by Addison Fox
“As I could no doubt tell from all your phone calls since New Year’s.” The dig rose up with surprising swiftness.
“It’s been a busy time.”
“Yes, it has. To that end, could you excuse us? We were just finishing something up. I’m sure Avery can get you settled in.”
She reached for Mick’s hand before her mother could protest and took off down the hall toward the conference room.
“I don’t believe you left her standing there.”
“Yeah, well, if you think you’re pissed you didn’t get a phone call, I’m mad as hell. First she springs Jason on me and now herself.”
“My grandmother invited her.”
Grier whirled on that, just as they cleared the threshold of the large conference room. “She what?”
“She told me earlier that she called your mother and insisted she come.”
“How does your grandmother know my mother?”
“Your father let her name slip at some point in the past and my grandmother hung on to the information.”
Although she’d been prepared to apologize, disbelief clouded out any feelings of contrition. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
The anger she’d sensed in him as they sat in the lobby came roaring back in full force. “I only found out at lunch and I didn’t talk to you today—remember?”
“You could have called me.”
“I’m not getting into a pissing contest over this.”
“To hell with a pissing match. I didn’t call you about the house, so you didn’t call me about this.”
“Grier, it’s not like that.”
“So what’s it like, Mick?”
The barely leashed tension she’d seen in the lobby broke through. “What’s going to happen to us?”
“When I walked into the lobby, I didn’t think anything was going to happen to us. I’m still not convinced it won’t, but I don’t understand you.”
“You got what you came for. The inheritance is settled. It’s time for you to go home.”
The disjointed conversation began to make sense as she dug underneath his words. “Do you want me to go home?”
“You don’t seem to want me to go with you.”
“We haven’t talked about it. And the few times we danced around the subject, you weren’t jumping up and down, telling me how much you want to live in New York.”
Grier felt the weight of all the words they didn’t say begin undermining the ground beneath her, as if a chasm were opening up between them. “And you’ve never told me your feelings, so why should I put myself out there and ask what you want to do with the rest of your life?”
“It hasn’t seemed like the right time.”
“Funny, you and I’ve managed to do a lot of that. It wasn’t the right time for me to tell you about Jason. And it wasn’t the right time for you to tell me about your mother. And we haven’t talked about our living arrangements and we haven’t talked about my leaving.”
He nodded. “No, we haven’t.”
“And you’d think we could find a way since we’ve spent a hell of a lot of time together over the last few weeks.”
“I told you once I live in my head.”
Grier smiled and knew there was nothing more to say. Moving forward, she reached for his hands. “Yes, Mick. But we’re talking about us living together. And I don’t think either of us knows how.”
“So that’s it? That’s how it ends?”
“Can you give me any reason why it shouldn’t?”
“It’s too good between us. We’re great partners, Grier. We work together.” Before she could respond, he pulled her forward, crushing his lips to hers. She reacted immediately, the heat and the passion that flared between them so easy.
So why was the rest so very, very hard?
She loved him. But he never once said anything about love. And she’d be damned if she was going to ask.
Pulling back, she took a few steps to give herself distance.
“We work together.” Mick’s husky voice washed over her and she nearly walked back into his arms. And it was that knowledge—the realization that she would walk straight back to him, wrap herself in his arms and put aside her need to be told she was loved—that had her standing her ground.
“It’s not enough. Not for me.”
She moved around him and walked toward the door. And felt her heart break when he didn’t follow her.
* * *
Grier rolled over in bed, the insistent pinging of her cell phone dragging her from the first few moments of sleep she’d gotten since the night before.
A quick glance at the face showed eight messages had piled up—three from Sloan, two from Avery, two from Kate and one from her mother.
Damn it, why couldn’t they leave her alone to wallow?
And even as she thought it, she knew she’d do the same in their position.
With swift fingers, she sent a universal text to all four of them letting them know she’d talk later; then she turned off the phone. A glance at the clock showed it was eleven and despite her lack of interest in eating, her stomach growled in protest.
Hell, even miserable, she couldn’t beat back the urge to eat.
Fifteen minutes later, after a shower that had her feeling only marginally better, she walked into the hotel dining room.
And saw her mother, fresh and pressed as she sipped coffee and paged through an architecture magazine. Patrice looked up and removed the elegant cheaters she wore. “Good morning.”
“Hi.”
“Get some breakfast and then let’s talk.”
Grateful for the reprieve, Grier walked to the sideboard and loaded up on the blessed pancakes that seemed so plentiful in Indigo. Adding sausage and hash browns, she crossed the room and took the seat opposite her mother.
“Your visit is rather unexpected.”
“Yes, I know.”
Grier spread the large pat of butter she’d selected at the counter and kept her attention on the preparation of her breakfast. “You really didn’t think to call and give me a heads-up?”
“No.”
“That figures.”
“Grier!”
