by Ann Garner
“Hey, I just wanted to see how you were doing.”
I shrug. “Perfect.”
“Don’t do that, Grace.” Her soft voice chides as she move into the room. The bed dips as she settles down next to me. “Don’t pretend with me.”
“What do you want me to say?”
“I want you to be honest.”
A laugh bubbles out of my throat, boarding on the very edge hysterics. “Obviously I have a problem with that.”
“Grace, just talk to him. He’ll forgive you once he understands.”
“He won’t.” I whisper. “We argued before about this. I told him, Del, I told him there wasn’t anything between Grant and me anymore. I told Grant that there was nothing left, and then when we were…” My voice trails off, my eyes widening slightly as they settle on hers.
Her responding smile is weak, her voice even softer when she speaks. “When you were both here with Cole and me, during those…days. I’m so sorry, Grace.”
“This isn’t your fault. Hell, it really isn’t even Grant’s fault.” I shove a hand through my hair in frustration. “I should have told Jacob the truth. I know I should have told him the truth, I was just so afraid of what would happen. What did happen. I screwed everything up because I was to chicken to tell him the truth and risk screwing everything up.”
“Don’t give up, Grace. Go and make him listen to you.”
Which explained how I was standing in front of the frat house staring at the front door with trepidation. I’d tried to call him, to text him, email, hell everything but smoke signals, and hadn’t heard a single response from him. I tug absently on the bill of my faded CMU baseball hat, pulling it lower over my eyes.
I look a hot mess. Loose gray yoga pants matched with a blue and white stripped chunky sweater, my hair thankfully hidden beneath the aforementioned hat, and flip flops since they were the only thing I could find when I finally decided to leave the apartment and go looking for Jacob.
Only now I was struggling with making myself go inside to find him and beg him to talk to me.
The front door has opened twice while I’ve been standing here, and I’ve watched two of his fraternity brothers leave for winter break, their eyes moving over me with something akin to sympathy as they walked by.
I’m once again reminded about how much this campus thrives on gossip as I stand there. I’m sure each and every one of them has heard what happened, and has put their own little twist on the events. I don’t want to think about the rumors that are probably running rampant.
“Grace?”
My head jerks at the sound of someone calling my name and when I manage to focus in on the voice I see Bradley standing in front of me. Kelsey’s Bradley.
“Hey.” I say softly. “I just, um, I need to see Jacob.”
The second the words are out of my mouth I see the flash of pity that flips through his eyes. It comes so quickly, so terrifyingly fast, the force of it hitting me like a punch in my gut. “Is he here?”
“He doesn’t want to see you, Grace.”
I knew that. I knew he wouldn’t want to see me. “Is he still here?”
“Let me take you home, Grace.” Bradley’s voice is soft and low. Gentle like he’s trying to soothe a child.
“I don’t want to go home. I want to see Jacob. Is he still here?” I feel the hysteria building inside of me.
Bradley glances back toward the house, up to the second floor where I know Jacob’s room is located. “He’s in there, isn’t he?” I move forward, pushing past Bradley and making my way up the stairs toward the house. His hand snags my upper arm, stopping my progression. “I just want to explain.”
“He doesn’t want to see you, Grace. I think you should go. Let me take you home, okay?”
Yanking out of his grasp I move further up the stairs. “I don’t want to go home. I want to talk to Jacob.”
“Grace, let me call Kelsey to come and get you. Or one of your brothers.”
“I just want to talk to him.” Desperation makes my voice hoarse. The tears that wouldn’t fall before clog my throat, making it nearly impossible to talk at all. “Please. I just want to talk to him.”
“Grace, I—”
“I’ve got it, Brad. Thanks.”
My head swings around, my gaze drinking in the sight of Jacob standing in the doorway. He looks as shitty as I feel. But he’s standing in front of me, so there’s a chance that I can make this right. “Jacob, just let me explain.”
