “Look, hang tight, yeah? I’ll see you in a minute.”
“Sure,” I say, confused. He does know that I’m not the bartender on Saturdays, doesn’t he? He hangs up before I can t
ell him this, though, so I just shrug and decide to put it out of my mind.
And I manage this, right up until Kyle and Ethan Howard burst into the breakroom half an hour later.
I stare at them, confused, and then glare at Kyle accusingly.
“You brought the cavalry,” I say.
“You need it,” he says, unrepentant. “Come on, we’re going out.”
“Where?” I ask, reluctantly leveraging myself to my feet; Kyle is bigger and stronger than me, so he’ll have no trouble pulling me up if I don’t move.
“Bowling!” Ethan says gleefully.
I give them a deadpan look.
“What?” I ask flatly.
Kyle shrugs. “It’s the only thing open right now. No choice, man. Now, come on, we’ve got Ethan’s car.”
“What about Lily?” I ask Ethan as I follow them out of the bar, making sure to lock up behind me.
“She’s with Georgia,” he says, grinning. “So you’ve got yours truly for as long as you want!”
“Then go home, I don’t want you,” I say.
“Straight through the heart!” Ethan says with mock hurt, clutching his chest.
I frown at my two so-called friends. I just want to be alone so I can mope in peace. Is that too much to ask?
Apparently, it is, because the two of them shuffle me into the back seat of Ethan’s car and wait until I’m buckled in before driving off. I slump down in my seat, somehow feeling like a pouty child who was forced to go somewhere with his parents when he doesn’t want to.
Nearly ten minutes later, we pull up in front of the bowling alley, and I blink. So, going bowling apparently wasn’t a joke, then.
“Let’s go!” Ethan says, way too excited. “It’s been a while since I’ve been bowling!”
And it’s no surprise why. Because it’s Saturday afternoon, the place is full of children and their parents. I grimace as a kid runs past me, screaming, and his harried mother chases after him, offering me an apologetic smile as she moves.