“No, Mom. It does. You’ve given me no support throughout this entire process. Hell, you wouldn’t even acknowledge Jonas was my father. And now you expect me to sit here and indulge you and tell you everything’s okay?” She slammed her fork down. “It’s not fucking okay.”
“I know.”
Her mother’s acknowledgment took the wind out of her sails and Grier picked up her fork again. She scraped off a small bite of pancake, barely tasting it. And then she laid down her fork again and faced her mother.
“I have your letters. The ones you wrote to my father.”
“Those were private.”
“And apparently were kept private until he passed away.”
“Did you read them?”
“Yes.”
“I see.”
Grier didn’t miss the pain in her mother’s eyes, or the light blush.
“If it makes you feel any better, I skimmed over the private sexy parts.”
“I suppose that’s something.”
“In fact, the love letters didn’t hold all that much interest. The letters you sent him after I was born are another story.”
“He kept those?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t expect you to understand why I did what I did.”
Grier wanted to lash out, but she had a bit more insight into her mother’s actions after her fight with Mick. “I don’t understand it. Can you explain it to me?”
On a soft sigh, Patrice nodded, her eyes filling with tears. “I can try.”
Grier tried to harden her heart—wanted to keep a tight leash on her emotions—but the harsh lines that marred her mother’s face wouldn’t allow it.
In each and every one of those lines, she saw the truth.
Her mother suffered. She suffered for her choices and she suffered for
her inability to grieve.
“When I came up to Alaska, I was a spoiled rich girl. Before you say anything”—Patrice held up a hand—“I know I’m still a spoiled rich girl. But I was different.”
Grier nodded unwilling to say anything that would stop her mother from telling the story she’d waited a lifetime to hear.
“I was part of this documentary crew and, frankly, I’d only joined it because I was bored and it was something to do. And then I got up here and something about this place spoke to me.”
“It has a way of doing that.”
“Barren and cold and so incredibly beautiful. I was captivated not only by the place itself, but by how different it was from anything I’d ever seen.”
“It’s a special place.”
“Full of special people. I knew that when I met Jonas. And then I went and fell in love with him.” Patrice reached down to play with her coffee cup, rotating it around its saucer by the handle.
“You did love him?”
“Oh God, yes. I loved him hard.” Her mother looked up from her cup, her gaze inscrutable. “I suspect you now know what that means?”
Grier turned the words over in her mind and knew they fit. Knew they were the perfect description for the complex, crazy, incredible feelings she had for Mick.
“I do.”
Patrice leaned across the table and reached for her hand. Her mother had always limited her attention and affection to simple pats and light kisses, so it was disconcerting to feel her tight grip.
“Then, darling, don’t make the same mistake I did.”
“Why?”
“Because Mick cares for you.”
“I don’t mean Mick. I mean why did you do it? All these years, why have you hidden the truth of my father from me? I can maybe understand it when I was young, but I’m a grown woman and have been for a while.”
Patrice’s gaze drifted to a small run in the tablecloth. With one manicured nail, she picked at the small loop. “I was so afraid.”
“Of what? That he wasn’t good enough?”
Her mother did look up at that. “No. Not that. Never that.”
“But your letters.” She thought about telling her mother about the conversation with Brett, but she held back. The revelation she’d read the love letters felt intrusive enough.
“I never once thought your father was beneath me. Quite the opposite, in fact. He was a brave adventurer, willing to see the world. What had I done? Nothing.”
She said nothing in response, the reality of Patrice’s side of the story another piece of information to take in and synthesize through all her assumptions.
“I was afraid of what I felt for him. Afraid I didn’t have it in me to give that back. And,” her mother continued, her laugh hard and brittle, “the truth of the matter is, I didn’t.”
“You don’t know that.”
“It doesn’t matter what I think, Grier. Or who I thought I could be. I wasn’t that person. I didn’t make the choice when it counted. In the end, neither your father nor I did, and you paid the price. That’s why I don’t want to see you make the same mistake.”
Grier laid her free hand over her mother’s. “What if Mick doesn’t love me back? He hasn’t said anything along the lines of love.”
“The man I saw in the lobby last night loves you fiercely.”
“You saw us for two minutes.”
“Grier,” Patrice said, tightening her hand, “I only needed two seconds. I know I came in on something uncomfortable between the two of you, but the moment he saw me, he protected you. And you took comfort in that.”
“He hasn’t told me he loves me.”
“Then you tell him.”
“And if I’m wrong that we have what it takes?”
“Then you’ve done the brave thing and told him how you feel. And if he’s a stubborn idiot who doesn’t love you back, it’s his loss.”
Patrice reached for her hand again and Grier waited, curious to see something other than blatant self-assurance on her mother’s face. “I’ve wronged you in so many ways and that was my own poor judgment. But know, I love you. I’ve loved you from the very first moment I knew about you. You come from the very best part of me. And you come from the only man I’ve ever loved.”
Her mother’s hand tightened reflexively as tears coursed down her cheeks. “Don’t make the same mistake I did. Don’t let the one you love walk away without a fight.”