His eyes are solid ice, frozen blocks of emptiness as they move over my face. I’m holding my breath, waiting for whatever he’s going to tell me. When he stays silent I take a step toward him, only freezing when he takes a step back into the house. “Jacob.”
“I don’t want to listen, Grace. You had plenty of time to tell me that Grant kissed you.”
“It didn’t mean anything!”
“Then you should have told me!” He shoves a hand through his hair. “You should have just told me the truth. I could have handled that. I could have handled the truth, but you didn’t give it to me. You lied.”
“Because it didn’t mean anything!” I cry again, taking another step towards him. “He doesn’t mean anything. There was no reason to tell you.”
“There was every reason to tell me.”
How am I supposed to argue that? How am I supposed to defend myself against the truth? Because I should have told him. “Jacob, please.”
“No, Grace. I won’t fight him for you.”
“You aren’t fighting him for me. There isn’t anything to fight, Jacob. There isn’t anything between Grant and me.”
“I was wrong, Grace. I thought you were ready to move on, to get past him and to be with someone else. To love someone else. Obviously you weren’t. You need to go, Grace. Stop calling, stop texting, don’t come back here again. I won’t be with someone who can’t give me everything.”
“I’m all in.” I whisper. “I swear I’m all in, Jacob.”
“Not from where I’m standing.”
Chapter Twenty Eight
Christmas morning it snowed. Just a light dusting, enough to blanket my parents yard in a pretty layer of white that glistened under the sunlight. I watched it fall from the window in my bedroom, curled up in the small reading chair that had never really been used for reading. The chair had gotten more use in the last couple of weeks than I think it ever had before.
I can hear the Christmas music blaring from the living room below. It had become the way my mother had woken us up ever since we’d hit high school and stopped waking up at the crack of dawn to see what Santa Claus had brought us. I can smell the fresh baked bread, and the underlying hint of bacon drifting up the stairs.
Every day since I had been home seemed longer then the day before. These long weeks of Winter break stretched out endlessly in front of me. Typically I reveled in being out of school and away from classes for any length of time.
Right now I’d give anything for even the slight distraction that classes would give me.
As it was, I had all the time in the world to think, ample amounts of free time to miss Jacob and to call myself every name under the sun because I’d been such an idiot. I’d rationalized not telling him that Grant had made a move. No matter how small the move, no matter that I had pulled away, I should have been honest.
I know that every morning when I wake up the pain is going to get a little less sharp. It will never go away, not entirely, and I could be okay with that. Would be okay with that. But it would lessen, and I would figure out a way to be happy. I would settle into a different level of happiness, maybe not as bright as before, but happy none the less.
I would survive without Jacob, there was no doubt in my mind.
I just didn’t fucking want to.
Glancing down to my phone, I swipe my finger across the screen, drinking in the picture of the two of us that I have set as my wallpaper. We’re facing each other, his forehead dropped down against mine, our noses brushi
ng slightly. His dimple is flashing, and there’s this unmistakable look of pure joy on my face as I look at him.
I hit the icon for my text messages, watching as it instantly pulls up the last text I had sent him. It had been begging him for forgiveness, but that isn’t the one I want to see. I scroll up, my finger brushing lightly over the screen as the words go by in a blur until I get to the one I want. My eyes scan over the words, even though I know each one by heart.
I think about you more than I should. Yet not nearly enough. You’re in every thought I have, and I wish I could have a million more so I could think about you in those as well.
So just like I know that I’ll find the balance I need to move on with my life, I know that I’ll never find someone who makes me feel like Jacob Ross did.
“Gracie Lou, it’s time to come down and eat, and see what Santa brought.”
I glance over my shoulder to find my father standing in the doorway of my bedroom. His handsome face is wrinkled in concern as he watches me. Just like it has been every day since I came home.
“Okay, Daddy.” I murmur, dropping my feet down to the ground so I can push out of the chair. He doesn’t move away from the doorway, but instead opens his arms and I snuggle inside of them like I always did as a child. I wish he could kiss away the pain of this like he did when I feel down and scrapped a knee. His kisses had been filled with magic then, at least to me. One brush of them across what hurt and everything seemed infinitely better.
“Oh, baby girl, I hate to see you like this.” His arms tighten around me as he whispers the words into my hair. I feel the prick of tears, the sting of them biting at the back of my eyes, but they don’t fall. They never fall.
“I’ll be okay.”
“I don’t doubt you will, I just hate to see you hurting when I can’t fix it for you.”
I pull away, wrapping an arm around his waist and tugging him out of my room. “This time it’s my fault.”
“What do you say this morning you try to put it all aside? We can see who can eat more bacon, listen to your mother scold me about my cholesterol, which is always fun, and then dig into the presents.”
I give him a weak smile. “You really do need to do better about with what you eat.”
“Someone should have told that to the person who fried up the bacon this morning.”
Coming down the stairs, I round the corner and head into the kitchen where everyone else is already waiting. My mother has gone above and beyond this morning, and I see all my favorite breakfast foods spread across the table.
I’d lost some weight in the last few weeks, weight I couldn’t afford to lose, and I knew my parents were worried. I wasn’t consciously trying not to eat, it just happened.
I slide into my usual seat, not saying a word when a large stack of blueberry pancakes and several slices of bacon are put in front of me. Conversation picks up around me as I dig into the pancakes. Everyone is here this morning though Ally and Holden will head over to be with her family after lunch. A lunch which typically Grant has eaten with us every year since he and Holden became friends.
I don’t have a clue if he’s coming today or not. Honestly at this point I don’t care. It won’t change anything for me whether he’s there or not.
I move through the motions of the day, the same as I’ve done every other day before this one. Grant doesn’t come for lunch, but swings by to talk to my parents. I know he considers them his own. I realize now it was unrealistic of me to think that I could close him completely out of my life. He was too ingrained, too imbedded in my history for me to simply walk away. Our relationship hadn’t been ours alone. So closing him out of my life would close him out of everyone else’s, and it wasn’t fair of me to make that decision for them.
It’s just barely past midnight the morning after Christmas when I head downstairs to make myself a cup of hot chocolate. Sleep has been intermittent since everything happened, and it seemed that tonight was one of the nights that there was none to be had. I’d lain awake in my bed for the last couple of hours staring at the ceiling.
I get the Keurig set up before moving to the fridge and pulling out the leftover pecan pie that my mother had made. I forgo a plate and just set the pie pan on the table and dig a fork out of the silverware drawer.
“I hope you’re not planning to eat that entire thing by yourself.”
I jump just a little at the sound of my mother’s voice. She’s standing in the doorway, her ratty old blue robe wrapped around her. I give her a small smile. “I’m sorry, Mama, I tried to be quiet.”
“Don’t apologize, baby, just grab your mama a fork.”
I open the drawer again, pulling another fork out before heading over to the table. She lets me get in two bites before she digs in for her first. “Tell me what happened.”
“I screwed up.”
“Everybody screws up, baby, that isn’t news. It’s how you handle the screw up that matters.”
I shake my head. “Where were you a couple of weeks ago?” I ask with a dry laugh. “It was how I handled the situation that was the screw up. I knowingly kept something from him, and he found out.” I shrug my shoulders. “It’s as simple and stupid as that.”
“Nothing is ever that simple.”
I shove a bite of pie in my mouth before I get up to grab my hot chocolate. I sit back at the table, shoving the cup over to share. “I’m going to be okay.” I tell her. “Maybe a little duller, but okay.”
“Nobody shines, baby, not if they’re really living. Life is all about getting chipped and broken, having the shine stripped away. Being shiny and whole means you’re sitting on the shelf watching everyone else enjoy life.” She sips the hot chocolate before moving it back in front of me.