“But what if I don’t have the words?”
“Just tell him what’s in your heart.”
Mary watched her grandson carry a stack of red filmy fabric, wrapped in bolts, into the town’s community center. They always made sure the Valentine’s decorations were done prior to the town hall meeting and she was anxious to get everything set up.
“Put them on the stage, darling.” Mary pointed toward the small raised dais on the edge of the oversized meeting room.
“I’ll get the rest of the decorations from the car. Be right back.”
“Wait a minute, young man.”
She saw the wary light hit his bright blue eyes at the command and smiled inwardly to herself.
This was going to be fun.
“You’ve been awfully quiet today.”
“I’ve got a lot on my mind.”
“The fight you had with Grier, no doubt.”
“How’d you hear about that?”
Mary raised one lone eyebrow at him and stared down her nose. Despite the foot he had on her, she could still manage a dressing-down when she needed to. “It’s hardly a secret. Especially when you start laying into the girl in the middle of a public place.”
Mick shook his head and she saw the pain in the depths of his eyes.
“I am sorry my actions contributed to it. I understand Grier was shocked to see her mother.”
“She laid into me pretty quick on that one.”
“Did you not tell her I invited Patrice to be spiteful?”
“Hell no.” Mick looked up sharply. “I wanted to tell her in person and I expected I’d have the time to do that. That’s all.”
“Did you tell Grier that?”
“I never got to it. We were focused on other things.”
“Such as?”
“Like how we don’t talk about things. The real things.”
“Is that true?”
The miserable set of his shoulders and bleak coldness that filled his eyes had her heart breaking and all she really wanted to do was pull him close, but she kept her distance.
“Not intentionally, but yes, I suppose it is true.”
“You’ve asked that girl to lay her soul bare to you, Michael Patrick O’Shaughnessy. And you didn’t think you had to do the same?”
“I didn’t want to spoil her with the shit that’s come before. All the stuff with Mom. The piss-poor relationship with Dad. He and I are finally in a decent place, but it took us a long time to get there.”
“All the more reason that she had a right to know. And has a right to know if you intend to make a life with her. Which,” Mary said, keeping her gaze firm, “I presume you do since she’s been sleeping out at your house every night.”
“All that stuff is ancient history.”
“No, it’s your present and future if you keep giving it power over you.”
Mary pulled him toward the rows of chairs set up for the night’s meeting. She took a seat next to him and wrapped her arm around his broad shoulders. No matter how old he got—hell, no matter how old she got—it never ceased to amaze her that she’d once held him in her arms.
His blue eyes had blazed even then and his fist had wrapped so tightly around her finger.
Funny how in thirty-five years not much had changed. His eyes still blazed as he took in the world around him and he still locked down and didn’t want to let go of the things he believed in.
“Do you love her?”
“Yes.”
She pulled tight on his shoulders. “So what’s so hard about saying i
t?”
“She hasn’t said it. Hasn’t even indicated she feels that way about me.”
“She hasn’t had it said to her all that often, from what I can tell. You have.”
Mary could see the emotions flash across his face, but it was the final one—hope—that had her spirits lifting.
“Come on. Help me decorate. And you can work on how you’re going to go find that woman and tell her how you feel about her.”
Chapter Twenty-four
Grier glanced down at the three plastic bags in her hand and took a deep breath.
It was now or never.
“You ready?” Sloan smiled at her, her blue gaze bright with love and support.
“I think so.”
Avery pulled her close for a hug. “I know so.”
Grier handed a bag to each of them, keeping the third for herself. “Okay. Let’s do it.”
The town had to walk past the hotel before reaching the meeting center and people began trickling into the lobby as it grew closer to seven.
Chooch and Hooch were the first to arrive, quickly followed by Jess and Jack and Kate.
“I love what you’re doing.” Kate pulled her in for a hard hug.
“Thank you.”
“Jason approves, too.” Kate smiled as she stepped back from the embrace. “He sends his wholehearted support from New York.”
“When do you leave?”
“I’ll be there next weekend.”
Grier was distracted as more people piled into the lobby and Kate gave her a warm grin before turning to help. “We’ll talk more before I go.”
Ten minutes later, Avery held out her coat. “I swear, there’s nothing this town loves more than a juicy secret.”
“That went fast.” Grier glanced at her empty bag and the matched empties that dangled from Sloan’s and Avery’s fingertips.
From behind her back, Sloan produced the fourth bag. “And here’s yours. Come on. Let’s go.”
Grier shrugged into her coat and then linked arms with her friends. “Thanks for your help. Now we just have to hope I don’t crash and burn in horrible flames.”
“Let’s not tell her about our bet,” Avery said in a loud, deliberate whisper as they walked toward the door.
“Okay,” Sloan agreed, equally loudly.
“Bet?” Grier screeched, then winced at her own voice. “You bet on me?”