“I miss him. With Grant, I missed being in a relationship, being part of a pair and never worrying about being alone. I just miss Jacob. He told me it was over, and he walked away, and I still miss him.” I drain the rest of the hot chocolate before getting up to rinse the cup in the sink. I hear my mom moving around the kitchen, putting the remaining pie away for later. I brush a kiss across her cheek before heading back upstairs.
Chapter Twenty Nine
Two days before the start of the spring semester my cell phone rings just as I’m getting ready to crawl into bed. I feel my brow furrow as I catch sight of Robby’s name glowing on my screen. Rubbing my thumb across the screen to unlock it, I pull it up to my ear. “Robby? It’s the middle of the night. Are you okay?”
“Grace,” Robby sounds panicked. “Thank Christ you answered the phone. I couldn’t get Holden or Cole to answer.” I can hear muted voices in the background, and the infliction of Robby’s voice makes me think he’s on the move. “What’s up, Robby?”
“It’s Grant. Shit, hold this on the cut, man. It’s bleeding like a motherfucker.”
How exactly does a motherfucker bleed? “Robby, what’s the matter with Grant? And who’s bleeding?”
“Grant. Grant’s bleeding.” He audibly sucks in air. I’ve never heard Robby this rattled. I roll out of bed, keeping my phone tucked neatly against my ear as I dig through my dresser for clothes.
“Why is Grant bleeding? Did he have another fight tonight? Why aren’t you taking him to the hospital?” I fire off the questions one after the other as I swap out my sleep shorts for a pair of gray yoga pants. I tug a sweatshirt out of my drawer, shifting the phone away from my ear just long to pull it over my head.
“He told Ira he didn’t want to fight anymore.” Robby sighs. “Ira didn’t take it well. Grant won’t go to the hospital. Can you pin down Ally?”
I slip on my flip flops, snagging my keys as I head out of the apartment. “Ally and Holden won’t be back until tomorrow night. Where are you?”
“Shit.” Robby mutters the word. “We’re at the Old Mill, down on the lower level. I rode over with Linc, and he can’t leave yet. There are still fights going on. I don’t know how Grant got here. What?” The last is muffled. Obviously Robby isn�
�t talking to me, and seconds later I hear Grant’s mumbled response. The words too low for me to make out.
“Grace, I need you to find Cole and have him come pick Grant up.”
“I’m already on my way.”
Robby grunts on the other end of the line. “This isn’t a place for you, Grace. Find Cole.”
Starting my car, I am assaulted by the loud music pouring out of the speakers. I fumble to turn the volume down while Robby lists all the reasons why I should not go to the Old Mill to pick up Grant. Taking a left out of the apartment complex, I head out of town.
“Grace, damn it, are you even listening to me?”
“Not really.”
“Cole is going to kick my fucking ass if you come here, you realize that, right?”
He sounds resigned, and a smile tugs at the corners of my mouth. “Then you shouldn’t have called me. I’m still fifteen minutes out.”
Silence stretches across the phone for several moments before Robby tells me, “I want you to call me when you get close. Either Lincoln or I will meet you at the back door.”
“Fifteen minutes.” I tell him again, before dropping my cell phone on the passenger seat next to me. The Old Mill had once been a saw mill that had closed down decades ago. It had been renovated, and at one time had housed a number of small stores and a couple of restaurants. Unfortunately, none of them had worked out, and the building was abandoned once again.
I knew that parties were often held there by local high schools, and the occasional college gathering though not as often. I hadn’t, however, known that it was used for this mysterious underground fight club. You would think it would be one of the first places the cops would look, it was such an obvious choice.
The building is obviously worn down, several of the windows along the top floor are broken, and there is only one street light in the parking lot offering a feeble amount of illumination. There are just a couple of cars in the front of the building, but when I pull around toward the back I’m stunned by the number of cars that are lined up in the field just past the building. I pull into the first empty spot I find and throw my car into park.
